#but the worst I ever do is leave one or maybe two bowls/mugs in the sink because I can't get to them right away

[smol-blue-bird]

I hate when you have a nagging feeling that everyone around you hates you and thinks you're cringe, and you have no idea why because you haven't done anything to offend them or anything, but you can just TELL that they don't like you. and then it turns out to be true

[ellsbclls]

The Fire Escape

warnings ➛ A couple of swear words here and there, mentions of death, endgame spoilers, and a dash of far from home erasure.

word count ➛ 4.7K

synopsis ➛ After the events of End Game, Peter Parker takes a break from his crime fighting persona, but when Spider-Man is called to a mission in Sokovia, he realizes that you might not be ready to handle the life of an Avenger’s girlfriend. There’s a little bit of angst, but not enough to keep you up at night.

“Y/N… Earth to Y/N.”

Peter ropes you back to reality with a light squeeze of your hand, a simple gesture that you return two-fold. On normal dates, the competition would ignite almost immediately, squeezing each other’s hands back and forth, under varying degrees of pressure, until one of you cried uncle — but this is far from a normal date.

It had started innocently enough. Peter had begged Dr.Banner to let him leave his “internship” an hour early just so he could surprise you at work. You assumed — after some superb groveling on Peter’s part — that Bruce agreed, because the end of your shift was met with a parchment wrapped dozen of blushing roses, accompanied by your equally blushing boyfriend. The two of you were able to snag one of the emptier carts on the N train, and were accompanied by a small Greek woman who sent a warm smile when you nestled your head into Peter’s shoulder. The smile disappeared as soon as he started using the poles as his personal jungle gym, but your laugh made up for its loss as he offered his hand out, begging you to join him with a Gene Kelly-esque flair. He ushered you into one of your favorite ramen places during your stroll down Ditmars, pulling out your chair when you were given a table, pretending not to notice how you snuck a noodle or two from his bowl when he wasn’t looking. Your heart felt so warm, you’re surprised it didn’t melt.

So why does everything seem so off now? You and Peter are walking side by side down 37th avenue, he’s rambling excitedly about some new enhancement he made to his web slingers, the evening breeze is kissing your cheeks as it waltzes around the autumn foliage, and somehow, you feel like you’re in the eye of a hurricane.

“Where’d you go?” Peter tries to reel you back in once more and succeeds, craning his head to meet your gaze.

“Oh, just a quick jog.” you tease. There’s a thin edge underlying your sarcasm, and you wonder if he can hear it, too. You’re only a block away from your apartment, and the tiny voice in the back of your mind rationalizes that nothing could ruin your impromptu date night if you were tucked away in your home — because you always feel safe when you’re home. Yet, with no solid evidence to confirm or deny the thought, you’re in a race with the block to dig through your purse.

“Oh, well don’t forget to warm up.” he teases back. His caramel hues, once alight with a mirthful glint, start to descend into an uneasy resolve that only confirms your suspicions, but you’re too occupied by the whereabouts of your keys to notice. “Speaking of warm up, actually, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Shoot.” you reply offhandedly.

“Well, I- I don’t know how to say this.” The tremor in his voice is subtle, but just present enough to pull you from your search.   “There’s- uh- there’s something going on in Sokovia, or at least what’s left of it. There’s a lot of feedback coming off the maps, like a… a hotplate of cosmic activity, so Captain wants the entire team there.”

There it is — that dark cloud that hung over your head this evening finally drenches you in a sharp, cold blanket of realization. Your heart stops, aches, and then crumbles to the pit of your stomach, waiting to be washed away by the waves of terror that crash upon your airways, and despite the wash cycle of emotions you’ve just endured, you feel far from clean. In fact, everything feels heavy — from the weight of your heart to your ragged breath — paralyzed by the idea that each thump, each exhale, brings you closer to the moment where Peter has to leave.

You started dating a year and a half ago, and two years have passed since half of the population was restored to its rightful plane of existence. Iron Man’s death left a massive hole in Peter’s morale, as well as a nagging doubt that he would never be able to take on the mantle he was left with. So, for the first time since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, he cowered in the face of adversity. Not only had he lost a mentor, he had lost his friend — and when Tony Stark sacrificed his life, he was under the impression that the heroes he saved would continue to protect the world, but sometimes Peter wonders if that still reigns true. If Mr.Stark knew just how easily the team had crumbled, how easily he had crumbled, would he still leave? Three and a half years later and Peter still can’t find the answer.

Meanwhile, when it seemed like the world needed him most, Spiderman slipped into obscurity. Now he only makes an appearance when the newscast is a little too bleak to ignore, and even then, he usually sticks to the rogue bank heist or back alley mugging.

You try not to pry, knowing that each time you ask about his brief hiatus is like poking an open wound, and, albeit selfishly, you relish in the fact that your boyfriend isn’t throwing himself in harm's way. However, now seems like a better time than ever for an interrogation, seeing as this is not only the first Avengers mission he’s attended in your relationship, but the first mission to ever span past the Hudson.

No obstacle prior has conjured a looming sense of dread and anxiety as palpable as the one you’re toting now. You can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a cauldron of endless toils, expelling a hazy fog that makes your head spin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t give out on me now.” You don’t realize that your knees buckled beneath you until Peter comes to your rescue, and you silently wish that all of his heroic excursions could be this simple. The warmth of his hand bleeds past your winter coat and business casual blouse as it settles against the small of your back, and your body betrays you as it melts into his touch. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not CPR certified.”

“I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth is bone dry, and you can barely muster a laugh convincing enough to counter his attempt at humor, so you don’t. You opt on settling your gaze upon the entrance of your building, just over Peter’s shoulder, and trying to ground yourself enough to stand without his help.

Peter’s hand still lingers on your form when you shuffle away from him, moving from the small of your back to the curve of your elbow. He can tell that you’re shaken, he expected that much from the get go, so he doesn’t leave your side, encroaching on the space you so obviously seek.  

“I don’t know- I don’t…” You muster just enough courage to counter his gaze, and a tiny frown creases between your brows, confusion riddling every other feature. “What exactly are you asking me?”

He pauses, searching for the answer himself. “Well, I guess- I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

You chalk it up to your sudden sense of irritability, but his question just pisses you off. How dare he throw out a semblance of hope, a faulty impression, that you’d have any choice in this matter. You climb the three steps up to the front door, dolled up in dismay, and still try to find purchase in the illusion that you have any control in the matter. Maybe that’s what pushes you over the deep end, your once honeyed voice now curdled by venom — the hopelessness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m amazing, Peter. After the way you buttered me up all evening, how could I possibly be upset?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Peter’s visibly taken aback, his features mimicking your own. You can see the cogs turning in his head, formulating some way to diffuse this situation before it really begins, but now that the gates are opened, it’s too late for you to hold anything back.

“Why not? Cause it’s the truth?” You cut him off, freshly manicured nails digging into your palms in an attempt to keep your tone even. “Let me tell you what’s not fair — You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be gone, do you?”

You’re met with a mutual silence, which confirms just how equally unaware you both are.

“Exactly.” At this point, your nerves are getting the best of you. Whether you lay all of your feelings out to him tonight or not, a sickening thought will remain — Peter is going to leave, and there’s a chance he won’t come back. So you persist, your hues boring into his own with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit in our bed and wonder if you’re gonna be in it the next morning. You don’t know how terrifying it is to watch the news and pray to god that you’re not a part of it. You’re never going to be in my shoes when it comes to all of this, and I pray to god that you never have to be because I never want you to feel this way. That’s what’s not fair.” You wish your voice hadn’t grown weaker with each blow, you wish you could utter your last few thoughts with an unwavering certainty, but you know you can’t — not when a sob threatens to bubble up from the back of your throat. “That you can just decide to swing across the globe and put your life in danger while I sit at home and worry about you, and the worst part is that it only makes me love you more.”

“Y/N, do you think this is easy for me?” he’s never raised his voice at you, especially not like this, but it looks like tonight is a series of firsts for the both of you. “I haven’t been on a mission with the Avengers since high school, since —” Since Mr.Stark died. You know.

It’s not like he didn’t try to say it, he did, but the name just felt so foreign on his tongue. After years of inactivity, the threat of unearthing all those memories, all those bright eyed, bushy tailed endeavors, was almost as bad as remembering that he was gone — or even worse, not remembering them at all. But where could he retreat to now? He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the thought of losing Mr.Stark, or the thought of losing you. His thoughts are raw and earnest as he tries to placate the latter. “I don’t want to leave you. It terrifies me to think of all the things that could happen to you while I’m gone —”

“Obviously it doesn’t scare you enough, because you’re still going!” You punch the last two words, as if you’re suddenly trying to talk to him from across the street.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N! I don’t-”

Your argument skids to a screeching halt, rivaling the groan of the metal door that guards your apartment complex, and with it appears Ms.Nunez — the single mother that lives a floor below you, whose ability to juggle her graveyard shifts at the hospital with her two rambunctious toddlers is almost as impeccable as her timing.

She appears to be in a rush as she skirts past you, but not enough to stop her from sending Peter an all too knowing look — one that screams “what did you do to that poor girl?”, with only the view of your red, puffy eyes and guarded stance to back up her assumption.

And with an opportunity so golden laying at your feet, who are you to ignore it? You catch the door before it hits the frame and slip into the yellowed entryway, barreling up the stairwell before he can question her weighted stare. You leave Peter no choice but to slip past Ms.Nunez in your pursuit, without so much as a goodbye, but a few choice words still sit on the back of his tongue, waiting to be swallowed.

Normally, the five stories of stairs leaves you winded by the third, but you chalk your superhuman stamina up to adrenaline. Luckily for you, you’re able to reach the last flight of stairs as Peter climbs up the first. Unluckily for you, you seem to forget that your boyfriend actually does have superhuman stamina, and you swear to fucking god that he’s flying up the stairwell by the time you shut the door behind you.

The door slams twice more after that, one loud bang to signal Peter’s entrance and one to punctuate it. His voice pierces through the apartment, firm and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over, Y/N.”

He has no idea where you’ve run off to, ruling out the kitchen once he drapes his jacket over the center island. All he can hear is your voice, muffled behind one of the walls, calling out to him with little emotion to spare. “Oh, yes it is. I’m over it. It’s over.”

“Well, that’s mature.” He mutters under his breath, not expecting you to hear him, let alone respond.

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” You chuckle dryly, ”‘Cause your judgment of maturity is oh so rational and not at all fucking batshit.” And he thought he had enhanced hearing.

“You know what? You’re right.” He scoffs, letting the slam of the bathroom door punctuate his final words. “I’m over this, too.”

🕷 🕷 🕷

“Y/N?” Peter calls out, but to no avail. It’s on nights like these where he wishes you weren’t fighting, knowing fully well that you would command him to the bed with a downward pointing finger and the best glare you could muster. You’ve always loved the way his hair curled into soft, chestnut waves, so you didn’t mind weaving through his damp tresses before he went to sleep. You would make up some excuse about how the process helped give his curls definition, and he would always end up way too tired and relaxed to call you out on it.

You’re nowhere to be found, though. Your comforter is still as haphazard as it was this morning, and the kitchen is void of your late night snack ravaging. The only sign of your presence is found in the open window next to you bed, and way the curtains float against the evening breeze, leaving him to ponder your whereabouts at a breakneck speed. 

A million visions of paranoia screen through his mind all at once, but he’s quick to dismiss them, oddly familiar with the prospect of losing someone, and all the fretting that comes with it.

And you know better than to wander the streets of the city so late at night — but with all of the venom being spewed throughout the apartment, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if you needed a small reprieve. Even for just a quick trip to the corner market. He’s well aware of the eagle eye you sport in the moonlit streets, as well as the switchblade that sits in the side pocket of your bag, but he knows better than anyone that you have to expect the unexpected in these streets.

He pulls out his phone, ready to shoot you a quick text when the bars of the fire escape let out a metallic groan. Despite your apartment’s... adequate amenities, you’d never had a problem with the fire escape. The finicky oven? Maybe, but never the fire escape.

Even without his spidey senses tingling, he has no choice but to poke his head through the window pane, and to his surprise, he ends up killing two birds with one stone.

“I didn’t know you were out here.” Peter balances on the window sill, crouching in a near feline stance as he surveys your position — bundled between the metal grates of the fire escape and your downy comforter. Your lips are parted in a tiny “o”, eyelids blanketing your hues, and with the street lights flickering to life across the seam of thirty-eighth avenue, you’re nothing short of angelic — features now outlined in a seraphic, dewy haze.

If he wasn’t feeling guilty beforehand, the sight before him guarantees he is now.

“Yeah, that was kind of the point.” you murmur. You don’t bother to open your eyes, not even when the iron beams start to squeak under Peter’s weight. “Can I help you with something? I’m pretty sure this thing has a weight limit, and this is a weighted blanket.”

You’re met with silence, and you hate to admit it, but you’d take his silent presence over your self-induced isolation any day. Despite the fact that you only moved in together four months prior, your body has grown accustomed to his presence, subconsciously weaving it into your daily routine. There were nights when you would splay out like a starfish in your childhood bedroom, waiting restlessly for the gentle wrap of his knuckles at the window pane, and that same restlessness bleeds into nights in your shared apartment,  which then bleeds into now. Sure, you can trick your body into sleeping, but rest seems to be boroughs and islands away when Peter’s not there to wish you a good night.

A terse silence settles between the two of you, and you blink up at Peter, expecting him to break it since you surely wouldn’t.

“Why here?” Peter exceeds your expectations with his query. His gaze is fixed on Manhattan’s skyline — even from the tippy top of the complex, he can still make out the jagged glittering, crust of the city’s bustling core — and it’s then he finds the answer to his very own question.

“I used to sneak onto the fire escape at my parents place, too.” you reminisce, the corners of your lips curling into a bittersweet grin. “The apartment walls were thin, and whenever they would fight, or talk shit about something I did that day, I would just sit on the fire escape until I fell asleep.”

“How?” He breaks yet another lengthy pause, and you fight the urge to chuckle at his candor, settling with a lazy grin. “I mean, no offense, but Astoria isn’t exactly a library.”

“Yeah, but inside, I knew exactly what they were saying, how they were feeling — it was all in the air. At least out here everything just… blends together. It’s kind of peaceful in a way.”

Your voice is so timid and gentle as you recall your childhood, reflecting on moments that seem lifetimes away despite the handful of years in between. Peter’s gaze is transfixed on your profile, skating down the slope of your nose and skirting the curves of your lips until he realizes just how small you are. He tends to hold you on a pedestal, a habit he’s retained since the very beginning of your relationship, so sometimes it still baffles him to know that you can be anything but perfect — that you too can be human, and make human mistakes.

“How come I’ve never seen you out here before?” He feels like a little kid, question after question slipping past his lips before he even has the chance to filter them.

“‘Cause I haven’t had a reason to hide since I moved in with you.”

And just when he thought he couldn’t feel even guiltier, he’s soon overflowing with it. It kills him to know that you felt the need to escape, and you’ll never admit it after tonight, but he was the one who pushed you toward it.

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out, not expecting you to say —

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “I’m just so used to my Peter. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m sharing him with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Hey, hey — look at me.” His thumb traces the spot right under your eye, using his pinky to nudge the curve of your jaw upward, toward his gaze — heavy and drenched in a type of resoluteness that leaves your mouth bone dry. “It may not always seem like it, but trust me when I tell you that you’re always going to be my top priority.”

“Peter, you’re being dramatic.” You sigh, finding it hard to believe that your life could take any precedence over the safety of mankind itself.

“No, I’m being honest.” His voice, his gaze, they leave no room for protest. You feel a little awkward being the center of their attention, and so it’s a relief when they shift to the city’s skyline once more. “Look over there, you know what that is?”

“Central Park?”

“Mhm, good girl.” Crimson blooms across the valley of your cheeks at his choice of nickname, no matter how innocently he uttered it, but your attention still remains undivided. “I figured out that I can get home quicker if I cut through it.”

You quirk a brow, and he doesn’t need to ask to know exactly what you’re thinking — So what if he hasn’t figured out which trains he needs to board in order to make a dent in his homebound commute? It’s the thought that counts.

“Sometimes like to just stop for a second and watch some of the people in the park, but not in, like, a creepy way? You know what I mean?” A subtle hint of embarrassment tinges his features, but dissolves once he notices your understanding nod.  “Is there a word for that?”

“Yeah, it’s called people watching.” You snickered, trying to imagine your boyfriend and his attempts at roasting the New York natives. “MJ and I do it all the time.”

“No, but with less… shit talking.” He counters.

Ouch.

“Oh…” You’re stumped, unsure of where he’s heading and, quite frankly, a little humbled by his read. “Hmm… Carry on?”

“Well,” Peter lets his hand rest palm forward on his knee, fingers gently curled, and you’re well acquainted with the gesture. Almost instinctively, you hover your hand above his own, digits clumsily dancing with one another as he speaks, and for a fleeting second, everything is back to normal. “It’s just… mind-blowing sometimes. There’s so much life there, all at once. All of these people are just living their lives, making their way home, falling in love, falling out of love, buying overpriced hotdogs from the street vendors — The other day I saw this mom fishing her two toddlers out of that fountain on Terrace road and honestly, if they don’t end up with superpowers, I’ll be shocked.” He can tell he’s drifted wildly off track by the way you nod, slowly and unsure, as to not offend him and his train of thought. “The point is… I used to protect all of that, and it used to make me so happy.”

“You still do,” You murmur, not one to discredit the risks he does take in the name of New York. Just because his enemies aren’t held to the same caliber as, say, Thanos, doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. “All that matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

You hesitantly intertwine your fingers with his, in just a delicate enough hold to let him reject it if he so chooses. Your lips softly quirk upward when he only tightens the grip.

“Thank you.” He offers a comforting smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and you can tell that he has more to say. So, you squeeze his hand, silently urging him to continue. “Well, I just- after Mr.Stark… passed away… it was really hard to remember why I started doing all of it in the first place. Like- I hate saying this, but why do we keep protecting all of these strangers when all the people we do know just keep getting hurt?” He winces at his own words, so far removed from such bitterness that he can barely believe he once thought such selfish things. “But then- then I get to see all of the people that I’ve been protecting, and suddenly it all makes sense again. All I want to do is make sure people are safe, and happy, and hopefully… Hopefully, when we’re older, and we have kids that jump in the fountains at Central Park, someone like me will be watching… and they’ll feel the exact same way.”

When we’re older, When we have kids... Those promises of marriage, of a loving family, of a future — they bounce off your eardrums like a mantra. Soon, you can’t even imagine thinking about anything but Peter’s words, and how much you love him right now, and how you’ll love him until your heart can’t possibly take it anymore. You can read what he’s trying to portray loud and clear — He loves you, he can see a future with you, and if there’s ever a doubt in your mind that his feelings may have changed, you can look out into the world and find pieces of his heart in every passing face.

“I haven’t been doing everything I can to make sure that’s possible, though.” He breaches your lovesick trance, reminding you that there’s still a thread of discord dangling between you. One that you can see rapidly disappearing with each passing second. “I have to go on this mission, Y/N. I wanna start helping people again. I wanna do right by him.”

“I know.” You whisper, conceding to the fact that you will always want what’s best for him, even if you aren’t a fan of the circumstances. “It doesn’t make it any less sucky.”

“C’mere.” He can barely pat his thighs before you’re crawling toward him. He passes a warm hand under your thigh once you straddle his waist, scooping you further into his lap, and uses his free hand to encompass the nape of your neck. You feel like you could melt, being cradled between his strong, toned  arms, and the feeling only intensifies when his lips seek out yours. His lips are soft, and warm, and taste like listerine, and you couldn’t ask for anything more perfectly suited for you.    

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, without a trace of uncertainty. His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and he continues to plant a series of sweet, soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin he can get his lips on — your cheeks, your nose, your temple.

He’s so wrapped up in his gentle ministrations that he barely hears you return the sentiment, eyes fluttering to a close as you breathe out, “I love you.”

“Please come inside,'' he whispers against your forehead, punctuating his plea with a chaste kiss.

You pretend to entertain the thought, tapping your index finger against your chin, before shaking your head with a waggish simper. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t take long for him to take the bait, and he disappears through the window. You can just barely make out the harmony of wild rustling and hushed obscenities coming from your room before Peter is returning to your makeshift bed, clad in the cheesy “The Floor is Lava!” hoodie you snagged from a street vendor during your trip to Pompeii the summer beforehand.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N,” Peter’s voice is tight, shuffling his knees across the fretted ground as he crawls into your lap. It takes him all of three seconds to make himself comfortable, collapsing between your thighs, and you seize the opportunity to weave your fingers through his soft, chestnut locks. “I don’t think I can make this a recurring thing. I can already feel the scoliosis forming.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you scoff, only to be met with a scandalized set of caramel hues. “I think you can make it through the night without any permanent damage to your spine.” With droopy eyes, your body starts to hum with the tell-tale signs of sleep, and your voice drips with drowsiness as you murmur, “And I wanna savor as many nights with you as I can.”

“I know,” he whispers back, the aftertaste of guilt intermingling with the abashment that follows your sleepy confession. ”I know. I’m right here, babe.”

And he swore, in that very moment, that nothing would change that.

[awanderingdeal]

Hiii!!! I love all of your work sm, I was wondering if you would write more o’Darwin??? What about in the future of them finally getting to live together, no pressure at all though :)))

So, one of my big O'Darwin's HC'S is that it's not necessarily their goal to live together. I feel it's important to depict poly relationships in all their form including those that follow less traditional 'rules'. If you've read some of my other O'Darwin stuff, you might remember I've written Alex with other long-term relationships down in Florida aswell as short-term and hookups. Now, of course there is absolutely no problem if you want to HC them as living happily ever after in their nice little house together, it's just not something I imagine. This was my attempt at writing something that hopefully meets your happy O'Darwin desires. It ended up kind of emosh!

Rating: T

CW: mentions of career ending injury, food, small sexual joke,

Credit for these characters and the sweater weather universe goes to @lumosinlove

"And," Alex drew the word out as he placed the last of his roll necks into the closet. "Done."

"Finally. It only took 3 days." Kasey huffed from where he lay on the chaise-lounge, watching Alex unpack the last of the boxes he'd had shipped from Florida. "Did you and Finn take the whole of fifth avenue when you left the state?"

"I need options, and I don't see you complaining when I'm wearing the clothes."

Natalie scoffed, leaning against the door of the closet. "O'Hara, please. You'd look good dressed in a bin bag and you know it. Come on, I made breakfast."

"She ordered breakfast," Kasey laughed, hauling himself upright.

Parts of Alex had been accumulating in the apartment for years: the toothbrush in the bathroom; the drawer of clothing that held the things he didn't want to keep bringing back and forth, his mug in the kitchen, to name a few. Now though, it felt more permanent, more deliberate. A whole closet. The online shopping list updated to include his personal favourites, rather than just grabbing them on the way from the airport. Finding mail for him in between Kasey and Natalie's letters this morning.

"9 months! I can't believe we get you for 9 months," Natalie grinned, bending to squeeze Alex's cheeks and pressing her lips to his forehead before folding her legs beneath her onto one of the large cushions opposite, Kasey between them.

"You'll be sick of me in a week." Alex chuckled reaching across the low table to grab one of the acai bowls.

"If you keep leaving your dirty underwear on the bathroom floor then we will," Kasey hummed, sipping at his mug of dark coffee. If the steam rising from it was any indication then it was still incredibly hot, but Kasey didn't flinch. He cocked his head, inspecting Alex's face. "Seriously, how are you feeling about it?"

Alex shrugged. "I'm still working through it with Jacob, but mostly I'm focusing on the positives. I get to be here with you two and Finn whilst I finish recovering and I begin coaching at the college almost as soon as I'm back in Florida so there won't really be anytime to wallow in the misery."

"Are you miserable?" Natalie frowned.

"I think the not knowing was the worst part," Alex smiled softly. "Now that I know that I can't play anymore, it feels easier somehow. I always knew there was a possibility of something like this happening. All it takes is one bad hit, an injury that just won't heal -" Kasey rubbed his thigh and Alex reached for his hand reassuringly. "But the thought that maybe, just maybe, if I did everything right, then I could get back on the ice was driving me crazy. I could make a plan once it was final, y'know? I have a plan."

"Do you miss Florida?"

Alex paused, halfway through digging out the passionfruit from its skin. He glanced at Natalie, the tight lines around her eyes revealing the nervousness she rarely showed. "If you're asking whether I miss Kiran, then yes. I miss her. Just like I miss you when I'm there. There's no better. Just different."

"Fuck, I know, sorry," Natalie said, letting out a long breath. "I don't know what came over me."

"Oh no," Alex deadpanned. "She's having emotions. Someone call the press, Natalie Darcy might actually be human."

"Shut up, I hate you," Natalie scoffed, flicking a grain of puffed rice across the table at Alex.

"She loves me, doesn't she?" Alex whispered in Kasey's direction. "I bet she tells you all the time.

"You're both a pain in my ass."

"You wish," Natalie laughed.

"Maybe later," Alex chimed.

Kasey rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his egg sandwich without comment. Alex gave a contented sight. Tomorrow, Kasey would go to practice, Natalie would go to the studio and Alex would have to find some way to entertain himself that wouldn't leave him bored and depressed, but for today he just wanted to enjoy being with the people he loved.

[novelconcepts]

novel, just look at this https://www.instagram.com/p/CMILP2ZAjsw/?igshid=1ve4cwcbiy69y

mayhaps you could use this as a prompt sometime? 👀 (no pressure)

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen Sharma thinks, is in how many women he’s buried. How many loved ones--why are brilliant young women always punished?--he’s laid to rest. How many times he’s looked away for only a second, only to find they’ve slipped through his fingers.

The greatest injustice in the world, Owen thinks, is in how many times he’s stood over the graves of women who should have had so much more time. Women with new recipes untested, new cities left unexplored, new experiences permanently unlived. Rebecca Jessel will never practice law. Hannah Grose will never see Paris. Dani Clayton will never...

Dani will never...

He’s never even there. Maybe that’s the worst part of all--that he’s always just off-camera, always just this side of where he ought to be. At home, when Rebecca drowned; at the manor when his mother passed; looking at his shoes while Hannah...

And now: now, with no warning at all, the phone ringing in the middle of the night. The voice on the other end is almost unrecognizably flat. The voice on the other end, he thinks, will haunt his dreams for years to come.

“Come to Vermont.”

“Jamie?” She sounds wrong. Not simply too calm, not simply too level, but as though all the life has been wrung from her body. As though she’s calling him from another plane altogether, and Owen will later be embarrassed by his first awful thought: She’s dead. She’s calling me from her own grave. It’s Hannah all over again.

But of course nothing ever could be. Nothing could ever match Hannah, the impossibility of her that summer. The impossible, cruel way the universe had of pushing her nearly into his arms before letting that trapdoor fall open beneath his feet. Jamie isn’t dead; Jamie is breathing into the other end of the phone, as though straining to keep herself together. Which can only mean one thing. 

He’s on the first flight. A bag with a few changes of clothes, a passport, a photo he is to this day unable to travel without. The plane juddering beneath him, his legs crammed into the small space, he presses his thumb to the smile beneath the plastic sheet. 

Hannah, I don’t know how to do this again. He’s never quite known how to do it at all, how to be this person--and wasn’t that because of Jamie all along? Jamie, who had found Rebecca’s body and made all the appropriate calls, her expression stony as she’d explained to the police how they’d found her. Jamie, who had answered the phone that night, turning on her heel with eyes that suddenly took up half her face, apologizing as he’d never heard her do before. Jamie, who made arrangements for food and drink while he stood like a puncture wound in blue jeans staring at what was left of his mother’s estate. 

Jamie, who stood beside him in front of a well, looking down even when he hadn’t been able to stomach it any longer. Jamie, always looking down into the face of cold reality. 

He’s never quite where he needs to be when it happens, but Jamie is. Jamie has always been. She is almost unfairly good at it: standing tall, accepting the truth, holding them all up when they shatter. 

And now, here she is: opening the door in cuffed jeans and a rumpled brown flannel shirt. Here she is, a few years older than Paris, looking at him like she’s never seen him before. Like the woman who called was someone else entirely. He thinks he sees a little of his mother in the blank distance of her eyes, and his heart cracks. 

“What happened?”

She turns from him, gesturing for him to come in. The flat, which has every hallmark of home, is surprisingly warm. Surprisingly messy, too--there are clothes on the couch, most of them things he recognizes as Dani’s from the photos they’ve been mailing his way for years. The floor is covered with pots, lemongrass and tiny succulents and a large-leaved plant he doesn’t recognize standing proudly amid clods of dirt, a watering can, several crumpled packs of cigarettes. 

She reaches for one of these now, taps out the final smoke into her palm, crunches the wrapping. “Want one?”

That voice again, that strange timbre--the accent a little less than he remembers, a little ironed-out by nearly fifteen years in this country, though that isn’t what works a shiver up his spine. It’s so flat. It’s so toneless. Jamie has been many things since he’s known her--angry, aggressive, cool, even violent--but never this detached. 

He’s never seen her like this. He’s never thought to worry he ever would. Jamie has aways been the most stable of them, taking up the mantle when even he couldn’t carry it. 

We, he thinks wearily, are the survivors. The witnesses. No one ever talks about what that’s like. 

Untrue. People talk about it. People who do useful things, like attend support groups, or get themselves to therapy. Henry does, sometimes--nursing seltzer, smiling ruefully at Owen over dinner. We think it’s the losing them that hurts the worst, until it happens, he’d said once. It isn’t. It’s the part where you have to keep waking up, dreaming for a split second each morning they’re still here. 

Nearly fifteen years, and there hasn’t been a single morning Owen hasn’t thought absently of calling her up. Not one where he hasn’t thought, Been too long without her voice. Without her laugh. God, that woman’s laugh. 

“Jamie...”

Her head comes up sharply, her eyes flashing--and then, like it was never there, the expression passes. She lights the cigarette with a steady hand, settles herself back on the rug with it clamped between her teeth. There’s soil smudged on her cheek, caked into her hair, and he wonders when last she showered. 

“Jamie, do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t. He knows that. He remembers too well how she’d sat beside him on a sofa in 1987, passed him a bottle of wine in silence. How she’d said simply, covering all bases in two words, “Fuck it.” 

It had been Dani, he remembers, who spoke of it first. Dani, looking paler than normal, looking shaken, saying firmly, “We should do something. We should do something for her.”

“Sit,” Jamie says without looking at him. She’s already getting back into it, he realizes--working her hands carefully back into a terra cotta pot, brushing the soil from spindly roots with loving care. It’s how she looked after Rebecca, brow furrowed, smoking and working in silence. There are problems that can’t be managed, he understands, and the only way someone like Jamie can tolerate that fact is to find new troubles to set right.

“Where is she, Jamie?” She’s not going to like this, he knows. He’d hate it, in her place. Had hated it, whenever someone dared speak Hannah’s name for those first few months. She’s going to hate him for it now.

But someone has to speak. Someone has to throw the line, lest she drift too far to come back. She called. There was a reason for it. 

“Jamie. Where is she?”

She gives him nothing. Jets smoke, taps ash into an empty beer can, keeps her eyes on the work. This isn’t like after Rebecca, he can see--Jamie back then had been hard-edged, furious that she hadn’t gotten to Becca in time, but she’d at least been willing to hold conversation. More than willing. It had seemed to ground her, reflecting on the Peter Quint of it all, on the shame of not being able to help enough, on how to explain it to the kids. 

Now, she sits with her back against the couch, her eyes not tracking the progress of her own hands. Owen, kneeling beside her, feels as though the room is waiting for something. Waiting for a knife to slide into the bubble she’s built, tearing it open to allow all that building water to rush in. 

He changes tack. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Three days,” she says. Her face is scrunched with concentration, her fingers testing something he can’t track in the roots. 

“Have you eaten?”

“’Course,” she says, gesturing recklessly with the cigarette at a stack of pizza boxes, several empty wine bottles, a dozen abandoned mugs. “All the food groups.”

“Slept?” He remembers that was the worst part, sleeping. Before it had all gone wrong, he’d gone to bed each night with a promise: Tomorrow, I’ll tell her. Tomorrow, I’ll finally do it. 

After, he’d stayed up until dawn in the kitchen, kneading dough, testing wilder and wilder concoctions. Jamie would stumble in at three in the morning, still half-asleep, to find him shoving a bowl of batter under her nose. 

Here. Try this. What does it need?

Cinnamon, she’d say gamely, though she’d clearly only been craving a glass of water. He’d slump against the table, head hanging between his arms.

She’d say it was divine as-is. 

Yeah, well. She always did like to see that idiot grin. 

“Jamie,” he says now, patiently. “Have you slept?”

She shrugs. He doesn’t need to walk down the hall to know the bed is likely sitting untouched, perfectly made--or, worse, exactly as she’d rolled out of it the last time. Exactly how she’d left it, when whatever had gone wrong had happened. 

It’s so easy, leaving things. 

It’s nearly impossible, setting them right again when the bigger problem can’t be fixed.

“Where is she, Jamie?” He hates himself. Hates pushing her. Hates the way her shoulders square a little tighter, her jaw clenching, her muddy fingers stretching to find an unopened pack of cigarettes to replace the one burned to nearly nothing between her lips. “Jamie. You called me.”

“Wouldn’t have,” she grumbles, “if I’d thought you’d talk this fucking much.”

Not true. He can see it in her, the shade not of the woman she’d been when they had met--hardy, rugged, a little grin around her mouth that said she’d make him regret it if he even considered pulling on her strings--but the one Dani had loved into being. We are all, he thinks, shaped by the love they give. Changes the molecules. Turns us from dough to something worth serving. 

The woman he’d met, tempered by a past she never discussed, patience she couldn't quite get a handle on, wouldn’t want him to talk this much.

The woman she is now, the one who had sat in his restaurant watching Dani like she was written in the only language worth knowing, called for a reason.

“Jamie.”

“Stop.” She closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking too hard to work out another cigarette, too hard to urge the Bic to light. 

“Where,” he asks gently. She’s shaking her head. When did so much silver slip into her hair? When did those lines crop up around her mouth? How long has it been, since he was where she needed him to be?

Didn’t need me. Not then. Had everything she needed, with Dani, but now--

“Jamie, where--”

“She’s gone.” Her eyes are blazing, her lips trembling. He has never, never seen this look on her face. This shattered, almost exultant misery is impossible to endure. She doesn’t look like Jamie now. She is only a collection of her worst fears made real. “She’s gone, Owen. She’s--”

She hunches into herself, a single crack splitting like a windscreen beneath a thrown rock. One foot lashes out sharply, sending a pot cartwheeling over onto its side. 

“She’s fucking gone,” she repeats in a voice like a woman kicked in the stomach. She raises her eyes, red-rimmed, and almost smiles. “I fell asleep.”

Strange, he thinks as he shuffles across the rug to wrap his arms around her, the last thought that kicks out when they’re gone. Not I should have told her, not I should have been there, but: I was in the kitchen. Not I should have stopped her, not I should have been faster, but: I fell asleep. The should doesn’t matter anymore, once they’re gone. All that matters is what you did. Where you were. What you can never change. 

“I fell asleep,” she repeats, and there’s nothing flat about her voice now. Even speaking of Rebecca, the Wingraves, Hannah, she’s never sounded half this shattered. “I fell asleep, Owen. I fell--”

He’s pressing his face against her shoulder, feeling unforgivably enormous draped this way over her slight frame. She folds double, rocking back and forth, one hand digging so hard into the other arm that he’ll be gently patching bloody gouges in an hour’s time. For now, he only sways with her, allowing the momentum of her grief to rock him back and forth, back and forth.

“She’s gone,” she says again. “She’s gone. She’s--”

He’ll stay a while--not quite feeling secure leaving her on her own, not quite willing to risk letting her slide back into this space. He’ll stay, helping her in the kitchen (She was better at it. Less likely to poison us, anyway.), and with the nightmare of making those phone calls (Her mum needs to know. Hated me, but still. And Judy O’Mara. And Henry. Fuck. The kids won’t even...). She won’t let him near the bedroom, won’t let him tuck her into that bed. The one and only time he’ll offer to help sift through Dani’s belongings, she’ll flex a fist around a bottle like she’s thinking of swinging it at him. 

She won’t look at him when he steps into the bathroom to find the tub draining over the side onto the floor, either, the sink full of clean water. When he opens his mouth to question, she’ll reach past him, slap down the plunger, stride out of the room without a word. 

Leave her whatever rituals she needs, he’ll think, remembering all those unnecessary three-a.m. cakes. Leave her whatever ghosts she can’t let go. 

He’ll stay as long as she needs, he decides with her beginning to sob at last. He’s never quite been there, when it happens--never been able to look death in the eye as Jamie has. It’s the greatest injustice in the world, how many loved ones have gone on without him, leaving only stories in their wake. 

He’s never where he needs to be, to stop it happening--but he can be here. For a little while, at least. He can hold her, and he can look down. 

There is no justice, this time, in letting Jamie believe she needs to be strong enough to do it alone.

[pregnant-piggy]

One coffee please (1/2)

Blaise Zabini x reader

This is part of all I want for Christmas is fanfiction

This is written for @kalimagik‘s writing challenge

Words: 2.9k

A/N: this was my first time properly writing for Blaise and it will definitely not be the last. With this fic he has grown to be a character close to my heart and I am already excited to write more for him!

Prompts: 'what are you talking about? This is brilliant!' and 'you're cute when you're mad'

It was definitely winter. The wind was blazing around in the streets, howling around the corners of high buildings. It was blowing against the windows of houses and apartments, creating loud thrums in the ears of the people inside. The skies were dark grey in the night and icy blue in the morning. The sun was shining but it was cold. Streets froze overnight, but thawed before anyone woke up.

Even the thickest sheets and blankets couldn’t keep you warm as you lied in bed. At night you curled up to a ball to keep all the heat close to your body, but in the morning you woke with cold toes and fingertips. The sheets didn’t reach far enough to your neck and even your woollen jumper couldn’t protect you from the freeze. It was now more than ever that you longed for someone to cling onto in the night, to have their body heat against your skin. You wanted to feel the warmth that came from someone’s arms around your waist and the heat of someone’s fingertips on the skin under your jumper.

Instead you woke up alone in your apartment, the wind pounding against the tall windows. A moan escaped your mouth as you stretched out and the little bones in your back cracked. The cold air of your room flew over your arms and goose bumps formed all from your wrists to your armpits. A shiver ran over your spine, sliding from your neck to the dip of your back. A cold spread through your entire body from only putting your arms above the sheets.

Resting your arms atop of the blankets over your duvet, you sighed and opened your eyes, greeting the darkness that came with the winter's mornings. The sun that woke you in the summer was now still hidden behind the horizon and the tall buildings in the city. The skies were dark blue with clouds that coloured orange from the street lights. Maybe if it had been clear you could have seen the stars.

You had to get out of bed eventually. The longer you stayed in, the more you would have to hurry and the thought of that was almost enough to get you out of bed. But instead you rubbed your face and stared at the ceiling until the alarm from your phone sounded through your room. You lifted your body half in your bed and reached for your phone on the nightstand. Your cold fingers had turned off the alarm before you could even see the screen of your phone; waking up like this had become a habit lately.

After five minutes even your social media couldn’t keep your mind from the fact that useful time was passing and you tossed your phone somewhere on your bed. After a deep breath you threw the blankets and sheets off your yet warm body and swung your feet over the edge of your bed. If it wasn’t for the rug under your feet you would have crawled back into your bed. But instead you got up from your bed and walked to your closet, contemplating just wearing sweats.

You settled on a black pair of jeans and a dark green jumper with a turtle neck, so that you would still be warm. After freshening up and making yourself look acceptable to the outside public, you put on your shoes and stole an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen on your way to the door. Breakfast would come later. Right now you had to make sure you were on time.

_-_-_-_-_-_

Blaise wished he hadn’t worn his hoodie to bed last night. He woke with a sweaty back and quickly threw off the sheets. He welcomed the coldness with open arms, feeling the air wrapping around his hot body and calming down his skin.

It took him fifteen minutes to take a short shower, brush his teeth and put on some clothes. Much different from what anyone would wear on such a cold day, Blaise chose for a simple button up and rolled up the sleeves up his arms, his tattoos peeking out.

He took his keys and wallet from the table next to the front door and closed the door behind him, while he put on the leather jacket and checked his phone for any messages. The door locked with a soft click and Blaise put his other arm in his jacket, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone. He reached into his pocket, fishing out his earphones and plugging them into his phone. The tones of his favourite song soon started to play and he relaxed as he walked out of his apartment building.

The streets under his feet were more slippery than they had been all week and it took Blaise a woman who nearly fell to realise. While the woman was helped by a passer-by, Blaise quickly turned around the corner and quickened his pace.

His hands were in his pockets, playing with the keys in his right one. The beat of the music synced with his steps and for a moment he forgot it was early in the morning and he wasn’t a morning person. He even arrived with a smile at the coffee shop he was headed for.

The bell of The Old Coffee House tingled when Blaise pushed open the door. The coffee shop originally was started by his grandfather, who had thought it would be a good thing to do with his retirement. The coffee shop was celebrating its thirtieth anniversary next year. It was the oldest company in the whole block and by tourists it was seen as a mark for the city. Blaise didn’t know if it was really that, but he was glad there were enough costumers.

His mother was managing the place from her home and she would come in once a week, to make sure everything went well. But it was mostly Blaise who had the control in the shop.

Well, Blaise and you.

You were Blaise's best friend. Your mothers were best friends and being forced to spend time together when you were kids had let to a connection to build. You had spent your whole lives together and when Blaise's mother was looking for someone to help her son in the coffee shop, you had been the first to volunteer. He had now been working with you for a year and it had only made that you were even closer now.

Blaise knew everything about you, from your morning routine to your favourite song and the dance you'd do to it. He knew what to do when you were down in the dump and what to give you when you were, as he called, ‘hangry’. He knew how to cheer you up and when to leave you alone when you were angry.

He had seen you at your best and at your worst. He was the first one to hear about your first date with your boyfriend and the one who was there when said boyfriend suddenly left you alone. He had seen you dancing on tabletops and crying in your bed.

Blaise was always there for you, because you had been there for him his entire life.

‘Well aren’t you happy for a Monday morning?’ you asked as you made your way into the space from the backroom, tying an apron at your back. Blaise rolled his eyes at you and took off his jacket. He hung it next to your coat behind the counter and took the apron from the hook, tying it the same way you had done. ‘What got you so cheerful?’

Blaise shrugged and leaned on the counter with his right forearm, watching you as you filled the coffee machine with coffee beans. You were humming along to a song that was playing over the radio while you turned on the machine and made two cups of coffee.

The grinding of the coffee beans sounded over the radio and your humming got softer as you lost track of where the song was. Instead you nodded along to the beat that was still vaguely audible over the low buzzing.

Blaise snickered when you tried to hit the high note and your hum failed to reach it. You shot him an annoyed look and he only shrugged at you, grinning as he turned around and he heard the huff from your lips.

Soon you fell into the routine that had developed over time. Since neither you nor Blaise were morning people, it was soon found that it was best if it was just silent. The only sounds were the radio and the occasional talk with a customer. It was a serene scene for anyone to walk into, seeing two people work in silence in a place that could be such a buzz in the afternoon.

While you helped a costumer to their coffee and muffin, Blaise leaned against the counter and watched you. The sunlight came in from the window behind you and the silhouette of your face was painted against a canvas of golden light. The edges of your figure were outlined by a golden thread. Your cheeks glowed up and your eyes seemed like the brightest gemstones Blaise had ever seen.

Blaise would be the last one to deny that you were pretty. Over the years he had seen you grow into the wonderful person you were now, inside and outside. There was something about your appearance that told the world how you were. With just one glance someone could see you as the passionate person you were, but Blaise knew that there was so much more to it than just passion.

‘Are you alright?’ you asked and Blaise was pulled from his thoughts. He flashed you his smirk and nodded before he took his own coffee mug. You raised your eyebrow at him as you noticed that what was in his mug was not coffee.

‘What’s in there?’ you asked, stepping closer to Blaise, ordering him to show his mug with your finger. ‘It smells like cinnamon.’

‘That’s because it has cinnamon in it,’ Blaise shrugged and he took a sip.

‘Well, of course,’ you said, rolling your eyes. ‘I figured that.’

Blaise lifted the mug to drink again, but you stopped him by grabbing his wrist and taking the mug from him. You eyed it suspiciously and smelled it. Over the cup you made eye contact with Blaise and with your eyes you pleaded him to tell you what it was.

‘I made it,’ he said, suddenly feeling insecure. He had never told anyone about it. He knew it was silly, but he was afraid someone would judge him over his coffee.  ‘I was messing around at home once and this kind of came out of it… It’s not much, but it does help keep you awake.’

You squeezed your eyes before you carefully took a sip and Blaise watched you, biting the inside of his mouth anxiously. You swallowed and held your eyes closed a little longer. Blaise shook his head and turned away from you.

‘I know it’s rubbish-’

‘What are you talking about?’ you cried out, turned Blaise back to you. ‘This is brilliant! You made this?’

The look of adoration on your face was enough for Blaise to start smiling and the blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded and chuckled when he saw the stun on your face.

‘Why would you hide this from me?’ you asked, tilting your head. ‘What more have you been hiding?’ you added playfully, meaning nothing but still making Blaise fear for his secrets.

‘Nothing you should know about,’ he joked, yet there was a hint of nervousness in his voice that went unnoticed by you. You laughed and pushed Blaise away as you welcomed the next costumer and went back to work.

_-_-_-_-_-_

It had frozen overnight. Or better said, it was freezing at night. It was still dark outside and the sun was hours from rising. Only very few people were awake at this time.

You were sunken deep into your dreams, under layers of blankets to keep the cold from numbing your toes. The cold didn’t bother you yet, but it sure would when you would have to get out of bed in the morning. Luckily, it was Sunday what meant that the coffee shop was closed today and you could stay in bed for as long as you liked. Plans for today had been cast aside and you had nothing to do but sit on the couch in three jumpers and binge your favourite series.

However, fate seemed to have a different thought.

It was narrowing three when the ringtone of your phone started to sound clear and disrupting in your room, waking you from your sleep. In the dark you patted down your nightstand to find the thing that was making the sound and when you found your phone, your thumb automatically went to turn off the alarm. You dropped your phone back next to your pillow, but the sound kept going and you realised it wasn’t your alarm, but someone was calling you.

A loud groan passed your lips as you turned on your back. Squeezing your eyes against the light from the screen and an even louder groan escaped your mouth when you noticed who was calling you.

‘What do you want, Blaise?’ you said, your voice groggy with sleep and annoyance.

It wasn’t unlike Blaise to call you in the middle of the night when he knew you would be asleep just to mess with you, but yet every time he called you worried something had happened to him. However, when you heard his chuckle at your sleepy voice you knew that there couldn’t be something too wrong.

‘Nice talking to you too,’ Blaise said and you could hear the slight double tongue. Of course.

‘Blaise it is two in the morning, what do you want from me?’ you groaned, rubbing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose as you heard Blaise laugh again.

‘I might have accidentally locked myself out of my apartment as I left earlier this night,’ he said. ‘And the janitor won’t answer my calls.’

‘I wonder why,’ you mumbled.

‘Can I come over?’

You sighed and shook your head. Of course you were friends with the guy that forgot his keys in the middle of the night. ‘Sure, come over.’

‘Great, because I am already at your door.’

Without even reacting to that you hung up and put your phone back on your nightstand. You looked in the dark at the pile of blankets on top of you and cursed Blaise under your breath. In the freezing cold you left your bed and patted over to the front door of your apartment. Looking through the peephole in the door you watched Blaise for a minute. His broad shoulders covered with the leather jacket that he never left without were the first thing that caught your eye and you swallowed before you took a step back.

You unlocked the door and opened it. The cold air from the corridor seeped inside the hall of your apartment and you knew that it was over with the heat that you had been trying to create the whole night. You shivered as the coldness reached your bare legs; despite freezing to death, you still couldn’t sleep with long pants.

‘Get inside, idiot,’ you hissed and pulled Blaise inside before he could say anything. He chuckled and ruffled your hair with his cold hand. Taking of his jacket and hanging it next to your other coats, Blaise eyed the distance between the living room and your bedroom curiously.

‘If you wait a minute, I’ll get the couch ready for you,’ you said and you walked to your bedroom, looking at the blankets and deciding which ones you could miss. However, you hadn’t even taken one blanket before Blaise had crawled into your bed, waiting to see what you would do.

Defeated you stood at the foot end of you bed, the end of a blanket in your hands. As much as you tried not to look, you couldn’t help notice Blaise’s bare chest. Your eyes scanned his torso and lingered at his tattoos. It wasn’t like you had never seen Blaise without a shirt, but it just had never happened that he was sitting in your bed without a shirt.

You swallowed down the sudden nervous tingle in your chest and tried to act nonchalant as you shrugged and put the blanket back in its place. You walked around the bed and settled next to Blaise, leaving enough space so it would be appropriate, but still getting a little closer hoping he’d bring you any warmth.

‘Alright, then we’ll do it like this,’ you muttered as you turned down the light and lay down.

And indeed as you had thought, you felt the heat radiating off of Blaise, engulfing you in a warm embrace. The cold that had been pestering you all night was now suddenly gone and you felt you fingers and toes get back some feeling.

‘You owe me breakfast,’ you mumbled as you closed your eyes and your head turned to the side, Blaise’s hot breath stroking over your face as you fell asleep.

- - - - - -

taglist

general HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter @hahee154hq @chloer1275​

[quillvine]

Caffeinated

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Here have this monster of a fic. It’s been kicking around in my drafts for so long I had no idea what to do with or how to end it. I hope you guys like it! My requests are still open so don’t be afraid to drop a line :)

Masterlist

You’re awoken by the sound of Aaron’s phone ringing, it's his work tone. It’s too damn early for work especially considering it’s a Saturday. Next to you Hotch presses a quick kiss on your lips before reaching to grab his cell from the nightstand. He answers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. Before he even hangs up you know there's a case.

Aaron turns to you with his usual grim bossman look on his face. It’s a far cry from the cute  sleepy look that you’re used to seeing in the mornings.

“Why don’t you start the coffee? I’ll go call Jessica and check on Jack.” He tells you.

He leans over again to give you another kiss. This time it’s long and slow, his lips molding against yours. Your hands find their way to his messy hair and he shifts to pull you closer to him on the bed. 

All too soon he pulls away and you whine in disappointment, you’re not ready to start the day. Aaron just smiles pulling you up from the bed and pushing you towards the door. He pats your ass gently giving you another kiss before heading down the hall to Jack’s room.

He had food poisoning so you and Aaron had already been up later than usual making sure he was okay. The poor boy was hugging the toilet bowl way past his bedtime. You guys had hoped that you wouldn't get called away during the weekend, but alas the UnSubs of the world had their own agenda.

Flicking the lights on in the kitchen you get the coffee pot going. You also search the pantry for the individually packaged instant oatmeal that you guys keep for the mornings where Jack is running late for school. Neither of you are particularly hungry in the mornings but you figured that instant oatmeal is easy enough to make on the jet. 

Pulling your go bags from under the buffet table in the hallway, you throw the oatmeal cups into your bag and then head back to the kitchen. You pour the hot coffee into travel mugs and then set them next to your go bags.

Heading back up the stairs to the bedroom where you see Aaron buttoning up his work shirt. He gives you a quick smile before grabbing the pair of slacks on the bed.

You walk over to the closest to grab clothes and get changed. After a quick glance at Hotch who is tying the tie you got him for his birthday you settle on a red shirt to match his power tie.

“Jessica is on her way,” He tells you, walking over to where you're standing to give you a kiss on the cheek, “Jack’s okay, he’s still sleeping.”

When Jessica arrives, you thank her for coming on such a late notice and then hurry out the door into the car.

Once you guys hit the highway it seems like whatever early morning energy you had left you. Your body feels limp and your eyes are drooping which really isn’t good considering the fact that you the coffee was supposed to kick in already.

By the time you reach the office you’re feeling a little worse for wear but you have a job to do so you reach into the backseat to grab your go bag. Before you can exit the car Aaron grabs your wrist and pulls you into a slow languid kiss.

“One for the road.” He tells you.

You smile as you exit the car, maybe this morning will get better.

&

It turns out the morning did not get better. The flight was bumpy and filled with turbulence adding a headache on top of your tiredness. By the time you guys get off the jet and to the station you’re really not in a good mood. For some reason the caffeine still has not kicked in and you’re still exhausted. 

It’s six in the morning right now which means it’s still too early for you guys to check into a hotel so you have to leave your bags at the station. As soon as you’ve set your bags down, you’re beelining it to the break room, praying to whatever god is out there for a fresh pot of coffee.

Morgan is there already and smirks when he sees your disgruntled face. You groan internally, the whole team has been eyeing you since you got on the plane, they know how you get when you’re low on sleep. Morgan is the only one brave enough to toe the line with you.

“Oh ho ho, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. What happened, Hotch keep you up too late last night?” Morgan as you push past him to the coffee pot.

“He’ll have your head for that.” You grumble.

Morgan just laughs, giving you a teasing smile as he follows you. He actually has the audacity to beat you to the coffee pot and starts pouring himself a cup. You come up next to him and grab a cup of your own, as Morgan pours you a cup you fumble with the cream and sugar passing them to him. He thanks you, adding some to his cup. 

You stir your own coffee as you reach over to pour a cup for Aaron. He probably doesn’t need another cup, if anything he seems to be functioning fine but it’ll save you another trip to the break room if he doesn't drink it. Who cares if it’s cold.

Taking a sip from your cup you find that it is potentially the worst cup of coffee you’ve ever had in your life.

“Ugh, dishwater.” You grouse as you guys walk to the conference room the team has hijacked.

Morgan takes a sip of his own coffee and chuckles.

“Come on now you know that they never have the good stuff in these places.” He tells you as you guys walk into the conference room. “If you want anything other than dishwater you have to be like Pretty Boy and bring a whole pour over set.”

“Reid, I didn’t know you brought your Chemex on cases.” You say as you slide into the seat next to Aaron, giving him his cup of coffee.

He’s helping Spencer get the geographical profile going. There are no actual bodies at the moment, the girls are just missing. So you guys really only have the abduction sites and victimology to go on.

“You know,” Reid says as he looks up from the map. “The Chemex Coffeemaker was invented in 1941. It’s intention was to-”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. All I know is that the last time we roomed together you woke me up with all that fumbling around.” Rossi complains.

Spencer at least has the decency to look sheepish. He squirms under Dave’s semi-annoyed gaze and turns back to the map. You chuckle at the thought. Only he would have enough coherence in the mornings to meticulously weigh out the ratio of coffee grounds to water.

As you reach out for the victim files you’re startled by Aaron pushing his coffee cup over to you. He takes your hand and squeezes it gently.

“You need it more than I do.” He tells you.

You sigh happily, dishwater or not caffeine is still caffeine. Buzz from the earlier cup starts to thrum pleasantly through your body. Although, you think it’s partly because of the fact that Aaron is being so sweet to you today.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks.

You simply nod and squeeze his hand again. He’s so endearing when he’s worried about you. His big brown puppy dog eyes and the slight wrinkle between his brows makes you want to coo and plant a nice solid kiss on his lips. But the last thing you need is more teasing from Morgan so instead you bring Hotch’s hand to your lips giving his fingers a gentle peck.

He doesn’t look convinced though, still looking at you with a slight frown on his face. As cute as Aaron is when he’s pouty, he has you a little worried. Normally even a quick grab of his hand would warrant a gentle reminder about professionalism. The last thing any of you need are the local police thinking you're a two-bit agent sleeping with your boss for your position. You must be in really bad shape for him to act like this.

“Hotch I’m fine, really. I think it’s just a bad combination of lack of sleep and the turbulence from the plane ride here.” You tell him gently. “I’ll get some sleep when we get to the hotel, promise.”

You give him a small smile and Aaron seems to relax at your words. You scoot closer to him, grabbing the case files that sit on the table. Reid shifts the map a little so you can get a better view. 

As you pour over the files to help with the geographical profile your feet find Aaron’s under the table. You nudge them gently to let him know that really you’re okay and not to worry about you. He nudges your back, as a reminder that he’s here if you need him. You smile setting in for a long day of profiling.

&

You know you promised Aaron that you would try to get some rest in the hotel but the hotel bed is so lumpy and you can’t seem to get comfortable. It’s not like Aaron’s sleeping either, his workaholic ass is still pouring over the case files.

You can tell he’s stressed, this case is weighing on him, you can see it in his eyes. But some of his stress is probably from the fact that he’s worried about you too. You feel so bad, he doesn’t need to worry about you, today was just an off day. He has enough to think about already with Jack and the case and everything else this job is pushing on him.

You yawn stretching languidly under the sheets. Hugging the blankets you turn to look at Hotch. He’s sitting at the desk in the corner of your guys hotel room still dressed in his normal work attire albeit a little disheveled. The crease between his brow is deeper than ever and you can tell that if he stares at those case files any longer he’s going to give himself a killer headache.

Luckily for him you know just how to stave off the impending headache. He could never resist your charms, especially this late at night.

“Aaron…” You croon, “Come to bed, baby. I’m so lonely, why dontcha come and keep me company?”

From his seat at the corner of the hotel room Aaron chuckles.

“Come on now, none of that.” He tells you. “You promised me that you would try and get some sleep.”

“I know, I know, but the bed is so lumpy and uncomfortable and I’m so cold. Why don’t you warm me up?” You purr.

You feel like a sultry young socialite waiting for her lover to come back to bed. The only thing that is missing are the silken sheets and the feather soft mattress.

Aaron sighs and rises from the desk chair. His suit jacket is already flung across the back of the desk chair and his tie is undone. He heads over to the bed with a large grin on his face. You smile back and make grabbing motions with your hands.

The bed dips as he climbs onto to lie next to you. Pulling you into a hug Aaron presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What am I going to do with you?” He murmurs into your hair.

“Love me.” You say cheekily.

He laughs again and you laugh along with him. Oh god, his laugh is warm and honeyed and it feels like home. You could listen to it for days on end.

Patting his chest gently you say, “Come on baby get changed, you need to get some sleep too.”

Aaron gives you a quick squeeze before climbing out of the bed to change into his pajamas. As he slips out of his shit you purr in appreciation and grin wolfishly at him. He returns your grin as he wiggles out of his work slacks. Once he is fully changed Hotch pounces on top of you wrapping you into his arms. He flips you so you are resting on top of him, your head lying on his chest.

You bite your lip and bat your eyelashes at him. “Oh, so you want me on top tonight huh?”

“Stop it,” Aaron says with a low rumble. “You promised me that you would get some sleep.”

“Technically we would be sleeping together.” You tell him running your hand over his arms.

“Oh, you’re bad.” Aaron tells you as he leans up to nip at your lower lip. “But, you promised me that you’d get some rest, we need you at your best for this case.”

You sigh and roll off of him snuggling back into the blankets. He leans down to tilt your chin up so he can kiss you on your lips. He then reaches over to turn the lights off. With a soft smile you curl into Hotch and he gathers you up into his arms pulling you closer, the both of you settling in for a long night in a lumpy bed.

&

Normally, the sound of the engine is too loud for you to consider sleeping on the jet, but you’ve been running on fumes for the last couple days so you probably could sleep on anything that wasn’t a lumpy hotel bed.

You’re leaning against Aaron, your face planted firmly onto his side. Everyone else is asleep or trying to sleep, your boyfriend is the only one still awake. Honestly that silly stupid man would work himself to death if you and Jack weren’t around.

“Come on Aaron the paperwork can wait,” you tell him, “Why don’t we get some sleep?”

“You can get some sleep, I need to finish my report first.” He says not looking up from his papers.

You sigh and curl into Hotch’s side. It’s a little uncomfortable since he’s still upright and you can feel the movement of his arm as he writes. You focus on his even breathing and strong scent. Slowly, they lull you to sleep and you drift off dreaming of good coffee and nice hotel beds.

When you wake it’s to the sound of laughter. Rubbing your eyes bleary you see Derek and Emily with their go-bags slung around their shoulders. As you look around you see the rest of the team making their way off of the jet.

You look up when you hear a soft thud. Hotch has dropped your go bag next to his on the table. When he sees that you’re awake he leans down to kiss you on the lips.

“Welcome to the land of the waking,” he says with a teasing smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask rubbing your eyes groggily.

“Well, you just looked so cute in my arms I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you up.” He tells you to reach out his hand so he can tug you up.

You sigh a little as you stretch, your back cracking nicely. Reaching out to grab your go-bag you find that Aaron is already holding it with his own bag hanging on his shoulders. You grab his free hand and as you walk off the plane together.

When you get home you thank Jessica for looking after Jack and go upstairs to give the sleeping boy a kiss on his forehead. Collapsing in your nice not-lumpy bed, and drift off into a peaceful sleep. Just before you fall asleep fully you feel Aaron slide into bed next to you cradling you gently.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Tags (lmk if you want to be added or removed): @winterscaptain @yes-sir-hotchner @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @crying-river @genevievedarcygranger @ange-must-die @ogmilkis @saintd0lce

@agenthotchner and @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal I tagged you guys too, thought you might like it :)

[mrvdocks]

Plus One

Summary: Steve gets some closure. You and Nancy get a big surprise.

A/N: well, well, well, here we are. One chapter away from the finale. I hope you guys enjoy it. :) 

Two weeks. You’d been gone for two weeks. 

At first, he thought you just needed some time to cool off, so he waited. And waited.

And waited.

When you didn’t return after the third day, that’s when he started to panic. He’d called Robin, only to be met with an earful of how you were too good for him and that he needed to make a reassessment of his life. He knew that. 

The days started to feel long and lonely. Mickey was there sure, but he was starting to miss your presence. Your loud and annoying laughter didn’t fill his ears when he would watch your favorite shows. He wished you’d come out of the room at times and yell at him for using your luxurious things. 

He’d broken the foot tub. He didn’t know how, but he’d broken it and he wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about fixing things as much as you were. 

Just when he was cleaning up his mess for the day, there was a knock on the door. He froze.

His heartbeat suddenly started to shake and rattle against his rib cage. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach. One where you know you’ve done something wrong and tried to put it off and now have to face it. 

He exhales slowly, dropping what he’s doing and preparing himself for the worst. Maybe you’d push past him or call him names or take Mickey. He thinks taking Mickey would be worse. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts and God knows he couldn’t charm anyone else to spend time with him lately. 

He opens the door in a swift motion, ready to say the usual “I’m sorry” but is met with someone he did not ever expect to see in the area.

Don Harrington. And company.

He’s in a grey suit jacket and jeans and sensible shoes, all things Steve hadn’t seen in a long time. Next to Don are two kids, the same kids that he hadn’t seen since he’d left Hawkins.

“Stranger! Stranger!” They yell in unison, pointing at Steve. 

“Guys! It’s okay, it’s just Steve, remember?” Don laughs charmingly, bringing his hands onto the boys’ shoulders and rubbing them to calm them down.

“Dad?” Steve asks, completely wide-eyed.

The kids push past Steve and begin their scream-a-thon again. Steve is too struck by his father standing in front of him to even care that they’re probably making a mess inside. 

“Hey son,” Don shoves his hands into his suit jacket. “Got a minute?”

Steve sighs. 

Steve reaches for the water basin to give his dad water and almost hides his opened bottle of alcohol but in a small thought, offers it to his dad. Don refuses it, saying he’s watching his figure. Steve scoffs to himself, just a few years earlier his dad would’ve loved a cup, or at least the whole thing.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Steve asks, pouring the water. 

Don’s fingers tapped against the wooden table in drum-like motions. “Can’t a father visit his son with his future step-brothers? I’m worried about you, kid, you haven’t responded to any of my calls.”

Steve stops pouring. “Let’s not do this, alright?”

Don’s brows furrow. “Do what?”

Steve shoves the basin to the side. “Don’t pretend like you want to be there for me now. You had all that time then, why now?”

Don shuts his eyes. 

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really, I am. Listen, I know I wasn’t the greatest -”

“You were a grade-A asshole who ruined our family.”

Don doesn’t fight with his son. He knows his sins. But that’s what he’s here for, atonement.

“Did I make some harsh decisions for you to toughen up? Yes. Did I make your mother and you lose trust in me? Yes, but I’m here now Steve. I didn’t leave. I could’ve but I didn’t.”

“So all of this,” he gestures to Don and the kids, “suddenly just makes up for all the bullshit you’ve given me? Do you know how many times I heard mom crying in the middle of the night? All those times she pretended like those business trips you took were actually for business? Hell, do you even remember what happened when I left?”

“Yes, I do.” Don nods, closing his eyes again in uneasy remembrance. 

It would be better if the past was just forgotten.

“I know you’re angry at me. You have every right to be, but I did say I wanted to bury the hatchet. Everything I did is in the past now, your mother and I - you know, we moved on. She found someone and I did too. I think it’s only fair that you do as well. And I see you have.” 

Steve tenses up a little at the latter half of Don’s sentence. He did, didn’t he?

“Yeah. Maybe not, Dad.” Steve avoids his father’s eyes and fiddles with things on the counter.

Don catches on. “Why?”

Exasperated, Steve stops what he’s doing. 

“What happened? You made this girl sound like she was your soulmate tenfold!” 

“Maybe soulmates don’t exist, Dad. Maybe not for me anyway.” Steve plops himself down in front of his dad, clutching the mug of water to sober himself up more.

Don frowns. “What happened?”

Steve hesitates. He’s never bared his feelings to his dad since he left. And even then, it was all just dry replies and sarcasm and bitterness. But maybe it’s the alcohol talking or the fact that his dad really does seem like he’s changed. 

“I screwed it up. I just let myself get in my head and I - I pushed her away.”

Don places a comforting hand atop his son’s own. Steve recoils at first but settles. His father had never been too affectionate, no, that was his mother’s job. It felt off.

But it also felt a little more comfortable, honest. Like there wasn’t a hint of being affectionate for the sake of hiding some grand affair. 

“Steve, you’d tell me the truth if I asked you right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you hate Mary?”

“What? No. No.”

“Then why are you so mad about us?”

“I’m not mad, Dad. I just - when you and mom split, it messed me up. I didn’t want to be like you guys. I just wanted to find the one and hang onto her forever. And now I’m completely alone, so. And you’re just moving onto your next family.”

“Steve, I’m sorry that your mother and I splitting up hurt you so much. I’d be nothing if I hadn’t met her and I also wouldn’t have you. But kiddo, as long as your mother and I are alive, you’ll never be alone. Including your girlfriend. It's not too late to fix things."

“Thanks for letting me crash here, Nancy. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You say, fixing up your couch bed. 

Nancy waves your concern away. 

“Don’t even worry about it, it’s nice having company. Plus it gets kind of lonely at night.” She says, setting the white timer on and setting it down on the counter. 

“You cooking something?”

“No….just trying to time something.” She says vaguely. You don’t read too much into it for now.

Nancy smiles warmly instead, passing you a thick fleece blanket from the other couch. Jonathan was off doing a piece on the Northern Lights somewhere in Alaska. When Nancy had first revealed to him that you were staying with her until things settled, he had a few choice words for Steve.

You felt odd, having turned Steve’s friends somewhat against him. Nancy reassured you that this was familiar territory. They knew how Steve was. This is how she had remembered him in Hawkins during that honeymoon period they were in. 

“Do you miss him?” Nancy asks, settling into the blanket with you and putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She was about to play the movie you two had debated on for a solid three minutes.

You shrugged as you fiddled with the chipped nail polish on your fingers. “I love him, Nance. But if I can’t convince him that nothing’s going on, then what’s the point?”

You sigh as you close your eyes and try to imagine when the last time you saw Steve happy was. You think the day in California was the best day of your life. He was like a little kid again, running around the boardwalk and trying to impress you with the “test your strength” games. The sunset perfectly illuminated him when you laid on the cooling sand, a single curl falling loose on his forehead from his quiffed hair.

“I don’t think you should let this deter you. Maybe Steve’s just scared. I mean why wouldn’t he? He’s had a fear of unfaithfulness forever. His parents, his friends, me and Jonathan. To him, there’s always been someone better.”

“I know.” You frown. “But, and excuse the cliche, when I’m with him - it’s like nobody else matters. If I was still with Danny the second I moved in with Steve and Robin, I think I would’ve been in trouble.”

Nancy’s brows perk up, intrigued. “How so?”

“I’ve been in love with Steve since the day I moved in. I promised myself I wouldn’t move on so fast after Danny but, I messed up that day.”

Nancy smiles at the sweet thought.

You shake your head in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t his type after all.”

“Oh please, you’re definitely his type. Smart, tough, independent AND you have the balls to call him out on his bull? You’re his dream girl!”

You blush at the compliment. “Thanks, Nance.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s riff on this romcom and throw popcorn when things get too cheesy.” 

The movie goes on for half an hour, the bottom of the tv set covered in popcorn bits and kernels. You and Nancy laugh hysterically and boo at the cheesy romantic scenes whenever they pop up. When the timer goes off Nancy glances over her shoulder and stands, giving you the half-empty bowl of popcorn.

“I’ll be back.” She says, going to the upstairs bathroom.

“Alright, but don’t take too long. I think Tom Hanks gets naked in the next scene.”

“I won’t.” She chuckles and disappears.  

You take a handful of popcorn in your hand and dump it in the hood of your sweater, bobbing for it in an attempt to stay distracted. 

Five minutes pass and Nancy hasn’t returned. You glance at the time on the tape player. It’s only so long that you can bear to stare at Tom Hanks’ eyes before he loses his charm. 

“Nancy?” You call out, hearing shifting from upstairs. No response though.

You count to three, getting up and letting pieces of popcorn fall to the ground. 

“Naaancy.” You step onto the stairs carefully, grabbing onto the wooden railing. 

Still no answer. You huff and resolve to go up the stairs.

“Nancy if this is your idea of a prank, just know it’s not great! I don’t get scared easily!” 

You make it all the way to the top and glance down both ends of the hallway. You see a light on at the end of the hallway on the left, the door left ajar just enough to see the shower. You approach with caution, hoping not to catch Nancy in an unflattering position. 

“Nancy?” You call again, now at the front of the bathroom door. You can hear sniffles like someone’s crying. Your brows furrow.

“Nancy?” You swing the bathroom door open slowly, meeting a crying Nancy on the floor next to the toilet. 

“Hey,” Your voice lowers an octave and becomes soft. “You okay?”

You kneel down to her level and put a hand on her back, rubbing in circles. 

She shakes her head, revealing a white stick in her hand. Your eyes widen when you realize what it is. 

“These aren’t real right? These are joke tests?”

Nancy looks up at you in teary puppy dog eyes. 

“I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know what to do. I was hoping it was a false alarm.”

Trying to make her feel better, you grab one of the untouched sticks and sit on the top of the toilet. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll pee on one too, and then we can see if it’s a false positive okay?”

“Okay.” She murmurs softly, chin now resting on her knees as she cowers against the shower door. 

“Have you and Jonathan talked about this kind of stuff?” You ask, shimmying your sweats down.

She shrugs and looks to the side. “It’s too early. He’s just so focused on his career and I just got this job….it’s in the plans...just - not right now.”

You cock your head to the side with a sympathetic look.

“Hey. It’s all going to work out fine alright? You don’t have to tell him yet. We can figure it out. I’ll help you.”

Nancy sniffles and dabs at her teary eyes. She nods.  

You both wait for the test results after a few minutes. You try to make her feel better with some small talk but you can tell the results weigh heavily on her mind. You grab the stick when enough time has passed, eager to make her feel better until you take a look at it.

“See? Nothing to be worried about.” You reassure her, waving the stick a few inches away from her face.

Nancy does a double-take. Her mouth formed an “O”. 

“What?” Your grin falls. “Two lines means not pregnant right?” 

She stands quickly, balancing herself on the edge of the sink. “Two lines is….pregnant.”

Your heart drops. 

“Please say you’re joking.”

“No, it says it right here, look.” She hands you the paper from the box and on it clear as day, two lines equal pregnant.

You drop the stick onto the sink and start to hyperventilate. Nancy abandons the paper and wraps an arm around you.

“Are you? Are you - pregnant too?”

“No! No, I can’t be. I - I haven’t had sex since like Halloween week!”

Nancy gives you a knowing look. Your face falls. 

“I’m too young to be pregnant!” You exclaim.

“What?” 

“Nothing, brain fart.” 

You rush out the bathroom door and downstairs to the kitchen where she keeps the home phone. You dial Robin’s number as fast as you can and tap your feet impatiently as you hear the line trilling.

“Come on, pick up.” You whisper.

Nancy rushes downstairs to stand in the doorway, clutching the manual and listening.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice alleviates some of your panic.

“Hold on I’m putting you on speaker.” You say, letting Nancy get a better listen.

“What? What’s going on? Did Steve apologize yet?”

You exhale shakily. “No, no he didn’t, I - um, I have something to tell you.”

You can hear Robin set down whatever she was holding as you capture her full attention. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“There’s no easy way to say this….but…I think, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?! Shut up!” Robin screeches. “Kali! Get in here!”

“What happened?” You hear Kali’s voice a split second later.

“Say what you just said again!” Robin commands.

“Kali, I think I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!?!” She gasps.

“I know!” You clap your hands over your face in shame and silently scream into them.

“Oh my god, what have you done? To like - the world?!” Robin cuts in. 

“Robin…” Kali scolds.

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh god, what do I do?” You question the speakerphone.

“That kid is going to come out with a full head of hair and try to flirt with the nurse the second it’s born.” Robin bursts into a fit of laughter. 

“Not funny, Robin!” You glare at the phone, trying to remain calm.

“Well, now you have to tell him!” Kali says.

“No, I don’t! You saw how well things went over a coffee machine, imagine a kid!” 

“You have to! What if this is what he needs to stop acting like a kid?” Robin tries to reason. “He was always good with kids in high school and part of the reason is that those were his only friends!”

You cringe, remembering those stories. 

“If losing his best friend wasn’t enough for him to stop acting like an idiot, what makes you think throwing a kid into the mix would?”

“I dunno. But Kali’s right. You have to tell him. Otherwise what happens when you start showing and the worst thing he can think is you’re getting fat?”

You scoff. 

“Maybe they’re right,” Nancy chimes in. “I mean, how long are you going to go without talking to him? You have to make up at some point.” 

You groan in frustration, raking your hands through your hair. 

“I really hate that I consider you guys my moral compass. I truly do.” 

Having responsible friends really was a pain sometimes. 

The phone line rings and blares red as another call was coming through. 

“That must be Jonathan.” Nancy guesses.

“Robin hold on, Jonathan might be on the line.” 

“Oh good, I want to know what he thinks of all this.”

Nancy puts Robin on hold and picks up the phone from the receiver. 

“Hello? Hold on, hold on, what’s going on?” 

You can hear whoever’s calling speaking fast. 

“No, she’s not here.” She lies.

You take a break from your panic attack to try and listen to the frantic voice on the other end. It’s all too fast for you to understand.

“You’re where? Slow down!” Nancy asks, glancing at you now and pointing to the phone. 

“It’s Steve.” She mouths.

You freeze. 

“Okay! Okay! I’ll let her know if I see her.” She hangs up and presses the button to get Robin back.

“What’s the sitch?” 

“He said something about a dog.” 

“Mickey?” Your voice grows concerned. 

“I guess? He just said that something was wrong and he went to take him to the animal hospital.”

Your stomach dropped to your ass. You rushed over to the front door and put on your shoes as fast as you could. 

“Did he say which one?” You ask, borrowing one of Jonathan’s coats. There was no way you were going out there in just sweats and a henley. 

“Ummm I don’t know, I think the one on West and 61st street.” 

“That’s where I work!” You exclaim. “You don’t have a car?”

Nancy shakes her head. “Jonathan’s the one who drives.”

“What about you Robin?” 

“No can do, me and Kali have a meeting but keep me posted! Good luck!”

“Screw it I’ll take a cab.” You say goodbye to Nancy and rush out the door and brave the cold. 

You whistle down a cab and hop in. “Murray’s Animal Hospital, please. And step on it!”

“Wait, (Y/N)? Is that you?” A familiar voice asks you.

The driver turns around, revealing himself to be…..speak of the devil, Danny. 

“Danny? Oh for fuck’s sake.” You sigh and rub at your temples.

“Hey!” He says in a lighthearted tone. “Long time no see.”

“Danny, I will literally pay you extra to shut up and drive like hell alright?” 

Danny does as he’s told and hauls ass. You grab a hold of the bar on top of your head for each swerve and crazed turn he does that earns him a honk of the horn from other cars and nearly sends you flying out of your seat.

Two messy car ride minutes later and you rush out of the taxi as soon as he parks outside the entrance to the animal hospital. 

“Hey!”

“Give me a minute!” You flip him off and ignore him as you try not to think of the worst-case scenario happening with Mickey.

You must look like a lunatic to the girl sitting at your desk with wild hair and an overall messy appearance. You try your best to fix yourself up.

“Where is he? Where’s Mickey?” You ask frantically.

“Who?” Your replacement sitting at your desk asks.

“A black dog! He came in with someone, big hair? Big head?”

She gets the gist and points to the right and down the hallway. You take deep breaths as you will yourself to put on a brave face. 

Steve’s sitting on a chair with his face in his hands. He looks up when he hears the patterning of your footsteps against the sheet vinyl flooring. He gets up quickly, nearly knocking the chair over.

“H-Hey.” He says nervously, hand on his arm. 

Come on, you can do this. You can do this.

“Hey.” You breathe. 

He’s taking you in from top to bottom. It’s the first time he’s seen you since Halloween night. 

“I missed you.”

“What happened?” 

You both say in unison.

Your mouth falls agape as you take in his confession. Fortunately, he pretends like your question took more priority. 

“I don’t know. One second my stepbrothers are playing with him, the next he’s choking on some toy they brought.”

“What was so important that you couldn’t keep an eye on him? I knew it. I knew I should’ve come back for him.” 

You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but the situation was starting to make you realize something. Say you did have this kid, would it even survive for a month? 

“My dad came to visit.” He stares down at the tips of his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. The same way he did last time you saw him. 

“Oh.” You let out. Well, this changes things.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to fix things.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugs. “Having that talk with him, it made me realize something.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “What is it?”

“Hey, you coming or not? The meter’s running.” Danny’s voice comes to interrupt a peaceful conversation.

“Danny.” Steve acknowledges.

“Hey,” Danny replies, eyeing him. “Stan, right?”

“It’s actually Steve.” He corrects.

Danny laughs it off. “Okay man.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you know this situation just took a turn. You grab a handful of bills from your pocket and shove them into his chest. 

“Fuck off.” You command.

Danny takes his wad of money and leaves. 

Things fall silent again as Steve clears his throat. 

“So….Danny huh?”

“Oh shut up, I needed a ride. I didn’t know he was the one driving the damn cab.” 

“Does he know about me?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I figure the whole sleeping with my sister thing cancels out if he sees me with someone else.”

Steve nods, confused. 

Beat.

“Can I...can I tell you something?” Steve asks, getting closer and closer to you. You feel butterflies when he does.

“Please don’t make a big speech.”

“It’s not a big speech. It’s a medium - medium speech.”

“Okay….”

“You were right. You were completely and totally right about me. I am an asshole. And you were right about these weddings. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I would get in my head about all these things that the perfect person should or shouldn’t be. And I’ve been thinking. A lot. Being alone in that apartment made me realize something.” 

“That you’re lonely and afraid of commitment?” 

He chuckles. “No. You’re not there to insult me or make fun of me when I come home from work. You’re not there to tell me how much of an idiot I look in the groomsmen photos or how my speech was shitty. You’re not even there with me and Mickey.”

He’s starting to tear up, his eyes get blurry and watery and he has to wipe discreetly at them. It was time to confront his demons and make it up to you. Being alone was just a taste of what would become of him if he didn’t swallow his pride.

“And I know the only reason you’re not there is because I hurt you. I hurt the one person who never deserved it. And I pushed you away because I’m stupid and I’m selfish and fuck me for being too late but I love you! I love you.”

You felt your lip quivering with each little detail he added about his epiphany. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the declaration of love.

“Y-You love me?” Your voice cracks.

“Of course.” He breathes out, hands reaching for yours to take reassuringly. 

“Steve...I really….I have to tell you something.”

“Please don’t say you and Danny are back together.” 

“No...no it’s not that,” you try to work up the courage to tell him. “I’m....I think - I’m pregnant.”

Steve steps back for a moment. He feels the shock settle in. He lets out a surprised gasp as he takes both his hands and folds them behind his head. 

“You’re what?”

[much-brighter-ink]

Secret Santa Queendom Exchange

Merry Christmas Eve! Enjoy your secret santa gift fic- since you said you were ok with anything, I went for a festive fic because I thought the queens experiencing modern christmas would be amusing (also my entire knowlege of Tudor Christmas tradition comes from a single Lucy Worsley documentary so apologies for any wrong details!)

*

‘Well that was a complete waste of time-’ Jane dropped her handbag and keys onto the kitchen table, scowling. ‘You would have thought I was asking for the moon from how he reacted!’

  Anna hummed sympathetically and got up to put the kettle on to make Jane a soothing post-shopping-trip cup of green tea. ‘No good?’

  ‘I said, I told him, that I completely understood that he might not actually HAVE one in stock, especially on Christmas Eve, but that we’d all agreed to check just in case and-’ Jane pulled out a chair with slightly more force than was necessary and Anna leant forward. 

  ‘What? What? He didn’t have one?’

  ‘He just laughed Anna!’ Jane’s annoyance softened into hurt. ‘He didn’t even answer, just laughed and then turned to the next person as if I was joking!’

  ‘Oh love-’

  ‘It was REALLy embarrassing AND then a lady stopped me before I could even LEAVE and asked why on earth I’d want to eat something like that…’

  Anna put a comforting hand on Jane’s shoulder and put a mug of tea in front of her. ‘Well you shouldn’t be too upset then- the very fact that she had to ask shows she’s obviously got no taste at all.’

  Jane chuckled weakly and took a sip of tea. ‘Thanks. It was just horrible- everyone looked at me like I was completely stupid.’

  ‘Well the others will be back soon, maybe they’ll have had more-’

  Anna’s words were cut off by the bang of the front door and the sound of a pair of shoes being angrily kicked off.

  ‘Kitty? Is that you?’

  ‘I’m back.’ Kitty trudged into the kitchen and leant into Anna’s side. ‘Don’t ask how it went.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it was absolutely useless.’ Sinking into a chair, Kitty stared pathetically at Jane’s tea until Anna laughed and passed her a cup of her own. ‘No one could help and I got stuck listening to an hour long lecture about animal cruelty and The Law from some interferring old busybody that was passing!’ Kitty sighed heatedly. ‘Since when was it illegal to try and have some fun at Christmas?’

  ‘Weren’t you listening Kitty? If your lecture was anything like mine, it’s-’ Jane assumed a mincing tone. ‘-cruel the poor endangered boars. Or bears, in your case.’

Anna rolled her eyes. ‘God. Wiping them out globally is all fine and dandy then in the name of progress but kill one bear in a good old fashioned family bear-baiting to bring the community together and provide everyone with a bit of holiday cheer and you’re a monster…’

  ‘This century is so joyless.’

  Jane nodded. ‘You’re telling me.’

  Kitty turned anguished eyes upon her. ‘Don’t tell me you had no luck either!’

  ‘Sorry-’

  ‘Argh!’ Kitty let out a frustrated wail and let her head flop down onto her folded arms. ‘No bear baiting AND no boar’s head? It might as well not even BE Christmas…’

  The others murmured disconsolate agreement just as Catalina burst through the backdoor wildly.

  ‘That had better be some ill-judged Protestant humour-’

  Anna shook her head. ‘Sorry Catty.’

  ‘A tomar por culo! This is going to be the worst Christmas ever!’

  Jane looked at her oddly. ‘Didn’t you die at Christmas?’

  Catalina fixed a cold stare upon her former lady in waiting. ‘But at least I got to have one last Christmas dinner to keep my spirits up Jane!’

  ‘Fair point…’ 

  ‘Thank you Kitty.’

  The silence fell on the kitchen, and then Anna suddenly looked up.

  ‘Where are Anne and Cathy? Shouldn’t they be back by now?’

  Catalina looked up. ‘Didn’t they go with Kitty?’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘I thought they’d gone with you-’

  ‘No-’

  ‘They probably just-’

  ‘I bet they-’

  Their speculation was interrupted by the insistent buzzing of Catalina’s phone, accompanied by a rather tinny but still recognisable refrain-

  ‘Oh my god you have Anne’s song as your ringtone!’ Despite her earlier misery, Kitty now looked positively gleeful. ‘I can’t believe it, I KNEW you liked it really-’

  ‘It’s CATCHY-’ Catalina mumbled, as she half turned in her chair to hide her blush. Jane patted her arm sympathetically.

  ‘Catalina Trastamara de Aragon-’

  ‘Why does she always answer her phone like that?’

  ‘Leave her alone, as if Good Morrow, Bitches is any better-’

  ‘Madrina?’

  At her goddaughters voice, Catalina flapped an arm at the others. ‘Shut up! It’s Cathy! -Are you alright querida?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Cathy sounded rather hesitant. ‘Just- promise not to panic, ok?’

  ‘Cathy?’

  ‘Promise!’

  ‘Ok-’

  ‘…..We’re at the police station!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘How!?’

  There was a scuffle and Anne’s voice came on the line. ‘Hi! Look, before you get cross, absolutely NOT our fault ok?’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We had no idea it’d go like this-’

  ‘What did you DO?’

  ‘It’s was Cathy’s idea!’

  ‘Anne!’

  ‘We just thought it’d be fun!’ Cathy wailed from the background. ‘We never got to do it back then but it always sounded so exciting-’

  ‘And Jane SAID we needed to make more of an effort with the neighbours!’

  ‘What did you DO?’

  ‘Well….and let me just remind you again that it was CATHY’S idea, seeing as it IS Christmas Eve…’

  ‘Anne-’

  ‘Turns out people get REALLY weird when you cover your face and burst into their house in disguise-’

  **

To the queen’s disgust, it turned out that the jolly Tudor practise of Mumming was, in the 21st century, considered to be highly suspicious and also in contravenence of the law. 

  A quick and grovelling conversation with the neighbour who had called the police (plus a promise of free yard work and snow shovelling for the foreseeable future) saw the two errant queens released and sent home with the stern warning not to try anything like that again.

  **

  Jane entered the living room where the five rather dejected queens sat in gloomy silence in the living room. ‘So they’ve agreed they won’t press charges and I THINK they’re going to keep quiet about it so that’s sorted at least.’

  ‘Thanks Jane-’ Cathy made room for the third queen on the sofa and Jane joined her.

  ‘What are we watching?’

  ‘Anna suggested we try a modern Christmas film to try and get into the spirit-’

  ‘Oh?’

  Kitty made a face. ‘It’s about a demon who goes around sneaking into the houses of children before Christmas day…’

  ‘Oh. Weird.’

  ‘Yeah not very cheering…’

  ‘Speaking of which, where IS Anna?’

  ‘Oh she said she had a surprise to cheer us all up-’

  Cathy hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘Honestly, I can’t think of ANYTHING that will make today ANY-’

  She was interrupted by Anna- Anna von Kleve, dressed in an oversized red hoody with Trust No Bitch emblazoned on it in gold sequins and bearing what looked to be Jane’s best Le Creuset mixing bowl, filled to the brim with-

  ‘Is that….what IS that?’

  ‘Mmmm….vodka….and the gin that was left over…and about a half cup of cooking sherry….’ Anna looked up defensively. ‘What? I know the wassail cup is MEANT to be cider but we didn’t have enough to fill the bowl!’

  ‘I suppose that’s fair enough-’ 

  Catalina reached for the bowl and took a swig. ‘At least that’s one tradition they can’t take away from us. Even if we’re the only ones to do it anymore…’

  ‘They can take our boar and our bear and our mummers but they’ll pry our wassail cup out of our cold dead hands!’

  ‘Yep’ Anne nodded decisely. ‘It can still be a BIT like Christmas IF we can all drink alcohol out of a massive bowl….’

  The other queens nodded, looking slightly cheered.

  *

  Needless to say, the Boxing Day performance had to be cancelled.

-----------------

Ahhhh @cynicalrainbows thank you so, so much!!! This made my day, I love your writing so much - have a wonderful Christmas Eve! @queendomsecretsanta

[fletchphoenix]

Are We Forgetting Something?

Just finished editing Chapter 17 of Coffee Tastes Better When I Drink It With You!!! Please bear in mind this was written before Christmas but I wrote loads and had to cut it down and edit it a lot. I hope you enjoy the double update!! <3

------------------------

Hugo grumbled as he woke up, Ruddiger jumping onto his chest and taking his place there as though he were a king taking his place on a throne. He purred for a second, his rough tongue licking Hugo’s face and jolting the man to fully being awake rather than his dazed state. “Alright, alright you dumb cat.” He muttered as he sat up, feeling around on his bedside table as he searched for his glasses and put them on. As the world became clearer, he glanced down to his left, taking a moment to glance down at his fiance with a smile playing on his lips. He looked beautiful. Really, really beautiful. 

Hair was sprawled out on the pillow around him like a halo as he snored, his mouth open as he slept. It was a bad habit, really, and he’d noticed his fiance never grew out of it. It was cute as hell though, the other always pulling a face when he woke up at how dry his mouth was. Hugo let out a little chuckle at the thought of it. His fiance really was the biggest dork ever, huh? Still, he admired the man before him as he slept, taking in the little freckles and marks over his face, Hugo reaching over to gently brush a strand of hair away from Varian’s face and being careful not to wake the man up, and, as if he was wired to ruin the moment, Ruddiger took a scratch at Hugo’s forearm. “Ow you fat bastard! Fine, I’ll go get you some food, but you fuckin’ owe me for this.” He grumbled as he rose to his feet, the glint of Varian’s engagement ring not going unnoticed as he made his way out of the room. He couldn’t help the little smile that took over his features as he was reminded of last night. 

As he walked through the tiny apartment, he couldn’t help the feeling he was forgetting something, his hands instinctively moving to lift the cat bowl from the floor and placing it on the counter. He took a look at the clock. 10:27am. Why did he feel like he was forgetting something? Sinking back into the routine, he took out a sachet and emptied the contents into the metallic bowl, Ruddiger deciding to just jump on the counter and eat it right then and there. “You really are a fat bitch, huh.” He muttered under his breath, and he could swear the cat hissed at him in response as he took their mugs from the cupboard and began to boil some water to make a coffee. He really couldn’t shake the feeling he’d forgotten something...was it Donella’s birthday? No, that was in February...Eugene’s? No...the arrogant bastard would have reminded them at least a billion times if that was the case. 

Arms wrapped around his waist, almost scaring the shit out of him as his muscles stiffened and a loud chuckle sounded from behind him as Varian pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “Hey baby…” He whispered, and Hugo could tell that the bastard was grinning smugly as he continued to press kisses against the skin. “Sleep well, my handsome fiance..?” 

“Yes, very, until your bitch of a cat decided to wake me up because he decided his insatiable appetite needed to be at least slightly satisfied in order for him to be happy.” Hugo complained, though his boyfriend simply let out a soft laugh. “Don’t laugh! Our son is literally the worst and he knows what he’s doing because he never wakes you up! Only me!”

“Maybe if you stopped calling him fat, he would hate you a bit less.” Varian whispered, Hugo turning to retaliate before a kiss was placed to his lips and, miraculously, he forgot what he was talking about. They settled into a nice, slow kiss, Varian gently pushing his fiance against the counter as the blond’s hand moved to entangle themselves in raven locks. They would’ve gone further too, if it weren’t for the sudden buzzing and ringing emitting from Varian’s phone in their bedroom. Slowly, the younger one broke the kiss. “Who the fuck is even calling me..” He groaned as he left his boyfriend standing in the kitchen, a childish groan leaving his lips. “Oh fuck. Hugo, remember the day?”

“No actually-” The blond paused. He checked the clock again. 10:34am. He left the kitchen, the fat cat finishing off his food as he stepped into the living room. The Christmas tree was still up. He’d proposed last night as an early Christmas present for Varian, and he’d said yes. That meant yesterday was Christmas Eve and today was…”Shit. Varian, we’re late. We’re late!” he yelled out, rushing into the bedroom to get changed, his boyfriend having already remembered the occasion. Quickly, he scrambled to get dressed, almost tripping over as he pulled on some black slacks and a green dress shirt, buttoning it up and hastily fixing his hair. “Oh fuck, Rapunzel is gonna kill us for being late! Shit!” 

“Don’t you think I already know that!” Varian yelled in response, his choice of outfit being jeans, a white dress shirt and a cyan sweater over the top. Joining Hugo at the dresser, they both desperately tried to fix their hair before rushing to the hall and pulling their shoes on. He had to be honest though, his boyfriend still looked damn good, even when he was rushing to look his best. He was a sight to behold - a sight that made Hugo’s knees feel very very weak and caused him not to think straight. His outfit looked good too, especially when he pulled on his coat and wrapped Hugo’s old scarf around his neck to prepare himself for the bitter weather outside. “You ready to go and get murdered by Rapunzel?”

Hugo took his boyfriend’s hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his palm, a smile on his face as he saw the other’s face flush red. No matter how much affection he showered the other with, he could never seem to get used to it. It was absolutely adorable in his opinion, the man never ceased to warm his heart. He loved that about him. The same flush always came to his cheeks at the slightest gestures. “Ready as I’ll ever be, darling.” He responded, unlocking the door and heading out into the hallway. 

Walking down the stairs hand in hand was always awkward, the stairs too narrow to let more than one person walk. It honestly seemed like a fire hazard in Hugo’s opinion, but the whole building was essentially a living deathtrap so he wasn’t really surprised. But it was still home. Well, not technically. Hugo’s head raised to look at Varian, who jumped the last two stairs instead of walking down them and a wide smile grew on his face, the joy on his face infectious. Home was wherever he was with Varian. His eyes drifted down to the other’s ring and his smile grew wider, if that was even possible at this point with how happy he already was. 

“I wanna take the motorbike. We’re already too late and walking will slow us down.” Varian rambled as he intertwined his fingers with Hugo’s, the pair already heading over to the aforementioned vehicle. As soon as the green metal came into sight, Varian perked up with a smile and shuffled even closer to his boyfriend. Hugo swung his leg over, his boyfriend following suit and wrapping his arms around his waist before proceeding to drive through the city roads en route to Rapunzel and Eugene’s cottage.

Varian’s head rested against Hugo’s back, the smile on the blond’s face never disappearing as he felt the warmth of the man behind him and the gentle sigh of wonder as he watched the busy city turn into serene countryside. He’d never felt more loved than in that moment, the other man absolutely full of wonder as he looked out at the changing landscapes that he knew all too well. Quietly, Hugo pulled into the driveway of the cottage and took the key out of the ignition, swinging his leg off the bike and helping steady his fiance as he did the same. “Damn baby, you fell right into my arms. You alright?” He chuckled softly, earning a gentle shove as he simply burst out into laughter. Hand in hand, the pair opened the gate and made their way up to the door.

Cassandra opened the door, Irene standing beside her, and both with disappointed expressions on their faces. Cass had...definitely changed, her once bobbed hair now in an undercut with shaved sides. Not to say it didn’t suit her - it definitely did. She looked great. Irene looked different too, her once long hair cut into a bob. “You two are late. Y’know she’s gonna kill you right?” The raven haired woman stated before losing the facade and pulling the boys into a hug. “C’mere you gay nerds, I’ve missed you two so so much…” 

“We’ve missed you too, Cassie.” Varian replied, smiling up at the woman before letting Irene pull them into an embrace as well. Hugo had never really gotten used to that - all the cuddling and hugging...Donella never was one for that kind of thing. She always tended to keep her distance from Hugo and his emotions, other than the time that Ulla had shown up and everything had gone to shit…but he preferred not to think about that. Not when it was Varian’s favourite time of the year (though Hugo much preferred Halloween, like an excuse to scare the crap out of little kids all while dressing up in a cheap costume? It was like heaven!). 

A gasp from down the hall broke him from his thoughts, Rapunzel standing there with her arms folded and a frown on her face. Hugo wasn’t even sure whether he’d seen her frown before - it felt terrifying. “So you wanna explain why you were late?” She raised her eyebrow, the boys stuttering excuses before the woman practically jumped into their arms. They stumbled back into the wall as the woman broke their ribs in the biggest, tightest hug they’d ever been in, before pulling away and gasping to grab their hands and stared and their fingers. “Oh my god! When did this happen? Who asked first? You have to tell me everything!” She giggled as she pulled them along and sat them down, Lance and the girls waving to them as Eugene sat on the floor.

“Oh um, well…last night, I was waiting for Hugo to come home from work to propose, and he decided to propose when I was planning to. Hugo asked first and...I said yes if he would say yes too so...yeah!” Varian laughed, explaining last night as if it wasn’t like some weird cliche moment from a movie or a book. Hugo wrapped his arm around the other’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jawline with a soft smile and listening as Rapunzel rambled on about something or the other. He didn’t really listen though, he simply kept holding his boyfriend close to him and playing with his hair happily. 

“Rapunzel, did you tell them the news?” Eugene asked from his place on the floor, a wide grin on his face as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, pressing a kiss to the junction between her neck and her collarbone. When he was younger, Hugo would’ve gagged at the gesture, but now...well, he knew he was just as sappy as the man in front of him. He was rather happy, really, that he and Eugene managed to eventually get along, especially after their little talk last Christmas. He’d never admit it but he kinda liked the guy.

“Oh, yeah! I’m pregnant!” she smiled widely, Varian gasping and immediately rising to his feet (much to Hugo’s dismay) and swarming her with questions. Hugo simply nodded in congratulations towards Eugene, the man giving him a smile and nodding back in return as he moved away from his wife and headed towards the kitchen. Yep, he definitely liked Eugene. 

The pair must’ve rambled for hours about names and genders, until Rapunzel finally put the conversation to a close. “Anyway, it’s time for food!” she laughed cheerfully as she rose to her feet and walked towards the kitchen, everyone following in her footsteps and taking their seats at the table. Hugo’s, thankfully, was next to Varian and Irene, the woman paying more attention to her fiancee and the other people at the dinner table than Hugo. He’d always found Christmas awkward, having never been able to celebrate it when he was living with Donella. They’d always found it difficult to get money, so when they had it, they wouldn’t spend it on something like Christmas, so as soon as he came here with Varian, who adored Christmas and spent it with his family...it was a very sharp 180 to what he was used to. He didn’t know how to react, so he simply held his fiance’s hand under the table as he ate and listened to the conversations taking place.

After dinner had finished, Varian and Hugo took their seat on the couch, their arms around each other as people slowly started to leave. They could stay for longer - there was no rush and they felt terrible about arriving late, so it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little while. Hugo’s fingers threaded through Varian’s hair as he pressed a kiss to the man’s temple and stared out the window. Snow was now falling quite heavy - it would probably make the roads dangerous. He’d loved snow but...he knew Varian couldn’t leave, the man’s breathing already quickening as Hugo shuffled to shield his vision.

“You two can stay here tonight, boys. The roads aren’t safe.” Rapunzel replied as she moved towards the window with a frown, watching the little, white flakes hit the dirt roads and stick to it. “You can have the spare room, but please, don’t try and drive, okay?” She smiled sadly at Hugo, the blond nodding in agreement. There was no way in hell he was driving anywhere in a snowstorm when his boyfriend was here, not after what he’d told him on the night they’d confessed their feelings to each other. And, as he locked eyes with Rapunzel, he could see all the guilt in her eyes from the past few years. He felt bad for her, really. Her and Varian were quite similar in that sense - both of them had never really forgiven themselves for how they’d acted back then. 

“We’ll head upstairs.” Hugo stated, rising to his feet and gently pulling his boyfriend along with him towards the staircase. They ascended the creaking stairs before Varian took the lead. Hugo had never really been upstairs in the cottage before, hell, he didn’t even know it had an upstairs until he found the staircase. His fiance pushed open an oak door, showing a small guest room, decorated in typical Rapunzel style decor, with paintings on the wall of different flowers, birds and stars, and bookshelves full of books pressed against the wall. In the middle of the room was a double bed, Varian immediately pulling Hugo towards it after he shut the door and virtually pulled the man down to lie beside him. “How’re you holding up, goggles?” 

“Not very well. I just wanna cuddle and sleep.” Varian muttered as he buried his head into his chest, Hugo being able to feel the tears soaking through. A gentle sigh left his mouth as he played with his fiance’s hair and pressed kisses against this forehead, singing a little melody to him in an attempt to soothe the man. Slowly, he felt the tears stop pooling on his chest as Varian muttered against his shirt. “I love you, Hugh. I don’t tell you enough...I love you so so much..” he choked out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I keep acting this way-”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. It’s okay.” He whispered. “It's okay to cry and be upset - I get it. It’ll all be alright. I’m here and nothing can hurt you.” Hugo reassured the man in his arms and, eventually, the body beside him lost its tension as he fell asleep, gentle snores soon following and Hugo moved back to see the man’s mouth wide open, a sad little chuckle leaving his lips as he looked down at the sight. Quietly, he brought him closer, resting his chin on top of the man’s head as he stared at the wall. 

He really wished he could take all of his boyfriend’s pain away and kiss away all of his tears, though he knew he couldn’t. It hurt him to see him hurting - to hear his boyfriend in so much pain...he let out yet another sigh as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his waist even tighter than before. “I love you so much, Varian.” He whispered into the air, closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep.

[iloveyou3thousand]

Witch Peter x Werewolf Tony. Every witch has a familiar

This is sad. I made it sad. I’m sad :’)

CW: mentions of character death, mentions of past pepperony, angst with a hopeful ending

—————————————————————————————

Tony had promised himself again and again, night after night, that this would be his last drink. That he’d stop after that, leave the booze the hell alone, but every time he picked up the glass and put it to his lips he knew that he wasn’t going to.

It was the only constant in his life these days. Food was scarce and that had worn him down to the slim, almost sickly figure he currently was, and he didn’t see any reason to spend what little money he had on food instead of another couple of glasses of something that would help him forget.

He would give anything to forget.

Ever since Pepper passed away, things had been going downhill, and they’d been going downhill fast. He had never managed along very well, and being without his witch took the cake. He’d lost weight, gained a nasty drinking habit, and had never been more nihilistic. But how could he be anything else if he knew that he was going to die shortly if he didn’t find another witch anyway?

He was never going to survive for very long, but Pepper had swept in and taken him under her wings, she had been kind and nurturing and had helped him up when he’d been at his lowest.

Although maybe he had never been lower than he was at that moment.

When Tony’s hands shook and he could barely sit straight, he slid off the barstool and decided to spend what could very well have been his last night on earth taking in the streets he’d once loved so dearly. Maybe he could find his way back to where he’d first met his witch. That seemed like a good place to rest his head.

He started making his way down the street, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. He thought he could feel someone’s eyes on him as he crossed to take a shortcut through some side streets, but he shook the feeling. People probably thought he was up to something. He didn’t blame them.

He continued down the street, ducked into an alley, crossed it, and ducked into another one. The fewer people saw him the better. That way he could get to his destination unnoticed and unbothered.

But it seemed that wasn’t in the stars for him.

Although his senses had weakened since he’d lost Pepper, he still picked up on footsteps behind himself. He knew that if someone jumped him now, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself – he didn’t stand a chance. He forced himself to go a little faster, until the voice of a young man reached him, uncertain and curious.

“Sir? Um, Mister?”

Could be a trap, Tony thought. He’d heard of people using kids to lure others in now, for human trafficking but also for the collection of familiars. Tony did not want to end up forcefully bonded to some witch he didn’t know, in a country he’d never been to, among people he’d never seen before. No thank you.

And yet Tony stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to face the young man standing a couple feet away. There was a safe distance between them, and there was a bright light overhead illuminating the narrow alley, yet Tony couldn’t help but feel cornered.

The person standing at the mouth of the alleyway was young, but he didn’t look as young as he sounded. Tony assumed those were nerves bringing the boy’s voice up an octave or two. Huh.

Tony looked at him cautiously and expectantly.

“Hi,” the boy said, and he fumbled a little with his hands, “Sorry to bother you. It’s just—I saw you cross the street back there, and I couldn’t help but notice your shadow.”

Tony looked at the shadow cast just behind himself. Although it looked like a normal, human silhouette to him, he knew that to witches it looked different.

“You’re a familiar, aren’t you?” The boy continued, “A… A wolf, if I’m not mistaken.”

“What’s it to you?” Tony snarled. He didn’t have time for this. Nor the patience. At least the kid had the audacity to look sheepish before he spoke again.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you look like maybe you could use some…help?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, but before he could even think of a good way to reply to that, the witch opened his mouth again, and a flood of words came out, leaving Tony stunned for a second.

“I’m really not trying to be mean. I promise. It’s just that I was raised right, you know? And so when I see someone in need and there is something I can do about it, then I can’t just walk away without doing what I can. And when I saw your shadow, and I saw how weak it really was, I knew that like… You’ve probably lost your witch, pretty long ago by the looks of it, and I don’t have a familiar myself so I thought I could approach you to offer you a place to stay for the night—not that you have to accept. And not that you can’t fend for yourself, or that you need to accept me as your new witch or anything, I mean we barely know each other and I’m just kind of springing this onto you, but—”

The boy took a deep breath, and bit on his lower lip.

“So what I mean to say, is, um. If you’d like, you could…come with me. Just for the night. I know even just staying with a witch alone will help you feel better. You have a very vibrant aura, and I just… I just don’t want someone like you to waste away.”

Tony was perplexed.

He’d been wandering the streets by himself for close to a month now, trying to get by after he’d lost everything. He had the worst time trying to find a new witch and had eventually given up because no one wanted a familiar like him. No one wanted an old, greying wolf. And now there was this kid, approaching him in the middle of the night, offering to give him a place to stay alongside a witch so that he could regain some of his strength.

Something in the back of his mind told him that this could still be a trap. It very well could be, and he was walking right into it, because there was something about the boy that made Tony want to believe him and go with him.

He realized that silence had fallen between them when the other spoke up yet again. He really was trying, huh?

“My aunt is a nurse so I know of some pretty good potions. I know of one that can help avoid a hangover? I’d suggest one that sobers you up but something tells me that that’s not something you want.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but once again, he didn’t get the chance. Was he getting slower with every passing minute or was the kid just that fast?

“Oh, I’m Peter by the way. What’s your name?”

“Tony,” Tony finally managed, shaking his head slowly in disbelief, “Why should I trust you?”

Peter looked a little taken aback for a moment, then almost hurt, before he put a sheepish smile on his face. “I mean, you don’t really have any reason to, I know. I thought I might offer. You don’t have to say yes. I just saw you, and—you looked so lost.”

Tony huffed. Lost. Yeah, that was one word for it.

He had to make a decision. Either he went with this kid – Peter – now, or he walked toward certain death in the place he’d first met Pepper. And while he had already kind of resigned himself to that fate, he realized by just considering his options now, that he didn’t actually want to die just yet.

So he took a hesitant step forward, and watched how Peter’s face lit up. The young man gestured with his hand, and a portal into a cozy-looking living room opened up.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter said softly before Tony ducked through, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

.

The living room was warm and it smelled like someone had been burning scented candles. There was a comfortable couch that looked beyond inviting to Tony, a soft rug, small coffee table, and a television on an old, wooden television stand next to a bookcase filled to the very brim with books on all types of subjects. The room wasn’t big by any means, but it was comfortable. Tony wondered if Peter lived there alone.

Speaking of Peter, the kid appeared by his side again after he’d rummaged around the kitchen, and he was given a mug with something warm in it, steam rising up from the surface. It didn’t smell like anything he’d had before.

“Drink up,” Peter encouraged. He went to sit on the couch and patted the space next to him so that Tony could sit down, too, which he did.

He sipped at the mug and found the taste strange but not repulsive.

“It’s a homemade blend. I was really drunk like, once, and it helped really well. Oh—do you want something to eat? You must be starving.” Peter hopped up from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen again, only to return with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and a few bread rolls, some of which had slices of ham in between them. He set it all down in front of Tony, who had just about finished off the potion.

“Do you always invite strange familiars into your house to give them chicken soup?” Tony asked when he looked up from the food. He was hungry though, starving, so it didn’t take long for him to tuck in at all.

“Um, well no. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

Tony couldn’t help but huff a small chuckle at the way Peter said it. As if this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a while. Maybe it was.

He finished the soup and the bread rolls and was happy to say that he hadn’t felt this satisfied in a long time. With a full stomach, his other aches and pains were much easier to manage, as it didn’t all come crashing down on him so heavily all at once.

But it also made the truth hit hard.

He wasn’t aware of the tears in his eyes until Peter’s hand landed softly into his hair and his fingertips scratched ever so gently at his skull. Tony’s face felt hot with embarrassment, but he couldn’t stop the tears. Peter – bless his heart – saw what was happening, and recognized it for what it was, and pulled Tony closer until Tony gave up and wrapped his arms around the young man while his face buried into Peter’s shirt.

No one had held him since he’d lost his witch. He didn’t think anyone had bothered, or cared. But now there was this boy who didn’t know him but who held him like he understood exactly what was going on. Tony briefly wondered if maybe Peter had lost his familiar. Witches usually met their first familiar early on in their childhood, but Tony couldn’t smell one on Peter. Maybe he was alone, too.

Peter held Tony until the man calmed down, stroking his hair and petting a hand up and down his spine.

“Do you want to shift?” Peter asked when he calmed down a little.

Tony nodded, but then backtracked a little. “I don’t think I can,” he breathed out. Peter just held him a little bit tighter.

“Of course you can. Just relax. I’m right here.”

And so Tony shifted.

Not with ease by any means. It had been so long since he’d last done so, since he’d last felt comfortable enough to. With Pepper, it had always been so easy. But now that he no longer had her, it felt impossible.

But Peter held him through it all, as promised, soothed him with softly whispered words of encouragement and gentle touches to the places that ached most as his body changed to fit his alternate form.

Tony was exhausted by the time his head sank into Peter’s lap. All the energy he had left drained from him, and yet at the same time he felt strangely invigorated. He had shifted! It was scary being so vulnerable around someone he’d just met, but Peter had given him no reason to distrust him so far. Even now, he held Tony, and stroked both hands through his fur, and he was beaming when Tony looked up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” Peter said, and Tony could have sworn that his cheeks looked a little pink, “Sorry if that’s a weird thing to say. Um. Time for bed?”

And so it was.

Peter cleaned up and said his goodnight after he’d found some extra pillows and a nice blanket for Tony to curl up among on the couch, and then he disappeared into his bedroom.

The couch could have, and should have, been nice enough for Tony to sleep on, but he was restless. Exhaustion kicked in again after a short while, and it wasn’t the type that helped him fall asleep any better. He itched to go and find his way back to Peter again, which came naturally to Tony, but it was also surprising to feel that way so quickly.

He’d barely known Peter for more than two hours and now he was aching to be next to him again already.

Tony stayed on the couch for a little while longer to see if that feeling would go away naturally and allow him to sleep, but it kept him awake. Frustrated, he hopped off the couch, and followed the trail of Peter’s scent toward a closed door. Tony could have easily opened it, just reached a paw up to the door handle and push it down to let himself in – but that kind of felt…invasive.

So he scratched lightly at the door instead. If Peter was awake, he’d hear it and he would let him in. And if Peter was asleep already, then he’d just have to go back to his own nest and simply rest. Or wait until the exhaustion got the best of him.

Tony scratched for a few moments, but he didn’t pick up on any sounds on the other door, any movement. Peter must have already been asleep.

With a huff, he dropped to the floor, and rested his heavy head on crossed paws, nose tucked against the door. He felt like a defeated pup. Jesus, when was the last time he’d acted like that?

Tony had just closed his eyes, when the door opened a crack, and Peter’s head poked out. When the boy’s eyes landed on Tony, he blinked at him.

“Hey, Tony,” he said slowly, and opened the door further so he could crouch down in front of the wolf, “What’s the matter? Was that you scratching the door? Why aren’t you in bed?”

As an answer, Tony lifted his head and crowded into Peter’s space until Peter’s hands fell into his fur again, a soft whine in the back of his throat. God, that alone already felt miles better.

It was quiet for a long few moments while Peter gently pet him again, Tony’s head in his lap and his tail wagging slowly.

“If you want… You could sleep with me?” Peter suggested, almost loud in the quiet of the night. Tony didn’t need to be told twice. When Peter stood and stepped aside to allow him into the room, Tony took the invitation and sniffed around for a bit before eventually making his way toward what smelled like the epicenter of Peter’s scent – his bed.

Peter crawled back under the covers, and when he patted the space next to him, Tony lay his head there, sitting down next to the bed. Peter ruffled the fur between his ears.

“Not like that, silly. Come on. Hop up. I know my bed’s not big, but… I’m sure we can fit. If you don’t mind snuggling. I don’t know if that’s weird.”

Tony would have told Peter that he was the king of weird, if he’d been able to speak. Instead, he jumped up onto the space Peter had made for him, and tried to lay his large body down in a way that didn’t have Peter pressed up against the wall all the way. It was tricky, and didn’t exactly work until Peter curled himself around the wolf and snuggled up like he’d promised, but the result could have had Tony rumbling with satisfaction.

He hadn’t felt this content in weeks.

Granted, this didn’t solve everything, but the mere fact that a near-stranger could make him feel like maybe things were starting to look up a little bit, made him hopeful for the future.

With Peter’s arms around him and his face tucked into his neck and his hands in his fur, Tony fell asleep with surprising ease, and he slept all through the night and well into the morning. Thanks to the potion Peter had given him, he woke up without a hangover, to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

God, when was the last time he’d woken up like that?

Tony stretched leisurely in the empty bed, and was slow to push himself up on all fours and hop off the bed. He was hungry, he noticed. Hungry at last. He finally had his appetite back.

And as he made his way into the hallway and toward the sound of friendly voices in the kitchen, Tony realized that things were changing.

Peter had never made the promise that he could stay more than just one night, and Tony had never insinuated that it was something he wanted or even just wanted to consider, but the fact of that matter was that he was feeling good, all things considered. He wanted to hold on to that feeling for a little while longer, and if Peter was the person who brought that out in him…

Maybe he could find a way to stay. Maybe he could put the effort in and make this work. Peter was likeable, and he’d been so very good to him up until now. Tony would be lucky if the young man decided that he wanted Tony to stick around.

So he would try. For the both of them.

After all, he was pretty sure it was what Pepper would have wanted.

[lu-undy]

Chapter 82 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy went to the kitchen and found his lover in a dressing gown, standing in front of the stove. The gentle smell of the omelette he was dealing with floated in the air.

“Mundy…?”

“Mmh…” The Aussie wrapped his arms around Lucien’s silhouette from behind and nuzzled in his hair and his neck.

“Bonjour, mon amour.”

[Good morning, my love.]

“Mornin’, love.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, but I woke up and you weren’t there.” Mundy answered, complaining but still peppering kisses on Lucien’s neck, who chuckled under the gentle tickle.

"My apologies, mon loup. I woke up a long time ago and I didn't leave your side for an equally long while. Eventually I decided to stop being lazy and start the day."

"Mmh…" Mundy buried his head deeper in his lover's neck. 

"Come now, the omelette is ready." Lucien started moving and the Aussie followed, still stuck to him like a slug. 

"It's for me?" 

"For us, or for you if your appetite allows it." Lucien answered. 

"You callin' me fat?" 

"Brave enough for it is what I am calling you." Lucien chuckled. "I have seen you eat that and more than that by the past. Do you remember the pizzas?"

"Lu', c'mon, it was a one off and I hadn't had lunch that day! Also, c'mere…" 

Mundy sat down and pulled Lucien to sit on his lap. Everything was laid on the table, from the coffee to the toasts and  butter. The two of them enjoyed their breakfast as it was the weekend now and they didn't have to work. 

"Meow…" The fluffy white cat appeared at the door with her black companion. They both took a second to yawn and stretch before trotting to the table and finally jumping on it. 

"Bonjour mon bébé."

[Good morning my baby.]

"Sooty boy."

"You have your milk in the bowls." Lucien said and the cats went to the bowls that were on the side of the table before lapping it happily. 

"Look at them, they're beautiful." Mundy said, lacing an arm around Lucien's waist. 

"Indeed they are. But now that I think about it, you never told me how Perle met with Soot." Lucien said. 

"Well, I have no bloody clue. The only thing I know is that it was when you were supposedly dead. I was working for Maurice and would set Pearl free. She'd roam around without going too far. And then there was this one time where she just went away at night as I was having a chat with Maurice. I called her but she didn't come back. I already had the kittens back then and they started mewling cause Mum was away. I called again and at some point, she appeared. Right behind her was a dirty, slim black cat."

"So Soot was a stray?" Lucien asked. 

"Yeah. Poor thing was bone thin when he came to me. I fed him, which he liked, and washed him, which he hated. Now, he's happy as he can be with the wifey and the two old gramps." 

They exchanged a smile and Lucien handed Mundy his mug of coffee.

"What about the kittens? You said you had them before Soot came to you?" Lucien asked. 

"Found the kittens almost by chance. I noticed Pearl would go out in the evenings but i didn't think much of it. I thought she just wanted to stretch her legs, and she'd always come back. One night she went off and I decided to come along, see where she goes off to. She led me deep in dark alleyways that had nothing but bins, and I saw her slip in a soggy cardboard box. Remember that, baby?" 

"Meow." She answered as Soot was bathing her.

"I tried to open the cardboard box but she scratched me. I tried talking to her, to soothe her. I didn't get why she was bein' aggressive at me. When she finally let me open the box, I saw those little balls of fur clinging to her and my heart bloody stopped!"

Lucien chuckled. 

"So you brought them back to the van?" 

"Yeah. I asked Pearl first and then carried the whole box back home. I washed them and together with mummy Pearl, we found names for them. Star and Diamond were obvious, Glovy too. Then, I struggled for Lu' Junior."

"Oh?" 

"It's Pearl who found it. She told me there was really one person who had black hair except for the temples and the top." Mundy looked at his lover still sitting on his lap. "Only one gorgeous guy like that… And I understood she meant you." He kissed his cheek and Lucien smiled under the tender attention.

"But Mundy?"

"Yeah, darl'?"

"That means that you didn't notice her being pregnant? I am not an expert for cats but it is very apparent for us humans." 

"Yeah, well…" Mundy was ashamed. "I didn't notice even though she must have had a belly like a house…! I just noticed that she liked to eat a bit more, is all. And uh, to be honest, I was in my own bubble of sadness. Waking up to the same day without you." 

"Aw…" Lucien hugged him. 

"I feel bad about it." 

"Why?"

"Cause you asked me to take care of her and I failed to do it. Felt awful. She had to give birth far away and alone. God only knows how painful and scary it was for her… Alone and in a dirty cardboard box… To this day I look at her and feel guilty for this." 

"Don't be, please." Lucien comforted him. "If she felt like she needed you, she would have begged for your attention and would have got it in the end, do not worry for that. Non, she might have wanted not to worry you more than what you already were."

"What d'you mean?" 

"I mean that she might have preferred to give birth on her own to not put you under any more stress. You said it yourself, you were so distraught by my absence that you didn't even notice that she was pregnant. Chances are that you would have been a burden rather than an asset to her in such an intense moment." 

"Hm. Maybe…" 

"Aw, mon amour, please, give your old Lucien here a smile…? Ah, much better." Lucien cupped Mundy's face and gave him a tender kiss. 

"Thanks, luv'." 

"My pleasure. Now, go and get ready, I will clean up this mess we made." Lucien said. 

"Get ready for what?" 

The Frenchman stood up from his lover's lap and started getting busy with the dishes. 

"For today might be the day the idea of leaving me makes it to your head, and your heart."

Mundy's breath cut sharp. 

"What?! No!" He pushed his chair back and went behind Lucien and his gown, flying after him. "Love, don't say that, I told you. I won't leave you, not after the hell I've been through without you." 

Lucien sighed. 

"We shall see." 

Mundy gulped audibly. Whatever Lucien had in mind, it was putting him through a lot of distress.

They both got dressed and ready to go. Lucien put on his jacket and went to the door. 

"Are you ready?" 

"Don't know. You tell me. I have no idea where we're going." Mundy answered. 

"I shall take you there but then leave."

"Why?" 

"Because this does not concern me but only you." Lucien answered. 

"Don't say that… Whatever's mine is yours, luv'... Almost sounds like you're a stranger." 

Lucien frowned and left the house. Mundy locked the door after him and joined him on the motorcycle. They put on their helmets and the Frenchman started the engine. 

As usual, Mundy held on to Lucien, pretending that he was scared of the ride where in fact it was an excuse to just cuddle up with him, without it raising suspicion and bad looks around. But he found Lucien cold and unresponsive; not that he would usually turn around and hug him, but he would lean back or sometimes just turn his head slightly when the traffic lights stopped him.

But no. Today, Lucien was cold. 

They drove all the way to the suburbs, where small houses lined up as far as the eye could see. They all looked like copies of each other, apart from the color of the doors or the curtains that one could see from the outside. 

Lucien drove the motorcycle through the streets while slowing down. Mundy understood that they were getting closer. When they finally reached their destination, the Frenchman braked and stopped the engine. He turned to Mundy and removed his helmet to speak. 

"Here we are." 

Mundy removed his helmet and looked at the little house.

"What?" 

"Maurice gave me this address. He said it would be the dark brown door." 

"What am I supposed to do?" Mundy asked. 

"Give a knock."

"That's it?" 

"And please," Lucien raised sad eyes to his lover. "Forgive me, mon amour." 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped as Lucien lowered his head.

"Don't look at me like that, luv', you did nothin' wrong, did you…?" Mundy put a finger below Lucien's jaw and pulled it back up. "Did you…?" He repeated, but Lucien didn't answer. 

"I will drive back to the city. I have some business to attend to but I shall be back in half an hour at worst and will be waiting here." 

"You sure you don't wanna come with me?" Mundy asked. 

"You have to do this on your own." Lucien splayed his hand on Mundy's chest and lightly tapped it before putting his helmet again. "I… will see you later." 

"Yeah." 

Lucien started the engine again and as he was about to drive off, he felt something tap his shoulder. Mundy smiled at him and the Frenchman read on his lips. 

I love you. 

Lucien nodded and a few seconds later, Mundy was left alone in front of that house. He looked at the mailbox. No name. From there to the front door of the house, there were only a few meters paved by grey flat slabs of stone, gnawed by the years. There were a few flowers left and right from it, daisies and tulips. Mundy wasn't sure what the other ones were called but whoever lived there clearly took good care of them all, as the washed out water can showed. It used to be green but years under the sun made it lose its vibrant colour. 

The Aussie sighed. What the hell was that all about? 

He walked on the paved way and stopped in front of the door. Naturally, his eyes fell on the doorbell and he had a second of hesitation. Lucien's sorry eyes flashed in front of him and Mundy thought that he didn't have to do anything. No one would arrest him if he didn't ring that bell. 

No, he could just wait for Lucien to come back and go back home, never to talk about this ever again. If it disturbed his otherwise calm lover that much, it must have been quite serious, especially if Lucien thought that Mundy could end it all because of it. 

But he didn't want to! Mundy didn't want his story with the Frenchman to stop and he would fight to make it last, as he did in the past. He had lost everything of value in his life such that the only one thing that remained was Lucien. Lucien, and the cats. He would never lose them. 

Well that was it then. Problem solved. 

Mundy spun on his heels and went back to the pavement where he waited for Lucien to come back. He sat there, on the ground and watched the occasional passer-bys. The neighbourhood was pretty calm. Only families and old people lived there. It was calm, but lively. Neighbours seem to know each other and get along well.

Mundy daydreamed for a moment, wondering what it would feel to live in such an environment. Back when he used to live with his parents, Mundy's house was quite far from the city, in a green area just next to the desert. And now, with Lucien, he lived bang on in the city centre. Now that he thought about it, he would never believe he could settle in a city. 

"Sorry Sir!" 

"Oh, sorry, mate." 

A kid passed along with his bike and broke Mundy's train of thought. The Aussie stood up and moved out of the way. The young boy's mother passed along a few seconds after. He nodded politely before putting his hands in his pockets and walking back and forth on the pavement. 

What on Earth would scare Lucien to the point of thinking that Mundy would leave him…?

The Aussie stopped walking and looked at the dark brown, wooden door. 

What on Earth was stronger than Lucien's death, may it be fake, such that the Frenchman would think it was strong enough a reason to break up…? 

Nothing Mundy could think about. There was nothing. He knew Lucien was faithful, he knew he himself was faithful. So what could it be…? 

"Hm. Guess there's only one way to find out, eh?" 

Mundy gathered his courage and walked to the door again. He raised his hand and gave a short knock. 

Unbeknownst to him, Lucien had never really left. He had hid his motorcycle and was observing everything from a safe distance. He had seen it all, Mundy's hesitation, his refusal, and finally, his going anyway. 

It had been a heavy weight to carry on his shoulder. Maurice had trusted him with a truth that Lucien wished he could have trusted to Mundy before, or at the same time. Of course Lucien was used to carrying lies around and with the years and long experience as an outstanding spy, lies had just become a second truth. 

However this time was different. The truth he had hidden from Mundy had nothing to do with the Frenchman himself, and all with Mundy. It hurt, having to look the man who made his life complete and know that he held a life changing truth from him. 

It often kept him up at night. Lucien would pretend to sleep and when he would hear Mundy's breath stabilise, he would open his eyes and watch him sleep. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, oddly enough for a scruffy, almost forty-year-old man. But if Mundy had a clear conscience, Lucien watched him with his brow furrowed and doubt in his eyes. 

How to tell him the truth? 

Well, Lucien thought that it wasn't his responsibility to tell Mundy about it. Non. He had nothing to do with it. Maurice had just thought it would be good to let him know. Lucien found it ridiculous. It didn't have anything to do with him. So why tell him? Why make him an accomplice in bearing the burden of this? 

Lucien watched keenly from a few houses away, his motorcycle hidden in plain sight, invisible. Mundy gave a knock. He removed his hat and fumbled with it nervously. The door soon opened and Lucien's eyes opened wider. They were riveted on Mundy. 

The Aussie's jaw dropped and his hat dropped from his fingers. He took a step back and fell limply. 

"Merde…" 

[Shit…]

It looked like he fainted. Lucien rushed to him, he knew the people he was meeting wouldn't be able to do much. 

"Let me help…" Lucien hopped over the low wooden fence and carefully avoided the flowers.

"Who're you?" The man standing at the door asked. 

"His best friend." Lucien answered. 

"I thought he was supposed to come alone… Bah, nevermind…"

"Can you carry him inside?" A woman appeared at the door. 

"Oui, I can." Lucien slid a hand below Mundy's neck and made him sit up before carrying him off of the ground. "Gnh-!" He grunted.

"Come through here, put him on the sofa." The woman went on and pushed whatever stood in Lucien's way. 

"Please, bring some water and a few sugar cubes, I will wake him up." Lucien said as he made sure Mundy was lying comfortably on the old, worn-out sofa. Of course, the Aussie was too tall and his legs dangled off at the end. Lucien took his hand and gently tapped Mundy's cheeks. "Mundy…? Mundy, réveille-toi… Mundy…?"

[Wake up…]

The woman came back with a tray containing a bottle of water, a glass and a few sugar cubes in a bowl. She placed it on the coffee table. 

"Is he alright?" She asked. The man came at her side after shutting the door and she leaned on his side. 

"He will be. Give me an instant." Lucien answered. He opened the water bottle and poured some in his hand before slowly brushing Mundy's face with it. "Come on, Mundy… Please… Wake up… Wake up, mon loup…"

[My wolf]

Eventually, Mundy's lips parted. He groaned and blinked a few times before pulling his heavy eyelids up. 

"What… the… Lu'? Lu', is that you?"

"Oui, it is me."

Mundy frowned. 

"What happened? Where am I…?" Mundy's eyes scanned the room. He didn't recognise the old wallpaper or the dark wooden furniture. The room wasn't too spacious, certainly a bit smaller than their own living room. The wallpaper used to be yellow but the years and the sun through the windows made it beige. Mundy couldn't clearly see the motifs on them. There was a fireplace opposite the sofa, beyond the wooden coffee table, and on the mantelpiece was placed an equally old clock.

"I need to go and leave you, Mundy."

"No!" The Aussie grabbed his lover by his shirt, on his chest. "Where're you goin'? And you're leaving me alone? No, please stay…" 

"Mundy…" Lucien put his hand on Mundy and pushed it away. "This is your business, not mine." 

The Aussie was about to answer something when he saw a hand on Lucien's shoulder tapping him gently. The hand was old but looked like it had done manual labour all its long life. There were wrinkles but they looked quite sturdy, oh and Mundy noticed the golden ring on the ring finger. 

"Your friend's right, Mundy. We need to talk." 

Mundy's eyes snapped wide. 

"What the hell-?!" He jumped to his feet, tripped and fell back on the sofa. "L-Lu', tell me you can see him! Please! Tell me I'm not going mad!" 

The poor Aussie was sweating, his face was pale as if he had just seen a ghost. 

"Oui, I can see them." Lucien calmly answered. "Sit down, please." He sat on the sofa and laced an arm around Mundy's shoulders. 

"B-But what the… Fuck me, I'm going mad, aren't I? They can't be there! They can't!" Mundy frantically rubbed his eyes. 

"Micky…?" The woman sat next to him on the other side and put her old and tired hand on Mundy's thigh. She was old, in her seventies surely, wearing a beige dress and a pink pair of glasses. 

Mundy stared at her intensely, his eyes rediscovering a face he had known all his life but hadn't seen in years. It had changed very little, that face. It still beamed with empathy, kindness and softness, even though, admittedly, there were more lines on it. Her hair was more salt than pepper but the bun was the same, the locks of hair around her face too… 

"M-Mum…?" He stammered and she smiled, her wrinkles made her grin look even wider. 

"Micky, sweetie."

Mundy's head spun from Lucien, to his mother and the man whose hand was still on Lucien's shoulder.

"Dad…? Lu', tell me you can see them too, tell me it's really not just me… I-I don't know, slap me or something, please, I-I'm, I'm-" 

Tears came faster than he could hold them and he clenched his grip on his mother's hand, his whole arms and legs were shaking. 

"Oui, Mundy, I can see them too." Lucien put a hand on his shoulder.

"Micky, sweetie, come here…" Mundy's mother pulled him and he dived in her chest, crying out loud, drowning his face and her dress with tears he did not fully understand. How on Earth were his parents there? How were they alive? How did they survive? Why had they hidden for more than a decade? Why resurface now? 

Mundy's head burnt and hurt. It felt like it was too full and about to burst. He screwed his eyes shut and let the waters of his shock flow like waterfalls down his face. 

Lucien stood up and let Mundy's father take his place on the sofa. He stayed standing on his feet. 

"Micky, son…" Mundy's father took one of his son's hands and clenched his grip on it. 

"W-How…? You were alive…? All this time? Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Caroline, go and make some tea, honey. I'll take care of him. And you, whoever you are, thanks." Mundy's father looked up at Lucien. 

"It was the least I could do. I shall leave you now."

"No! Please, Lu'... Please stay…?" 

Caroline looked at her son and then at Lucien. 

"Non, Mundy, you need to have a chat with your parents. I shall be there whenever you need me." 

"Thanks." Mundy's father added before pushing himself to his legs to stand up. 

"Non, please, it is fine, I shall find the door myself. See you later, Mundy." 

"I'll get you to the door before I go and make some tea." Caroline stood up and accompanied Lucien back. 

"Here, son." In the living-room, Mundy's father handed his son a handkerchief and the Aussie wiped his face from all the surprise wetting his rough cheeks. 

"Thanks…" 

Mundy rediscovered his father's face. It had a few more lines, but nothing had changed. Even the glasses were the same. Similarly to his mother, his father's hair was almost completely white now but it was still there. Mundy blinked repeatedly as he saw that even his father's love for short-sleeved shirts was still going strong. 

Caroline crossed the living-room again and went to the kitchen. 

"You're still shakin'. Are you cold? Should I bring you a blanket?" She asked as she passed.

"N-no, it's just the shock."

"Mike, go and get him one of your jackets or a blanket." She addressed her husband. 

"Right, don't move, son, I'll be back in a second." 

Mundy smiled and nodded. It slapped him across the face. His mother still could tell when he was lying just to be polite and save his old parents some trouble.

Soon, his father came back with a blanket and laid it on Mundy's back. Caroline entered the room not a second later with a tray. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them and each sat left and right from their son. Caroline served a cup of tea for everyone, starting with Mundy. 

"Here, sweetie." 

"Thanks, Mum… But… Is that really you?" 

"Yes, it is."

"Hold on." Mundy lowered the cup on his lap. "I… I'm not buyin' it." He frowned.

"What?" Mike's bushy eyebrows jumped behind his square glasses. 

"How can I be sure? I mean, you're supposed to have been dead for more than then ten years now. I saw the house, no way you could have escaped that. I was at the burial, I saw the… the coffins lowered to the ground. I visited you, even with Lu'... We both visited your graves!"

"Well, we're callin' you Micky, aren't we?" Mike asked. 

"Anyone could know that." 

Mike looked at Caroline and sighed. She put her cup back on the tray and cleared her throat. 

"See the sunset,

The day is endin',

Let that yawn out,

There's no pretendin'."

Mundy's eyes popped wide, he looked at his mother with the same eyes as he had three decades earlier, and she gave him back the same grin that she used to. He remembered his room with the green wallpaper, the jungle foliage motifs, his little desk when he was a young boy, his shelves, full of illustrated books about animals, his telescope next to his window, and even the smell of his room after his mother cleaned it. She used to always use a lavender freshener...

"I will hold you,

And protect you,

So let love warm you,

Till the mornin'." 

She stopped singing the lullaby and put a hand on his cheek. 

"Would anyone else remember this?" She asked with a sweet smile. "Whenever you'd wake up from a nightmare, or you couldn't sleep, I'd sing that to you, remember?" She brushed his cheek tenderly and Mundy was back to being a young boy with messy hair and big, round, curious eyes. "Remember when I had your father try to learn it but he kept on getting the lyrics confused?" 

"I… I do…"

Mike stood up and went to the coathanger.

"We couldn't save anythin' from the old house. But I kept this." He went to his coat and fetched his wallet. He sat back down on the sofa and opened it. "Here, have a look." 

It was a picture, not much bigger than a stamp, of young Mundy. It was old, and the black and white had turned into shades of washed-out light browns. He was but a child on it.

"How could I have this picture of you if I didn't keep my wallet with me, eh?" Mike said as he tapped Mundy on his shoulder.

"Dad… Mum, I… I've missed you so much." 

And again, Mundy let the cup rest between his thighs on the sofa and hugged his mother. He almost clawed at her as part of him still struggled to believe that after all that time, he was in his parents' arms again.

[tirednotflirting]

and I'll make a cup of coffee, with the right amount of sugar (how you like it)

prompt: A sitting next to me in the library has been grinding on an assignment all day (like i’d have been in the library from 10-3 with breaks in between for classes but they’d been sitting there the whole time) and B would come in every few hours, put down food or coffee on their table, kiss the top of A’s head, and walk away without a word

meg: look at these prompts me: i want to? write these? meg: || totally not why i sent these ||

prompt adapted from this post.

this isn’t too long at all but if you wanna read on ao3, link is here

for @kaleidoscopeminds, the Hot Wine Mom of The Club <3

Luke is very stressed.

He has been stressed for the better part of the last two weeks. Classes were over and he’s only got one real final this semester and it’s in this Advanced Number Theory course he decided was a good idea to take. He was the only junior in the course and had just barely been scraping by and he needs a B on this exam if he wants to pass the class.

So on the day of the exam, he marches his way to campus at 9am to find his usual spot on the silent study floor where he has decided he will stay until the exam begins at 7pm. It might be a little overboard and Ashton’s concern with the plan was obvious from the way he pouted at Luke from the bed as he got ready to leave that morning (which Luke suspects was a strategy since on a normal day, if Luke saw Ashton pouting in bed, he would immediately toss his bag to the ground and crawl back under the covers to cuddle until he stopped). But Luke knows that if he had stayed back at their apartment to study instead, he would be distracted and barely touch more than one practice exam. 

So the quiet study floor, on the coldest day so far that winter, it is. 

He spends the first three hours pouring over his notes to decide what needs to go on the index card he’s being allowed to take into the exam. He adds sticky notes to the pages of the three different notebooks he’s filled for the course, using a color coded system to decide what is ‘Probably Maybe Important’ and ‘If You Don’t Spend At Least Half an Hour Staring At This One Page You Will Forget About This Thing’. It’s a very chaotic system and if he had the time, he would probably question how it’s worked for him so far during the last three years. But there is no time and he is very stressed and the library is cold, so he keeps up organizing.

It’s around noon when Luke jumps just slightly as a coffee cup from the shop near his apartment and a to go bowl appear in front of him. He doesn’t lift his face from the table but hears some rustling and then a plastic spoon is left on top of the bowl. A warm hand is placed against his shoulder and he can feel a kiss being placed against the top of his head. 

Ashton mumbles something soft against his hair, his hand squeezing Luke’s shoulder before heading off. For just a moment, Luke feels some of the tension in his back lift off, as though Ashton’s touch were able to pull some of that away. He turns just slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips, and watches Ashton head back in the direction of the elevators, likely heading to his job in the advising center.

Luke knows his stomach will start growling soon if he does not eat and he really likes to avoid being that guy so after taking a sip from the coffee (its one of those winter-y lattes he likes but Ashton hates), he opens up the little bowl. It’s one of those soups from the campus dining hall (the good one not the freshmen one). Luke giggles softly to himself as he tries to picture Ashton making his way around the part of campus he usually tends to avoid just to buy the soup he knows Luke likes. As he takes a bite, he can’t tell whether he feels more warm from the food and drink or the love from the boy who just brought him some study snacks without any prompting.

*

It’s around 3 when Luke starts actually shivering from how cold the library is.

He’s just taken a short walk around the floor (a girl from his stats class showed up nearby so she offered to watch his things), thinking it might help warm him up but if anything he was somehow colder than before. He could put his coat back on but then the sleeves would get in the way of his writing and basically, Luke is frustrated and cold and regretting ever making the choice to study this horrible subject.

He’s on question four on his third practice exam when he hears quiet footsteps approaching his corner spot. He lifts his eyes in a daze as the lights actually sting his eyes some after staring at paper and ink for so long. Once his vision clears up, he sees the gentle smile of his boyfriend, the Thermos designated specifically for his favorite herbal tea in his hand. 

Luke only blinks up at Ashton as he sets the tall blue container on the table since he’s not really sure what his voice would sound like after not speaking for the last six hours. Ashton pulls off his backpack and quietly unzips the main compartment and pulls his favorite, dark green sweater out. He places it in Luke’s lap and lets his hand drop to cup the blonde’s cheek for a moment. Luke can’t help the way he leans into the touch, Ashton’s warm and rough palm being an instant comfort. The hazel eyed boy’s smile grows some more and he leans down, pressing his lips to Luke’s forehead briefly. 

Then he steps back, zips the backpack up, and once again, heads off in the direction of the elevators. Luke takes a deep breath and sighs as he watches his boyfriend turn the corner. His brows rise in surprise when he hears the quiet cooing of the girl who had watched his things earlier. He turns to face her and finds her smiling, her hand against her heart. Luke feels himself blush, the intimacy of the silent exchange he had just had with Ashton being one that made him forget they had been in such a public setting. He smiles and shrugs, unsure of how to respond. 

He reaches for the sweater and pulls it over the longsleeve he had thrown on before leaving that morning. The sweater is thick and worn in, providing him an instant warmth that he knows will aid the rest of his studying. (Plus it doesn’t hurt that Ashton must have worn it recently, the collar smelling like a mix of his body wash and cologne.) Luke takes a quick sip from the tea (noting the honey that was added) and picks up his pen to keep going.

*

It’s 6pm and Luke feels okay. It’s not the best he’s ever felt about a final but it’s also not the worst, so he figures there’s a positive in there somewhere.

He likes to arrive at his exams about a half hour early and it doesn’t take too long to get to the math building, so he decides there’s time to do a few more problems. The floor he’s on is nearly deserted. It’s the last day of finals and his exam is during the last time block. He figures there’s probably only about four people left in the building. 

He’s checking the solution to the problem he’s just finished when he hears footsteps approaching once again. A coffee cup from the same shop as the one dropped off to him at noon appears in the corner of his eye and a warm hand cups the back of his neck before a pair of lips peck gently at top of his head. Luke lets his eyes close, a brief moment of calm before the storm it seems like as he feels Ashton’s hand gently run through the curls at the back of his head. He feels a chill when the hand drops and then the footsteps pick up to leave him in his cozy corner.

Ashton’s just turned the corner when Luke suddenly gets to his feet, abandoning his study materials to chase after his sweet boy. He runs in the direction of the elevators, his socked feet (he had kicked off his shoes around 2) oddly loud against the carpeted floor. He turns the corner and Ashton is still there, pulling a beanie over his head when Luke lands in front of him. He pulls Ashton toward him by the waist and bends his neck just slightly, letting their lips meet for just longer than a moment. The elevator ding breaks them apart and as the doors opens, Ashton steps back so his body keeps them from closing. Luke is certain the blush he can see on Ashton’s cheeks must match the one painting his own. “Thank you for today, I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

“Text me when you’re leaving campus afterwards so I can make you something warm to drink for when you get in, okay?” Ashton instructs with a gentle grin and Luke nods his understanding, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth. “And make sure to put your hat on when you’re walking back, I don’t want you to get a cold.”

“Love you, Ash.” Luke wonders if he looks as lovestruck as he sounds.

Ashton steps back into the elevator to allow the doors to close. “Love you too, Luke. You’re gonna kill it.”

(When Luke gets back from the exam, his smile is bright and his nose is red from running all the way home because he felt really really good about how he did and really really wanted to get home to tell Ashton all about it. He’s treated to cuddles on the couch and a movie after changing into sweats and a different one of Ashton’s sweaters. Luke spends the rest of the night with one hand holding a mug of hot chocolate and the other holding his love. Ashton let him pick the movie so Luke knows he should be paying attention, but his head is a mix of numbers and equations and the thoughts of how all he wants is to spend the rest of his life with someone who will bring him disgustingly sweet coffee and their sweater on a cold winter day.)

*

[jace-todd]

Late Night Cherry Tea

@convexed-parallel you asked for Hitoshi and Shouto and so I'm delivering! Trying to get more comfortable with writing and publishing said writing.

possible spoilers??? i don't know, i gave canon the middle finger

Word count: 2155

read on ao3 here

Shouto was hoping this wouldn’t become a new habit. But for the third night in a row, he’s found himself sitting on the counter in the kitchen, a bowl of soba cradled in one hand. The clock above the oven flashes 2:52 am, illuminating the room every time. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights when he came down, just reached into the back of the fridge for his food and crawled onto the counter. It wasn’t proper etiquette to be sitting here, and if Katsuki or Momo (or Fuyumi) were to see him, they’d tsk and tell him to get off. For a moment, he wanted them to be here, standing in front of him, their arms crossed, talking to him about how late-night habits. Then he’d glance down at his hands and rethink it.

Sleep and Shouto have always had a fickle relationship. After trainings with his father, Shouto found sleep to be a blissful release, taking him somewhere better than reality. All the ache in his bones, the exhaustion that hung off him like chains, the shaking in his hands and the ever-present taste of vomit would disappear as he slept it all off. Sleep was a warm embrace, gently moving your head down to their shoulder, fingers brushing through your hair and rocking you to sleep. Sleep was faint memories of his mother holding him, from before, her cold hands holding him up as she moved through the house, Natsuo and Fuyumi following closely and talking softly while Touya stood silent further away.

Then they’d have nights like these. Shouto would lay in the dark for hours, twisting and turning, chucking the blankets off, and then pulling them back on not a moment later. He would listen to one of Fuyumi’s sleep playlists, close his eyes and pray to whatever deities were above that he’d be granted at least two hours. Sleep would kick his ass, coming only to give him horrible nightmares of burning water, a towering figure, blue fire. Sleep was the cold embrace you felt when it was winter and you’re underprepared, frost nipping at your nose and fingers, still present even after you rub your hands together. Sleep became his tormentor, a false promise of protection, allowing him in to stop it all only to hold him down and force him to remember all of the worst times.

During anniversaries like this week, it was the latter. Touya’s death anniversary was coming up – though he wasn’t sure if that was still true. Echoing words of Dabi’s ‘that’s sad Shouto Todoroki’ wouldn’t leave him, a sense of familiarity lacing the way he said his name. He knows he’s grasping for straws, some sort of conclusion, an answer to years-long uncertainty involving Touya. But if there’s any possible chance, Shouto wants to think about it. Maybe if they have just an answer, Natsuo won’t be as distant, as angry. Maybe if they had just something to work off of, Fuyumi could breath a little easier, let her shoulders untense. Maybe if Shouto could find any trace, his Mother would be happier about their family, sleep better at night knowing all of her kids were alive and okay.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep.

Shouto sighs, looking back down at the cold noodles. He isn’t any less awake than he was an hour ago, heterochromatic eyes blinking slowly as he forces himself to untense his shoulders. The noise from his slurping is comforting, masking the rumble of the fridge and the clicking from their broken wall clock after Izuku slammed his shoulder into it during one of their movie nights that turned into rough housing. He wonders if it’s too late to turn on something on the tv and settle himself there for the night. The last thing he wants to do is wake anyone else up.

“You good?” The baritone voice startles Shouto out of his thoughts, originating somewhere near the entrance of the kitchen. He jerks his head up to see who it is and the sight of his newest classmate greets him.

Shinsou doesn’t look any better than he feels, eyes half-lid from accustomed exhaustion, one hand on the back of his neck and the other hiding in a pocket. His purple hair is down for a change, covering most of his face and neck. It’s a weird sight. He’s been in the class for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mineta’s expulsion. They haven’t interacted much outside of training sessions or Izuku dragging them out. Though, from what he’s heard Shinsou hasn’t been interacting with anyone since joining outside of forced encounters.

It’s strange for anyone else to be up this late, even Denki has tapped out by now. Fumikage is the only exception, the bird’s insomnia a pain in the ass to beat that Shouto often finds him when he’s awake. He’s good company when Shouto can feel his mother’s hands holding him down and hear a sizzle of a kettle long since put out.

Shouto twirls some more noodles, “I’ve been better.” The night finds him more vulnerable and open that the teen normally is. Shinsou hums in acknowledgement, making his way further into the kitchen to start gathering things from the fridge and the cabinets. It’s odd to share a space with someone this late at night. It’s odd to be living with anyone at all. Living back at the house, it was mostly cold and lonely. Fuyumi’s got herself a girlfriend so her presence isn’t a comfort Shouto can turn to. Natsuo has long since moved out to college. His father has never been warm and comforting. Going from that silence to a dorm with twenty other teens had been a lot to handle.

The clock now says 3:28 when Shouto finishes his soba and puts the container in the sink to clean later. Izuku and Katsuki didn’t wake up for training for another two and a half hours, and Shouto didn’t have anywhere to be until ten am. There was time to go upstairs and try again for sleep or there was time to start that show Mina was talking to him about. Neither happened when Shinsou spoke again. He had nearly forgotten the other male was there. Shinsou was awfully quiet.

“Here.” Shouto finds a mug being shoved into his hands. It’s hot and Shouto lets frost cold his hand down as he holds it, looking up to see Shinsou jumping onto the counter across him, holding his own mug. He isn’t used to this either, someone looking out for him and making him things when he can’t sleep. Fuyumi tried her best but Shouto always shoots her down so she can sleep. He loves his sister dearly but her sleep was important.

It’s tea, that much he can tell by sniffing, though there’s some sort of cherry addition to it. He shrugs and takes a sip. It’s good; warm and sweet on his tongue and happy memories blossom with it. Natsuo’s cherry syrup on his pancakes and waffles, him flipping Shouto off when he had teased him about it, Fuyumi’s disapproving voice telling them to cut it out. Touya’s red tongue as he sticks out, a free hand holding a cherry lopstick, hoarding the candy to himself, a slight pinch of a smile visible. Fuyumi’s cherry chap-stick she buys every time she runs out that always ends up in Shouto’s bag. Shouto can’t help but inhale the scent and cradle it close to his chest.

“Nightmares?” Shinsou speaks softly, as if he’s afraid he’s going to be yelled at for talking this late at night. There’s a grumble to it that makes him think of Aizawa-Sensei and Shouto’s half-tempted to ask if they’re related.

“No. Just old memories.” Shouto takes another sip from the mug, a soft smile irrepressible as he kicks his feet back and forth to do something.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He’s been asked that before. When his mother burned him. When she was sent away. When Touya died. When Natsuo screamed at their dad and he ran to hide in his room. When Fuyumi told him that she was going to be around less. When he’d wake up screaming and crying. Shouto hates that question.

“No. What is this?” He lifts up the mug and Shinsou nods in acknowledgement.

“It’s a tea concoction my sister used to make me when I couldn’t sleep. Makes you real sleepy, just wait.” Shouto didn’t know that Shinsou had a sister. Though, Shinsou probably doesn’t know anything about his family either. He wonders about the past tense. Did she move away? Like Natsuo did? Was she dead like Touya? Or did Shinsou shoot her down like he did to Fuyumi?

Silence lapses between them again as Shouto thinks. Shinsou sits perfectly content across the kitchen, his own legs tucked under him, scrolling through his phone as he sips from the mug. The lightning makes the purple look black and when Shouto gets caught staring, the purple eyes look black too – just a ring of it swimming in pure white. He holds the gaze, though Shinsou just chuckles and goes back to his phone. It seems easier to breathe with the company, the oppressive weight Shouto had easing just a bit as Shinsou’s quiet reactions and them drinking fill the air. Shouto observes his new classmate and drinks the tea.

When it’s done, he finally talks again. “My brother’s death anniversary is coming up and I can’t stop thinking about it. He died when I was a kid, I barely knew him, but he meant a lot to Fuyumi and Natsuo. Father still has photos of him in the house though I’m not supposed to know that. Touya was the blueprint for everything that I am. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why we weren’t close, because my Father threw him to the side when I manifested my quirk. I think Touya took pride in his quirk and being a hero but it changed when I came around. I guess that’s why I’m so transfixed over it.” Shouto lifts his gaze. Shinsou’s phone is nowhere in sight and the empty mug is sitting next to his thigh. Purple eyes are locked on his. Undivided attention.

“It’s stupid but… when Katsuki was kidnapped, when I tried to get the marble back from Dabi, he said something. He said my name, my full name, and I can’t shake this feeling.” Shouto clenches his fist, “This feeling that there’s something off about that guy. I just want closure for Touya and I think that Dabi has something to do with that.” If Izuku were listening, he’d insist that they’d dig up everything they can. Izuku would overanalyze and ramble about that fight and everything little detail about Dabi. If Katsuki were here, he’d smack Shouto’s back hard and tell him to stop thinking so much, they’d catch the bastard and Shouto would get his closure – all of it in his own way.

Shinsou slides off the counter, softly walking over to stand in front of Shouto. “It’s not stupid. I’d give anything to find out who killed my sister. Closure helps you move on and sleep at night. It makes everything just a tad bit better, though it may not seem like it. You want to know even if the answers aren’t desirable because at least its an answer, at least you know. You want to be able to finally tell your family you know what happened to your brother and sleep the entire night. There’s nothing stupid about that, Todoroki.”

A firm hand sits on his shoulder, “We’ll find out what happened to your brother, Todoroki. We’ll solve this mystery, okay?” Shouto stares into determined eyes and finds himself nodding. Shinsou’s ambition got him into the hero course through it all and it reminds him of Izuku. A lopsided smile overtakes Shinsou’s serious expression, the hand disappearing to take the empty mug from his loose grasp. “Now go the fuck to sleep.”

The faucet is turned on and Shinsou gets to work with cleaning the evidence they were ever down in the kitchen. Shouto jumps off the counter, heading towards the elevator. The tea did it’s job, his eyes are heavier, his limbs relaxing without his permission and the fog of sleep starting to drift in. He stops though, turning to look at Shinsou over his shoulder. “Hey, Shinsou?” There’s another hum and the other student looks at him. “Thank you.”

“Any time. Next time you can’t sleep, come find me. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Maybe he can’t climb into his mother’s bed after nightmares. Maybe he can’t turn to his eldest brother to show off his accomplishments. Maybe he can’t click with Fuyumi or Natsuo anymore. But he does know that maybe next time he can’t sleep, he can find some comfort in the brainwasher. Shouto takes a deep breath and presses the up button on the elevator.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Tw: child abuse.

Eskel flopped onto the damp grass and stared at Geralt. "No one can see you're still standing there, you might as well come down."

"They'll see impressions in the grass. Besides it's not so bad."

"I can see you trembling from here. You should have shut your mouth, Geralt."

"Too late to take your advice now."

"Well you have heard it already, and then after they whipped you, you had to pop off again! It's like you want them to half kill you."

"Gets me out of watching your ugly mug in training. And gives all of you a chance to catch up with me."

"Geralt, when they come for you this morning, be quiet. Shut your mouth do you hear me? Let them say whatever they want, kiss their feet like they want, and you can get down off the bloody post and come inside."

"You should be inside asleep."

"So should you."

"Sun's going to be up soon. You should go. Don't let me drag you down with me."

"Just because Vesemir said that doesn't mean that's how I see it. Or any of our yearmates. We know you're damn good with a sword, good with the memorization, Geralt. Without those late night study sessions we had back when they had us all in one room, most of us would have taken far more hidings."

"Still. You'd better go. No point in finding yourself next to me."

"Don't mouth off Geralt. Maybe they'll let you see the healer if you keep your trap shut for once."

"Go."

"I'll see what I can get for food for you."

Geralt's face softened. "Thank you."

When the sun was barely peaking over the horizon they came. Geralt looked up and straightened his bloodied back.

"Come down."

Geralt slowly slipped off the rock, determined not to fall and embarrass himself further. He would maintain control like he'd been taught. He had spent most of the past fifteen hours in meditation. There he could escape the worst of the pain and allow his body to heal. Once down, he carefully walked to stand in front of the masters and let his head bow in deference. Carefully, he clasped his hands behind his aching back.

"It smells like Eskel, did he come out and visit you?"

"We room together, I usually smell like Eskel. Perhaps an extra soap ration would solve that problem. I can't be responsible for his body odor. He also tends to take my shirt, sir, since I wash it more often. Perhaps that's what you smell."

Any inspection of the grass near the wall would show footprints and the imprint of a body. Not to mention the other witcher boy's clothes would still be damp if they went to get him now.

"Do you ever tire of being insolent?" The question seemed idle, the voice carefully bland.

"No sir, I suppose not or we wouldn't all be here, sir," he replied as neutrally as he could. If he could push them they would forget all about his friend. He could protect Eskel, he could not protect himself.

The next thing he knew a hand was knotted in his hair and a knee shoved into his stomach. He was bent over and the belt was hitting skin before he had time to react properly. He was too old to be spanked like this, and they knew it. At least it wasn't in a room full of other boys.

Geralt felt worse for not having even heard the belt being unbuckled or slipped free of the loops. He should have. The rest of it, well, he hadn't mutated enough to be as fast as the training masters. Not yet. The steady slap of the belt against his skin stung, but the aching throb that would come later was sure to be the worst part. Plus having to sit down.

When it was over, he was dropped to the ground without so much as a by your leave. "We expect you out in the ring by the tenth bell. Report to the infirmary. Silently. Or perhaps we should start taking a notch from your tongue every time you use it out of turn."

Geralt just nodded, knowing he didn't have to speak out loud. At least the doddering sorcerer in infirmary would feed him and mostly patch him up. He bit back any rude responses about what he should tell the old healer, exactly, and picked himself up before tugging his clothes back into place.

He kept his face impassive when tucking in his shirt causes him to brush against new welts on his backside. They're supposed to face a new kind of training, the kind meant to 'toughen them up.' which probably meant getting hit until they couldn't stand.

The monster didn't care if you were in pain when you fought it, and if it got past your armor you would have to survive the pain and keep going or die. Better to build a high tolerance early on.

A trip to the infirmary sounds wonderful if Geralt was being honest. He'd get fed, and given some time to rest. He could nap on his stomach and not have to worry about being shamed. He hoped the room would be empty, he'd rather not have to admit he'd been belted like he was still a child in front of another boy.

"Ah, Geralt. Back again I see. When I saw fresh blood on the whipping post I suspected you might have gotten yourself into trouble. Shirt off, let's see the damage." The old healer had debated leaving several times. But if he left who else would treat the boys with kindness? They'd just find another sorcerer who hated healing, and couldn't see why his magics were being wasted on subhumans. Caduceus had felt healing was his calling, and the poor Witchers in training needed him more than most. "What did you do this time, you insolent pup?"

"Knocked down the training master. He was slapping Devos around something fierce and he asked if anyone would challenge him. I didn't wait for him to stop hitting Devos I just jumped in."

"Did he thrash you?"

"No, Vesemir stepped in before he could. Dragged me out and... Well. You see."

"I do. Fairly unsporting to attack a man without warning."

"They train us to use every advantage we can. The master has ten decades more experience than I do. I couldn't hope to win fair. I wasn't even trying to win. Just stop him from breaking Devos' skull," Geralt admitted, feeling stupid. He was angry. Sick of being hurt by people who said Witchers were unfeeling and made to protect. Signs of weakness were beaten out of you until you had nothing left. Geralt just couldn't help himself. Although if they were going to start cutting up his tongue he might have to start. "Master, can you heal tongues?"

"What?" The old man asked, looking over Geralt's back with a practiced eye. "I see you decided to extend your punishment, you might as well just strip. I'll go get the herbs I need."

"Tongues, sir."

"I can't very well grow it back, but I can close up a split. Why? They thinking about making a mute Witcher out of you?"

"I suppose," Geralt sighed, stripping out of the rest of his clothes. He had long since forgotten any kind of shame around the members of the keep. While he would be mortified if the others could see his new welts and bruises, he wouldn't think twice of anyone seeing him nude. He was property, and used to being inspected at any given time. Discipline and obedience were required.

There wasn't room for privacy from each other in the first dorms they lived in at the keep anyway. Eventually, those that lived long enough got moved into rooms that only held four boys, not twenty. And then two. Geralt had made it to the last stage before he would have his own room. He and Eskel shared a living space and had no secrets from each other.

If he survived the final mutations, and passed the rest of his trials, he would receive his medallion and have the right to his own possessions and privacy. He would not have to take another beating outside of a training ring as long as he lived. Until the monsters killed him, anyway. Geralt wasn't honestly sure he would want a room that didn't have Eskel in it. He wasn't sure of his age but Eskel had so far been his only constant. It would hurt to lose that.

The old sorcerer came back with a tray, and started mixing a paste for the still bleeding stripes from the whip. He had something different for the raised welts and deep bruising lower down. "You're still going to sit funny. So try and not do anything stupid for a few days at least. They bruised the muscle."

Geralt's skin twitched when the cool paste was applied to his back. He couldn't help it. He didn't cry out like he wanted to, or allow his eyes to tear. What was done was done. He had made his choice, now he had to live with it.

Once finished, the old man sighed. "I don't want to watch you die, too. Perhaps stop pushing them so much, Geralt. There's enough bodies making up fertilizer around the grounds. Don't let your insolence cause you to be another. Get dressed I'll find you some food. Eat standing will you. What bell are you to be back for?"

"Tenth. It's just rung seventh," Geralt replied as he dragged on his clothes carefully. His body still ached but it no longer burned. If he ate quickly he could sleep for a little over two bells and then take his time getting to training.

"Don't be foolish," the old man reminded him, shuffling off slowly with his tray. He came back later with a bowl of porridge and fruit that Geralt wolfed down hungrily.

He hadn't eaten in near twenty four hours. Meat would not have gone amiss but anything was better than nothing. And he was mostly full by the time he'd finished. Immediately after returning the bowl he dropped face down onto an empty cot and fell asleep.

[eddsworldwritingrequests]

Hia Could you please make a story with Jon and Edoardo. Edoardo keeps making fun of jon and Jon hates it, especially because he loves Edoardo so much? :3

(May 1st, 1:32 am is when I posted the last story I did. I... I apologize so much. It’s been a while, a lot of things have happened, and I opened up an ew ask blog on here with my gf so, dear lord, I can’t believe it’s been that long. I caught Covid at one point and I’ve been in and out of travelling these past few months, its crazy tbh but I am partially back! 

I’ll try to get through all my requests because I have a couple right now, so sorry if you gave me an ask after seeing my TordEdd response, it’ll take a moment to get yours probably, but YES, thank you so very much!!! The responses I got on that EddTord story was so heartwarming and people come and like it every now and then, it makes my heart jump every single time. Thank you so so much. I appreciate it <3 Hope you like this and, again, I’m sorry for such the long wait.))

------

Jon tapped his fingers across the table, eyes trained on the brunet. The kitchen was quiet, as it usually was, but it was different this time. A silence that made Jon’s nerves tingle a bit, the boy humming out a tune that echoed lightly across the air. 

Eduardo was making his coffee. Almost black, with two packets of sugar and no milk to go along with it. He never got it with milk, almost never Jon had noticed. The smallest of the two sat there, watching the brunet as if it was routine. His eyes gazed at the other’s movements, almost like he knew them by heart, a swing of the arm to reach over and grab the sugar, the quick wipe at his face to rid any tiredness from it. Not that he could get rid of the tiredness, Eduardo’s eyes always had bags under them, no matter the amount of sleep he got.

Jon didn’t know what it could be. He didn’t understand why he felt so different today, something creeping along his spine, as if something was going to go wrong. He rarely got these feelings, but when he did, they usually led to nothing. Usually led to a dead end and an uneventful day.

He kept watching Eduardo, even though the other could obviously sense him. He knew he was being watched, but the darker haired man didn’t look over. Not yet at least. He opened a drawer, grabbing a spoon before closing it with his hip. The clink of metal hitting his mug could be heard, the Mexican slowly mixing his coffee.

Jon never knew what was happening in his head. He always tried to guess what Eduardo was thinking, always wondered what he thought about and if he pondered on certain things. Jon didn’t understand what led him to do certain things, but he could try to. Everything from Eduardo’s perspective was entirely different from his own, but Jon still didn’t understand. Couldn’t comprehend why the other was just... the way he was. Jon didn’t understand him usually, and today wasn’t any different.

He hoped today would be fine. Like how the two were right now, alone in the kitchen, the silence lingering in the air besides the few birds that chirped beside their windows. Things were okay, and no matter how much he wanted to spark up a conversation, Jon was okay with being silent too.

He was always too nervous to speak, to try and start a little chat with the other. Of course they spoke with one another, it’d be hard not to when you’re roommates, but Jon wasn’t as close to him as he’d like to be. There was just this distance between them that the shorter man couldn’t quite close. 

Jon was quiet, not knowing whether the other would respond to a comment he made. Eduardo seemed too distracted to notice Jon, or maybe he did notice him but deemed it unimportant. Deemed Jon unimportant. Which wasn’t the worst thing ever, it’s not like Eduardo did it on purpose. He was just always in his own little world. The Mexican seemed to zone out constantly, more than the other two did. He would sit on the couch, reading a book, and all he would do was stare. Forget that he was reading and just stare off. You could tell that he was thinking, running through his mind constantly. He seemed to have whole conversations with himself that nobody could hear, stuck in a world where all he did was debate problems and consider possibilities if he were to change. If he were just a bit nicer.

Well, that’s what Jon thinks. What he thinks Eduardo thinks. 

Jon didn’t mind the silence, not at all, but sometimes he preferred to talk with him. Maybe a soft conversation between them that lasted a few minutes, the two speaking until Mark decided to wake up and ruin it. Maybe they could have a moment, one of those scenes in movies where all they do is hang out and nothing else. Just enjoy the other person’s company. He wished they had moments, memories shared with Eduardo, silly ones where they joke around and laugh. Like how they were back in high-school. When Mark was the prissy popular kid who just happened to befriend the shy kid and the quiet angry one.

Eduardo used to have school shooter vibes. An angry look and a loose flannel shirt. Bags under his eyes that showed his fatigue, but a spark in his gaze that showed he would beat somebody up if they even touched him. Of course, Eduardo was never like that, he was the sweetest boy a teacher could ask for, but Jon and Mark used to joke about that. He wondered if the other ever noticed it himself.

Jon perked up at the sound of Eduardo clearing his throat, eyes quickly coming back into focus on the brunet. A guttural noise came from the taller one’s throat, settling his cough as he glanced over at Jon. The two locked eyes for a moment, not a word said between them before Eduardo looked away again. His cup was now in his hands, rough fingers gripping the ceramic mug. He couldn’t seem to follow anything after his noise, but it was obvious that he wanted to say something.

Jon blinked, waiting for a question or a demand. Wondering if that meant that Jon should start something and Eduardo would follow. Maybe it was a quiet way of telling him to get out. He didn’t know, confused on what to make of that, eyes set on the other. He watched as the brunet turned slightly, catching the other’s eye once again before blinking down at his coffee. 

Eduardo hesitated, the man’s lips parting in the slightest. There was a sharp intake of air, the choked sound of the beginning of a sentence escaped him. It was quiet, but Jon felt like he could hear it loud and clear. 

“So...” Eduardo huffed, staring down at his coffee before looking over at the table. His brown eyes matched the wooden surface, using the piece of furniture as an excuse to not look anywhere else. “How’d you sleep?”

Jon blinked again, shifting in his seat as he processed the question. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if he should. Well, a question was a question, right? “Uhm... I don’t, uh... Good, I guess. I slept-- it was good.”

Way to go, Jon.

The other raised a brow, the corner of his lips quirking up in the slightest. He smiled a bit, hiding the action behind his cup as he brought it up. He took a small sip from it, hiding Jon from his view for just a moment. 

“Okay,” he responded, letting his hands hover over his stomach. Eduardo stood there, teetering slightly, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. He didn’t know what else to say. Didn’t know if he should leave it at that. “Uhm...so--”

“How was your sleep?”

Eduardo turned over, eyes locking with wide black ones. He watched as Jon waited for an answer, his hands hidden from sight, no doubt fiddling with his fingers. He always did that when he was nervous. Eduardo saw him do it every time he got too close.

“Oh. Mine was--”

“GOOD MORNING!!!”

The two jumped at the new voice, the entrance loud. Eduardo turned quickly, looking at the blond who was making his way in, arms stretching into the air. The brunet let a wry smile come to his face, shifting completely away from Jon.

The smallest of the group frowned, looking over to Mark. “Way to be loud about it.”

“Oh, shut it, Jon. You’re just mad because I can actually be loud without feeling self-conscious.”

Jon rolled his eyes, not catching the way the blond winked at him. He stared at the table, elbows coming to settle on it. The sound of steps coming over to him made him go quiet, listening to the way the chair across from him scraped open. Someone sat down. Jon glanced up.

It was Mark.

“I’m surprised you’re up.” Jon mumbled, voice low as he spoke to the blond. He ignored the feeling of eyes settling on him, knowing Eduardo was watching them talk. Jon swore he could feel his heart thump a little faster. “You usually don’t get up at... what time is it, 10?”

“10:34 to be exact. I call it a new record.”

Jon shook his head, eyes flickering up again as Mark moved. He watched the lanky man get back up and step his way past Eduardo, grabbing some milk and a bowl. He reached for a box of cereal, but Jon didn’t bother to watch for too long. His eyes were already inching their way back to the other.

He found himself looking at Eduardo again, and for a split second, he could’ve sworn the other was looking at him as well. Jon had caught him staring, Eduardo knew that, but he brushed it off anyway. Cleared his throat again before he spoke.

“So,” he started again. The brunet took another sip of his coffee, eyes turned away from the way Jon perked up again. The little one seemed to sit a bit straighter. The two were talking, clearly this was a question for Jon. Right? “Where were you last night, Mark? I don’t think I heard you come home before I fell asleep.”

Jon opened his mouth, going to respond before pausing. He turned to the blond, eyes wide as he watched said man sit back down with his cereal.

“At a bar,” he replied, shrugging a bit. He let a spoonful enter his mouth, chewing before he caught Jon’s stare. He could tell that the other was trying to give him some look, but he couldn’t comprehend what.

Eduardo pursed his lips. “When did you come home?”

“I don’t know, like 3? The ones around here close at 2, so I just got a milkshake and made my way home.” The blond turned around at him, giving him a look. “Why are you so curious, are you my mom or something?”

Eduardo huffed, turning away. He let himself fall quiet, sipping the rest of his coffee. Mark had turned back around, but Jon was still glancing in between them, waiting for the conversation to continue. But it didn’t. It ended there, and for just a moment, the three men felt the silence. Felt how much they’d grown apart.

Eduardo stayed in his room a lot. You could argue that he was closer to Mark than with Jon, but he was pretty distant from the two. Just stayed in his room, painting away. Mark would talk, but he wasn’t really home a lot. If he was, he mostly just spoke until the others got fed up with him. And Jon, well, he wasn’t exactly the best person to deal with. He’d listen to Mark rant and respond with his own comments, but he was positive that the other just got annoyed with him. And Eduardo, well, they didn’t speak a lot. When they did, it was usually just the other asking Jon to take out the trash or something. Or he’d send him a wave and leave.

Jon tried to avoid him when he got mad. Overall, that was pretty much it.

“Well, what about you two?” Mark questioned, glancing at his friends. He watched Eduardo hide his face in his cup, covering the light frown that had appeared across his features. Jon didn’t look too better either, just quietly staring down at the table top again. “Did you two do anything while I was gone?”

“Uhm--”

“Nope.” Eduardo interrupted, placing his coffee down onto the counter, fingers still hooked onto the holder. “You know Jon can’t hold a conversation for the life of him.”

Jon went quiet, the sound of his name catching his attention. He stared at Eduardo, eyes still wide. Eduardo had yet to look at him. He didn’t even glance his way.

Mark gave a short laugh, but he eyed Jon carefully. Another spoonful went into his mouth, watching the shorter man in front of him, but Jon wouldn’t turn. His eyes were still trained on Eduardo. “Come on, Eduardo. Jon can hold some conversation.”

“Not unless it’s about something stupid. He goes on and on about stuff that doesn’t even make sense.” Eduardo looked away, picking his cup back up. He let his gaze fall into the contents of the mug, watching the coffee swish around. He stood there, lips pursed together for a moment before he spoke again. “I can’t talk to him without getting a migraine.”

Jon frowned, brows knitting together. “I’m... I’m right here, guys.”

He could’ve sworn he saw the look on Eduardo’s face shift. Maybe his eyes were playing with him, but the other looked almost uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to be talking in this conversation, like he started something he shouldn’t have. Before Jon could think too much into it, however, the mug was covering his face once again.

He kept staring. Jon ignored the way Mark was trying to silently get his attention, the blond dropping his spoon into his bowl and just sitting there. The shorter one didn’t pay attention. He just watched Eduardo until the brunet eventually turned.

He glanced at him. For yet another moment, they locked eyes. Like before, black met brown, a quietness floating in between them for a mere second before Eduardo was turning away again. He was always the first to turn away. “Well, you know I’m right, Jon.”

The boy frowned again, lips pulling down as he sat there. He didn’t say anything more, just holding his lips together and narrowing his eyes at nothing. He listened to Eduardo speak about him, listened to the other talk as though he wasn’t there. That was the worst part, really. How the other knew Jon was there and spoke about him anyway, knowing for a fact that the little one wouldn’t interrupt. It made Jon antsy, a heavy feeling growing in his chest.

He slowly looked away, words getting caught in his throat. Mark noticed this, eyes narrowing before he intervened. 

“Alright, Eduardo. I think he gets it.” He muttered, turning back to shoot a look. It was obvious that he was trying to get him to quiet down, the way his face morphed into an expression that clearly said “shut up”.

Eduardo didn’t get the message. Or, well, he didn’t listen.

“Come on, Mark. He can’t even speak without stuttering, let alone look me in the eye when I’m talking to him.” A breathless laugh came from the brunet, motioning towards Jon but not turning. He didn’t look comfortable, but he kept going, as though he wanted to get everything out. To mutter out his thoughts before leaving. “He can’t say anything right now, I could keep going and he wouldn’t stop me.”

Jon kept his fingers jammed between his legs, trying to stop them from fidgeting. He didn’t look up.

“He’s a damn pushover.”

“Eduardo, that’s enough--”

“Isn’t that right, Jon?”

The shortest in the group froze, hearing footsteps creak against the floor. They came closer, pausing right in front of the table, beside Mark. Jon couldn’t help but press himself to the back of the chair, eyes wide and trained onto the table. He tried his best to look natural, fingers fidgeting underneath the surface, out of view. They pressed together, even while squished in between his legs, Jon let them tap together. He could feel his eyes drying, the man blinking a couple times to try and get rid of the feeling. 

Eduardo was right. Of course he was right, what was happening right now proved it. It still hurt, though. It stung to listen to him, to hear Eduardo talk about him in such a demeaning way, not even about him but to him as well. He couldn’t look up at him. Couldn’t show Eduardo that he was nervous.

Jon’s eyes flickered up the table, staring at the mug that clicked against the wooden top. He stared at it, watching those fingers tap along the side of it, knowing those fingers were Eduardo’s. He was standing right in front of him, and the little one couldn’t even look up.

“Jon,” he mumbled, trying to grab the boy’s attention. Eduardo pursed his lips after a second of silence. He didn’t know if he should stop or not, but he had a point to prove. He had already gone so far already anyway. “Are you gonna say anything?”

Jon didn’t. He felt his sadness scurry up his heart, making its way there and settling down. The pull at his lips made him furrow his brows, trying to prevent the automatic frown that begged to show. He had to lightly cover his mouth, just to not show that he was growing upset by the other’s words. It wasn’t working, but it was a pathetic attempt that just showed he was panicking. Teeth clenching together, he could practically feel Eduardo’s eyes boring into him. It was an insufferable feeling.

The silence went on for ages. It felt like years until another noise sounded, Jon blinking his way back into the moment. A scrape of a chair and footsteps were heard, the little one finally looking up a bit.

Mark was standing between Eduardo and the table, mug having been left behind the blond.

“I think that’s enough for today, Eduardo.” Mark mumbled, eyeing the other. He narrowed his gaze, sending a warning to the other. Showing the brunet that he had proved his point already.

Eduardo stared at him, Mark not letting his gaze break apart. The two stood there for a moment, not another word said until the Mexican finally swallowed his pride. He scoffed, leaving his coffee on the table.

“See?” He started again, making his way to the exit. He took a small glance at Jon, who hadn’t looked up at him. A part of Eduardo knew that the other was probably going to think about this again. Later on, when alone. “What did I tell you.”

And with that, he left.

Mark stood there, a glare set on where Eduardo just was. He hated when the other got like that, moments sparking up so quickly that he had no clue what even started it. The blond just watched the space that Eduardo was standing at just a moment before. Another minute of the usual silence came around before he finally turned to Jon, Mark noticing the other still sitting in his place. 

The little one was still, which was unusual. There was no doubt that he was thinking about what the other had said.

“Hey.” Mark whispered, grabbing the other’s attention. Jon’s gaze looked upset, but he still gave the blond a light smile in response.”Don’t think about it. Come on, I rented a movie, why don’t you watch it with me?”

Jon blinked down at Mark’s hands, the blond having offered him one so he could lead him to the living room. He didn’t take it. Not yet, at least.

He was busy thinking over Eduardo’s words, his tone and the way he made the effort to walk over and make fun of Jon to his face. All he did was sit there, sit in their house, a place where Jon thought was safe. All he did was sit there, and suddenly he was getting bombarded with insults, suddenly being called out when just a minute ago, that same man was ready to make light conversation with him. Who asked him a question in the softest voice Jon had ever heard.

His heart swelled, like a hand was closing over it. He didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t know if he should even be thinking about it, but...

“Okay.” He said, looking up to Mark again. Jon scooted back, getting up from his chair before following the other away. “I guess a movie would be okay.”

[dovechim]

a remedy for mondays 02 (m)

➾ 12.6k

➾ please read part 01 first!! 

➾ summary: all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

➾ warnings: SMUT, risky unprotected sex (pls be safe!), one night stand, oral sex (m&f), cum fetish/ cum eating (m), creampies, public bj, impregnation kink, baby making dirty talk, switch jimin. 

➾ a/n: happy monday (at least for me)!!!! the smut is finally here u guys... i feel like im making up for lost time lmaooo ok but real talk there’s a lot more to come in the future. once again, i wanna express my undying love for @jimlingss. without her, half of what's in this fic would not exist c: 

love you guys. have a good week ahead 💓

The notifications are pouring in like crazy. Before this you didn’t even realise you had this many friends, but it seems like now everyone wants a piece of the congratulations-pie, everyone wants to share in on your good news.

Your sister has been calling and texting you non-stop to ask when your next checkup is, and if she can come along to see the ultrasound. Your mother has been leaving long, weepy voicemails begging you to call her back.

It’s all just too much, and its Monday again.

“Your performance has been awfully sub-par lately,” your manager sighs as she flips through your report. “I thought we went over this the last time we met? Where’s the analysis for the datasets I gave you last week?”

“I’m sorry, I’ll work harder,” you mumble under your breath, swallowing back the unfairness that tastes bitter in the back of your throat. Even though you’d spent what was remaining of your weekend churning out all the reports, it’s still not enough. Nothing will ever be enough for your slave driver of a manager.

“See that you do. You may go for now,” she dismisses you, and you leave her office.

You plop down at your desk with a heavy sigh, looking at your emails with no real motivation to do anything. Between the pressure at work and the whole mounting scandal of your supposed pregnancy, you are caught between a rock and a hard place. There’s no real solution to any of this. All you have to blame is yourself.

No, actually, your asshole boss is to blame. She sent you a set of painfully incomplete datasets last week, expecting you to get a full analysis out of them. When you wrote back to her that some data was missing, hence making it difficult for you to analyse, she just ignored your email.

Feeling your anger surge through our entire body, you pick up your mug and shove yourself out of your chair, muttering under your breath.

“What the fuck does she want me to do, magic the data out of thin air? Pull the data out of my ass?” Luckily everyone around you is too absorbed in their work to notice that you’re walking around and talking angrily to yourself.

You wash your cup with more vigour than necessary, scrubbing extra hard as you imagine that the surface of your cup is your boss’s face. You get back to your seat and set your cup down, breathing hard both from the exertion and the annoyance.

“I hit 200 mentions this morning,” Park Jimin remarks casually as he drops his briefcase on his desk and sinks into his chair. “I’ve never had this many notifications before.”

You shoot him an annoyed glare. “Not here!”

Gesturing for him to follow you, you scope out an empty meeting room and close the door.  He comes in and sits on the desk with his arms crossed.

“So what are we going to-“

“Let’s have a baby.”

Park Jimin gapes at you, and if the situation weren’t this dire, you’d laugh about how someone so handsome can get caught off guard too. You run your eyes over his body, from the way his thighs look thicker as he perches on the edge of the desk, his slim biceps that show through his white dress shirt, and his dashing good looks. Why nothave a baby with Park Jimin? At this point, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to you.

“You’re not thinking straight are you?” Jimin cautions with his hands up, as if trying to ward off a raging, charging bull. “What happened? Did your manager give you hell again? You’re always cranky on Mondays.”

“I’m cranky, am I?” Your voice has a slight edge to it. “I’ll tell you why I’m cranky alright. My sister is texting me every two seconds asking if I’ve set up an appointment with the doctor yet. My mother is calling me every four seconds to tell me what she thinks our baby’s name should be-“

“Wait- really? But you haven’t gotten a single call in the whole time that you’ve been here…”

“I’m not getting a moment’s peace,” you whirl around on him with a slightly manic look on your face, and Park Jimin’s eyes widen even more, and he gulps in fear. “Let’s just have this fucking baby already.”

Jimin knows well enough not to engage someone when they’re in full on panic mode, so he lets you take a few deep breaths before speaking. Over the past few months, he’s grown pretty familiar with what your likes and dislikes are, particularly your preference for drowning your sorrows in alcohol. So maybe the next thing that he suggests is not the most rational, but fuck it, at this point, does it even matter anymore?

“You know what? Let’s ditch work early today and go for drinks.” Jimin watches your expression change immediately, and his heart seizes in relief.

But then a frown crosses your face. “Oh but I can’t, I have that fucking dataset to analyse…”

“Fuck it.” You’re shocked when the expletive leaves his lips; the normally reserved Park Jimin who always does all his work and makes sure to cross his ‘t’s and dot his ‘i’s. “It’s Monday. Who wants to work on a Monday?”

*

It feels like the two of you are doing something illegal when you lean to the side and catch Park Jimin’s eye at exactly 5pm on the dot. You already decided that leaving at the same time from your seats would be far too inconspicuous, so the plan is for you to pretend to go to the ladies’ washroom, which is in one direction, and for him to leave for the men’s about 10 minutes later, then meet at the taxi stand and hail a cab to get the hell out of this place.

It’s a whole rendezvous, and since you left earlier, you reach the taxi stand first; panting even though you haven’t done that much physical exercise to justify it at all. The minutes are ticking by; any time now any one of your coworkers could walk by and see you waiting for a taxi and immediately know that you’re leaving work early. But it’s even worse still if they happen to catch you and Park Jimin hopping into a cab together, so you only pray that your brainless coworkers are tied to their desks.

Not a second later, Park Jimin appears, his hair ruffled and his eyes shining behind his glasses with mirth. His lips are quirked into an excited smile as he waves down a cab, opens the door for you and gestures you in. The simple act of his, done without much thought at all, actually makes your heart skip a beat as you get in.

You can’t help but obsessively check over your shoulder to see if any of your co-workers just so happen to be around. It’s only when you clear the near vicinity of your workplace that your shoulders sag with relief, and even more so when the cab screeches to a stop, signalling that you’ve arrived. Jimin pays the driver without a word, refusing to accept your money as you clamber out of the cab after him.

It’s not the typical scene you would have found yourself at in your younger days. This bar is a lot more lowkey, the lighting is dim despite the fact that they haven’t even reached happy hour yet. It’s hard to make out anyone’s face inside, and you nearly lose sight of Jimin were it not for the fact that his hand is tightly grasping yours.

“What would you like to start off?” Jimin asks as you reach the bar. He turns to see you struggling to get on the high chair in your skirt and heels, and he reaches to steady the back of the chair so that it doesn’t tip over.

“Shots.” You declare. “I need to get wasted, and fast.”

Giving you a raised eyebrow, but not protesting in the least, Jimin turns to order and in that moment, gives you a really nice glimpse of his side profile. Somewhere along the taxi ride he had taken off his glasses and pushed his hair back, and unbuttoned his dress shirt a little more. You have to tear your eyes away from him when the bartender presents you with a tray of tequila shots with salt decorating the rim, and some finger food to go along with it.

You grab one and he follows suit.

“What should we toast to?” Park Jimin asks.

“To our baby,” you say with a slight laugh, and though you can feel the slightly weird look that the bartender gives you, you don’t really give a fuck. All that matters is that the only other person in here who knows the truth is Park Jimin, and he gives you a shared smile as you clink glasses.

The alcohol burns as it slides down your throat, and you immediately reach for another to chase it down. The tray clears out pretty quickly as Jimin matches you shot for shot, and every time you put down your glass, reality gets further and further away, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So tell me,” Jimin says as he reaches for the ketchup bottle and uncaps it, pulling the bowl of truffle fries closer to him. “Was this always your dream?”

You stop him as he’s about to pour ketchup all over the top of the fries like a savage instead of doing it the normal way, on the side. “Dude, order your own fries if you’re gonna ruin them like that!”

“What, how is that weird? I’ve always done that!”

“You belong in a mental institution,” you fix him with a glare. “Anyway, was whatalways my dream?”

Jimin just shrugs and gives in as he takes a few fries from the bowl to dip, like a civilized person. “This job.”

“Was working at a desk job for 9 hours straight always my dream? Uh, I think not,” you chew on your fries. “Which child ever had a dream like that? Did youhave a dream like that?”

“Me? I wanted to be a policeman,” Jimin grins as he raises his clenched fists. “You know all that idealistic shit children believe in. Making a difference in the world. Catching all the bad guys. Things like that.”

“So you don’t believe in those things anymore?”

“No, I still believe in them,” he raises another shot to his lips and downs it with a grimace. “I just realised that things aren’t so black and white. There are bad guys everywhere, but sometimes you just can’t catch them. Sometimes they’re the ones in positions of power over you and you gotta live like that.”

You reach for another shot, but the tray is empty. Jimin signals the bartender to bring you a second round of drinks; a gin and tonic for you and a coke with vodka for him. The alcohol has your senses buzzing pleasantly, it feels like there’s a disconnect between your brain and your mouth, but you don’t actively object to it either. It feels nice to be able to tell someone things like this.

“I gave up on having a dream long ago. Not everyone is lucky enough to do what they like in life, and I already accepted that I’m not one of those people. And it’s okay.” You turn in your chair so that you are facing Jimin directly, though you have a bit of trouble because it seems like your body is disconnected from your brain.

Jimin helps you with a hand on your thigh that sends shockwaves through your entire body. His daring touch makes your heart speed up, and when he positions your chair so that his thighs are on the outside of yours, you can barely breathe as you look him in the eye. And then he leans forward, slowly, bit by bit, until you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he only takes a whiff of your alcohol laden breath.

“Come on. I should see you home. We still have work tomorrow.” His words brook no resistance as he helps you off the chair with an arm around your waist, and the alcohol seems to have taken effect on you faster than usual today, because you’re only capable of sinking into him, feeling his firm body against yours.

A cab pulls up to the entrance of the bar, and Jimin shields your head as you get into the car, barely having control over your limbs. You mutter your address to the driver, and over the ride home, the bumps and turns actually help you to sober up a little, but then you begin to notice the little things like how Park Jimin’s thighs are actually pretty thick.

And when he stretches forward to pay the driver again, you notice how nice his biceps are.

When he walks in front of you leading you with one hand, you notice how tight his ass looks in his pants.

As he waits for you to unlock your door, you feel his breath on the nape of your neck, and just the feeling of having his body this close to yours is just-

“So um, goodnight, it was fun, I guess,” Park Jimin is stuttering and stumbling over his words as he scratches the back of his neck. “We should do it again sometime. Ditch work, I mean.”

Oh fuck it all to hell, you think to yourself as you grab Park Jimin by the collar and pull him into you, your lips meeting and immediately, you taste the sweetness of the coke on his tongue. Park Jimin lets out an adorable little grunt of surprise, but his hands still wrap around you anyway, one around your waist and the other inching down towards your hip.

“We- shouldn’t be doing this,” Park Jimin pants in between kisses as you bite his lips roughly, and watching them become swollen with your kisses gives you a strange satisfaction that you’ve never experienced with anyone else.

But his rationality is impeded by the alcohol rushing through his bloodstream, but even more so than that, the feel of your soft body against him. So Park Jimin forgets what he was going to say next as you make him walk backwards in the direction of your bedroom.

“But we’re doing it anyway,” you tell him with flushed cheeks, and his hands agree with you as they climb up your body, reaching for the zipper on the side of your skirt.

He pulls your skirt off impatiently, but you won’t let him get away with it so easily as you fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt, finally prising them apart to get a good look at his sleek chest muscles and his toned abdomen.

“Shit,” you swear under your breath. “When the fuck did you get those?”

Park Jimin looks smug as he pushes his shirt off his body, feeling his abs tense as you straddle his lap. “What do you mean? I’ve always had these.”

“I thought you were just some skimpy little nerd,” you huff at him in slight annoyance. It’s almost a little rude of him to spring it on you like this, suddenly turning from the computer geek nerd into a hot walking sex god.

“A nerd hot enough for you to have a one-night stand with,” Jimin throws back at you with a proud smirk, and irritated with his sudden overconfidence, you shut him up by grinding against the bulge in the front of his now too tight dress pants.

“That doesn’t count, I was panicking,” you try to defend yourself weakly, but Jimin ignores you in favour of mouthing against your neck, kissing his way down to your bra cups, which he pulls down with his teeth. As if to prove his point that you are having a one-night stand with him right now.

Jimin is fumbling with your bra at the same time you are trying to undo the button of his pants, and the whole affair is desperate; the two of you are half-sober and everything is a blur. All you know is, the next thing his pants are off, his cock is leaking on his stomach, and the desire to take him in your mouth is undeniable.

Your hand grasps him at his base, and he bucks his hips into you immediately, curses falling from his swollen lips. A few good strokes, and then you can’t wait anymore, your lips close around his head and the saltiness of him spreads across your tongue.

“Ahhh, fuck,” Jimin’s hands tangle themselves in your hair. “I- gu-ess we’re not co-workers anymore?”

Your mouth is too full of cock to respond as you sink down on him deeper, loosening your throat as your tongue teases the underside of him. Saliva is already dripping from the corners of your mouth to run down your chin, and you belatedly realise that your bra is still on; Jimin hadn’t managed to get it off. With one hand you reach behind you and undo the clasp, shrugging the bra off in a single movement as Jimin swears as if he just witnessed a miracle (he’s never actually seen any of the girls he’s been with do this.)

You pull yourself off his cock for a moment to give yourself a breather, resting the head of him against your chin as you look up at him. “Just ask yourself, Park. Would a co-worker be sucking your dick like this?”

And then your mouth is back on him; you feel his hands in your hair and his thighs trembling beneath you. His cock is leaking in your mouth, it is thick in your throat as you bob up and down, the sounds of you choking around his cock are filthy and wet.

“Stop!” Jimin sounds out with a gasp, his abs trembling from the amount of effort it takes him not to blow his load. “It- it’s been a while. I don’t wanna cum yet, please.”

His pleading, whiny voice that’s filled with desperation makes you reconsider. Maybe he isn’t a sex god after all; he just happens to have a good body. You pull away from his cock and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and Jimin pulls you forward to sit on his lap. His cock brushes against your stomach, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes off your breasts.

“Have you even done this before?” You mean it as a joke, but Park Jimin’s eyes widen in panic.

“What?! Of course I have!” He says defensively. “Let me eat you out and I’ll show you.”

He reaches for the waistband of your underwear, but you swat him away impatiently. “That’ll take too long. Just let me ride you and we can both cum.”

You push down your underwear in a single movement, not missing the way his eyes are drawn to how your arousal clings to the material. He helps you situate yourself on him with his hands around your waist, and you grab the base of his cock to start to guide him into you. But then, Park Jimin stops you.

“Make sure you’re wet enough?” He asks as he runs his fingers against your slit, though he pretty much already knows the answer just from seeing how soaked your panties were. He just wants to feel the evidence of your arousal for himself. His fingers come away sticky and soaked.

While Park Jimin is busy marvelling at how wet you are just from sucking his cock, you position the head of his cock at your entrance, and then you sink down slowly onto him. The stretch of him against your walls makes you dig your fingers into his shoulders, and likewise, Park Jimin’s fingers dig themselves into your waist as he moans out your name.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” Jimin barely manages to get out as you stop with a few more inches to go. “You didn’t answer my question earlier on.”

“What is it?” You grit your teeth as you position yourself on your knees, trying to work yourself into taking his entire cock. It had been a while since you last had dick, let alone one as thick as Park Jimin’s, but you aren’t a quitter by any means.

“We- we aren’t co-workers anymore, huh?” Jimin groans again as you squeeze his cock with your walls.

“For fuck’s sake, Park,” you growl at him as you start bouncing on his cock, each slap satisfying as he bottoms out inside you. “We stopped being co-workers the minute I publicised our one-night stand.”

Your hands are on his chest for better leverage as your hips grind on his cock to get him as deep as possible, alternating between up and down movements and side to side movements. Park Jimin has his hands on your hips to help guide you, but he realises you don’t need guidance, so he just sits back to let himself enjoy the visual spectacle that’s unfolding in front of him. You, with your cheeks flushed and breasts loose and bouncing because of his cock, riding him as if your life depends on it. Jimin looks down to where his cock disappears inside you, where your sweet thighs are flexing and working to get the both of you off. But it’s not quite enough.

“Turn around,” he begs. “Wanna see your ass too.”

“God, you’re so fucking weird, Park,” but you do it anyway, letting his cock slide out of you as you turn around and fold your knees under you so that your back faces him.

Jimin spreads his thighs just enough so that they frame your ass perfectly, his hand pressing against your lower back so that you arch and press your ass against him even more. Then he spreads your cheeks with one hand and guides his cock back into your warm depths with the other, groaning when you push back onto him and sit on his cock fully. Now every time you bounce on his cock, your ass jiggles deliciously, and as an ass man, Jimin appreciates this view so much that he tries his best to take a mental picture of this whole view with his mind.

His cock sliding into your pussy so easily since you’re so wet, the fleshy globes of your ass against his thighs as you fuck yourself back onto his cock.

“I-I’m gonna cum,” he warns you with his cheeks hot and abs tensing.

“Just cum already,” you huff in impatience as you turn your head to catch a glimpse of his already fucked out look, lips swollen and his hands on your ass as his cock twitches inside you.

With your permission, Jimin lets himself go as he feels his balls tense, cock releasing inside your sweet, warm pussy and filling you up all the way with his cum. He continues to watch your ass bounce on his cock to milk him dry of every drop, his hips thrusting upwards in an effort to prolong his pleasure. Once he can feel that he’s given you every drop of cum in his body, he places his hands on your ass and pushes you forward with cheeks spread so he can see how well he filled your pussy.

His softening cock starts to slide out from you, and Jimin can see his cum start to leak from your pussy almost immediately. To your benefit, you are giving him the fucking show of his life as you arch your back and lean forward, guided by his hands as you lower your upper body to the bed.

“Shit, oh fuck it,” Jimin mutters to himself as he pushes himself into a sitting position, then with both hands grasping the back of your thighs, he flips you over till you are on your ass, then pulls you with legs spread closer to him. The sight of your cream filled pussy is just too tempting to resist, and Jimin licks through your soaked folds as he savours your taste mixed with his.

He barely hears you squeak out his name in surprise as he continues to devour your creamed pussy, tongue around your clit in circles and fingers dipping into your cunt to tease out more of his cum from your depths. To his pleasure, his cum leaks from you in an ever steady stream as he eats you out; your thighs are shaking around his head as you cry out your pleasure till you lose track.

When you beg him to stop, thighs quivering from overstimulation and clit raw and abused, he raises his head and gives you a quick kiss to your inner thigh, collapsing onto the bed in pure exhaustion. Post high, you are both wiped out, and that’s how the two of you, who are most certainly notco-workers anymore, fall asleep.

*

Everything is too bright. And everything hurts, your throat is dry and again, everything hurts. You forget that you aren’t in your prime time anymore; that drinking is a night of fun followed by a morning of regret.

Though this morning, you have a lot more to regret than just alcohol.

You wake up with an alien arm around your waist, and frustrated by the unwanted physical contact, you toss it away with an annoyed grunt. Your elbow strikes out in the same direction, only to hit a solid, warm body beside you, and then your eyes shoot open as you sit straight up in bed.

Only to find a very naked, very passed out Park Jimin sleeping beside you.

“Holy fucking shit,” the realisation of exactly what happened last night hits you, and dread punches you in the stomach.

“Is it morning already?” Park Jimin buries his face into your sheets, his blonde hair sticks out in every direction. “Five more minutes, mom.”

Irritated that he’s yet to come to his senses, you kick his stupid, bubble butt, and he jerks awake, opening his eyes blearily. Once he takes in your expression, he closes them immediately.

“Can’t say that’s the best thing to wake up to in the morning,” Jimin says with his face buried in the sheets again, his voice muffled. “Nothing kills my morning wood faster than-“

“Get the fuck up, Park,” you hiss at him, clutching the sheets to your chest. “Come to your fucking senses!”

At the tone of urgency in your voice, Park Jimin finally shakes himself awake; he blinks slowly until he takes in the whole situation: you and him, supposedly co-workers, waking up together in the same bed, naked.

“Holy fuck, did we just…” Park Jimin glances down at his cock that lies limp against the side of his thigh, and the sticky, dried essence left behind. “Oh my god. We fucked.”

“We arefucked,” you correct him.

*

It seems as if whoever is running things up in the divine realm really has it out for you. Nursing a hangover as you walk into work, you try your best not to make eye contact with Park Jimin, which is easier said than done considering that he sits right opposite you.

So this is how it feels when two colleagues actuallyhave a one-night stand.

You run a hand through your hair in frustration, unable to focus on any of your tasks this morning.

“Hey, _____- whoa, are you feeling okay?” Kim Taehyung does a double take as he passes by your desk. “You look a little, um… under the weather. You feeling alright? Is it… how’s the baby? How many months are you again?”

Your face only pales even further as he brings up the non-existent baby, and with that, a realisation that the both of you didn’t use protection last night. Park Jimin seems to have arrived at the same realisation, because he makes eye contact with you for the first time that morning as he peeks out the side of his computer.

“I’m- I’m alright,” you manage a forced smile, wanting nothing more than for him to just fuck off already so that you can begin to process all this in peace and figure out exactly how screwed over you are.

“Well, if you say so,” Kim Taehyung says with a doubtful frown. “You know, _____, we actually have really great benefits for mothers. Even unwed mothers. I’d love to sit down and go through them with you one day if you could spare me the time. Wait actually, can I see your baby bump? I always thought they were the cutest-“

“I have to throw up,” you say without hesitation, and you stand up and push past him on your way to the restroom.

It’s not entirely a lie, since you do spend a good ten minutes praying at the porcelain altar, but no one has to know it was because of alcohol intoxication. When you finally flush and then rinse out your mouth at the sink, you open the door of the restroom to find Park Jimin waiting with a worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He starts, but then Jeongguk walks by you and shoots you both an admiring look.

“Lovebirds alert!” He sings out in that highly irritating voice of his as he dances down the aisle.

“No, I want to fucking die,” you mutter under your breath as you stare daggers into Jeongguk’s back.

“I need to ask you something,” Park Jimin says urgently as he glances around for any eavesdropping ears. He grasps your hand and tugs you into the nearest meeting room, and once he makes sure that the doors are locked securely, he turns to you again. “We used a condom last night right? We are responsible, working adults. We wouldn’t forget something as basic as that.”

You sink down onto a chair with a glum look on your face. “Impossible. We couldn’t have used a condom. I don’t have any condoms in my house.”

Park Jimin makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “Well… then, you’re on birth control right?”

“It makes me gain weight like crazy. The only reason why I’m not a balloon right now is because I went off the pill years ago.”

There is a beat of silence as Park Jimin stares at you as if you’re pulling his leg. Then a random thought occurs to you that you could very well still end up being a balloon precisely becauseyou’re not on birth control right now.

“What about Plan B?” Jimin lights up, literally jumping out of his chair as he suggests it. “You could get it right now. I’ll drive you. We can say we’re going to the doctor’s for an appointment or something.”

The sobering reality sets in as you sit there in silence, and Park Jimin is still looking at you, waiting for your response. Only, you don’t quite know how to respond. The rational part of you should be jumping to your feet now and making him rush you to the nearest pharmacy, but then there’s a tiny voice in the back of your head that you can’t ignore.

This would solve all your problems.

Park Jimin is still waiting for your response, growing more and more antsy as the minutes tick by.

“Do you know how many people know about this baby?” You finally say.

Those were not the words Park Jimin was expecting to hear, and he does a double take. “Wh- what? What are you talking about?”

“Approximately 265 people,” you continue on, ignoring his cautious look. “Your family, my family, the whole company, my friends, my ex-boyfriend and his new wife-“

“You counted? Why would you do that?” Jimin groans as he runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t have to remind me of how fucked we are and how many people we have to answer to. My Granny dug out my baby clothes from some godforsaken corner in the house and gave them to me last night.”

The mention of Jimin’s Granny fills you with guilt once more, and it makes the tiny voice grow a little louder, and you try to swallow back the awful feeling.

“Exactly. So why don’t we just… leave this up to chance. Just this once.” You keep glancing at Jimin to gauge his reaction, but the blonde haired man only stares back at you with the same serious expression on his face. “Plan B wouldn’t have worked anyway. I already ovulated this month.”

“Shit,” Jimin sighs as he collapses down into a chair. “So there’s an actual chance? That you could be pregnant right now? But I… I ate you out. Maybe I got most of it out from you.”

The both of you know that Jimin is simply grasping at straws now.

You just shrug silently as Jimin takes some time to let the reality of the situation sink in. Just then, your phone buzzes and you open the text from your sister who’s asking if she can accompany you to your ultrasounds. You groan audibly, and Jimin takes a peek over at your phone screen.

“Just this once,” he says, as if he’s really considering it as he watches the messages from your sister flood your screen. “But… will you be okay? If it really does happen, I mean. Are you okay with that?”

“I mean, I hate kids and all, if that’s what you’re asking.” You lock your phone and put it face down on the desk just so you don’t have to deal with that for a hot second. “But that aside, if it’s a cute kid, I guess I don’t mind. I mean… if the kid looked like you. I guess I don’t mind.”

You don’t know why it’s taking you so long to say what you really mean. It’s not like you to beat around the bushes like this, nor is it like you to be tripping over your own words like an idiot. But the gist of it still gets through anyway, by the look on Park Jimin’s face.

“I… I guess I wouldn’t mind either. Kids are cute.” Jimin says hesitantly, eyes constantly darting away from yours. “I mean, I’mcute. Obviously my kids would be cute.”

“Um. Okay then,” you say awkwardly, getting up and skirting around him to get to the door. “I guess… um… so… I’ll let you know. If anything happens.”

Jimin gets up with a resolute look on his face as he follows you to the door. “Yeah. Sure.”

*

The next Monday, everyone is off work for the afternoon because it’s the quarterly Healthy Lifestyle Day, where a poll is sent out to everyone to vote for the healthy bonding activity that their team should engage in. In actual fact, the poll is a scam since bowling wins every time, all because it’s well known that Bae Joohyun’s favourite pastime is bowling.

You endure the awful scents of sweat as you squeeze into your awful rented bowling shoes, grimace as you cram your fingers into the holes on the bowling ball, try not too hard to embarrass yourself as you bowl gutter after gutter. Your back is aching, face is sweaty and you are straight up not having a good time.

Bae Joohyun, on the other hand, is nailing strike after strike in her own lane, with her team of personal cheerleaders making a huge fuss every time she finishes her round. Those are the very group of people who are aiming for a promotion that year; the rest of you are just kind of milling about the other lanes and pretending to enjoy yourself.

You finish your round and plop down on the seat with a sigh, watching as Jeon Jeongguk takes his turn after you with a flourish as he launches his ball down the alley. It’s no secret that he too loves bowling, and he’s pretty good at it too, until Seokjin, one of those vying for a promotion, had to come over and tell him to tone down lest he beat Bae Joohyun’s score.

God forbid if that should happen.

Jeon Jeongguk is trying very hard to do his worst, and it’s actually kind of hilarious because you can literally see the veins in his neck as he strains, his body tensing as he shifts his posture so that his ball rolls into the gutter. The utter disappointment on his face as he strolls back, looking as if he’s about to cry.

“Better luck next time, Jeon,” you call out, feeling a little sorry for the boy with the bunny smile since it seems as if he really does enjoy bowling.

“Yeah, better luck next time!” Kim Taehyung yells out as he takes his time choosing his ball. He holds it in front of him and glances at you with a strange look on his face that immediately warns you to be on guard. “Hey, _____...”

“Yes?” Your voice is raised in suspicion, already not loving where this is going.

“I wanted to ask you this last week, but where is your bump?” Taehyung strokes the bowling ball with a reverence that makes you want to roll your eyes. Why the fuck do you work with weirdos? Taehyung eyes the bowling ball he’s carrying before he looks at you again. “Shouldn’t you be around this far along by now?”

You glance nervously at Jimin, who is in the other lane paired up with the Parenting team, laughing and smiling with this other girl who has long wavy hair that comes down to the middle of her back. But he’s currently too occupied with making her laugh, even helping her out with her bowling posture, to help you out of this hole, so you have to deal with this one yourself.

“The doctor said it’s a small baby,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can, secretly marvelling at your own genius. “Some people don’t show until the 8thor 9thmonth, you know. It’s perfectly normal. Every pregnancy is different.”

You even sound knowledgeable to your own ears. Taehyung looks convinced by your story, but then he decides to put the bowling ball under his shirt for some inane reason, drawing more attention to himself as your coworkers start to notice.

“Hey Park! Look, I’m your girlfriend!” Taehyung yells and you stand up in horror.

“What the fuck, are you fucking high?” You hiss at him, trying to get him to take the ball out without dropping it on his own foot. “Stop fucking around! Bae Joohyun is here!”

Her name gets him to sober up a little, though it’s already too late because Namjoon from HR is strolling over with an amused look on his face, having sat out the bowling because of his injured finger (he’s always injuring some part of his body because of his clumsiness).

“Hey _____, how’s the baby? Don’t mind if I feel the bump? Is the baby kicking yet?” He says with an excited look on his face. “My sister felt her kicks early. It was the most magical thing.”

“Uh… no, not yet,” you laugh weakly and wave his hand away. “It’s a very small baby for now, so…”

“Oh come on, I’m sure there’s been a flutter or two here and there!” Namjoon insists with his eyes bright, and Taehyung nods vigorously.

“C’mon, just let us feel the bump?” Taehyung begs with his hands clasped together, and you glance around furtively. The two of them won’t seem to stop going on and on about this baby, but if you just let them touch your stomach maybe they’ll be satisfied. It can’t hurt, it’s not like they have ultrasounds for hands.

“Fine,” you sigh as you tense your stomach a little. You don’t have the flattest stomach, but it’s certainly not as pronounced as it should be this far into pregnancy. But it’s harmless, they won’t be able to feel anything, and-

“Oh my god, I think the baby just kicked!” Namjoon exclaims with his hand on your lower abdomen, and you frown in distress. “There! Right there! I felt it! Taehyung, did you feel it too?”

Namjoon removes his hand and urges Taehyung to take his place, which the latter does without hesitation. You’re just about to protest that this touchy feely session has gone on for a tad too long, but then Taehyung’s face lights up.

“You’re right! I felt it too! Oh my god ______, your baby kicked!”

He says this last sentence with a booming voice that echoes throughout the bowling alley, and you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole. More and more people are turning to look at you now, including total strangers not from your company, and even Jimin and the pretty girl he’s with are turning to you.

Namjoon and Taehyung are absolutely wrecking you today. Luckily Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t seem to be in the mood to join in, seeing as he’s seated on the far end of the sofa soaking up his own misery.

Your cheeks are burning as you feel the burrito from lunch announcing its presence, but you paste on a shaky smile and add on to your credibility with a nervous laugh. “Oh wow… um, that’s the baby, y-yeah it is! The kicks have been so tiny I barely noticed!”

Namjoon is literally clapping his hands with glee. “Where’s Park? He needs to witness this moment! He’s your baby daddy!”

Taehyung glances around till he catches a glimpse of Jimin and the pretty girl with the wavy hair, and then he grimaces. “Woah, looks like you got some competition huh? Better up your game, if you know what I mean. I saw them getting pretty up close and personal just now. Park was teaching her how to hold a bowling ball. I mean, who the fuck needs to learn that?”

“She can hold my balls if she wants,” Namjoon snickers, but then his face straightens when you glare at him. “It was a joke. Sorry. Please don’t report me to HR for sexual harassment.”

Sometimes you just want to quit your job. Not because of Bae Joohyun, but because of your fucking idiotic coworkers.

“Namjoon, you areHR,” you hiss at him with barely concealed patience.

Taehyung continues as if you’d asked for advice on your sex life with your non-existent baby daddy. “A little pregnancy sex never hurt anyone.”

You can’t quite concentrate on what he’s saying as you glance over at Jimin and his new girl turning their attention back to bowling, him picking out a ball and handing it to her, their hands brushing and the girl giggling. Your attention is focused on them, how Jimin stands behind her as she gets ready to bowl, the way she bends over and practically flashes the whole alley in her short skirt.

Meanwhile, Taehyung is still going on as if you’d asked about his sexual preferences. “Some men find it hot. I, in fact, would love to knock a chick up and then keep fucking her after. Something about that primal instinct, you know?”

When the girl hits five pins, she turns to Jimin with a squeal and raises her hands for a high five. Jimin returns it with a happy grin, but then somehow the whole affair escalates into a hug, and you frown.

“Shut up, Taehyung,” you are taking out your anger on him, but this stupid punk sure as hell deserves it anyway.

Taehyung holds up two hands at your sudden burst of anger. “Woah, I was only giving suggestions. Trying to help here.”

You leave him, still fuming and wanting nothing more than to get out of these fucking uncomfortable shoes. In actual fact, you have no idea why you’re this worked up. It’s not like you and Park Jimin have this exclusive agreement together. He’s free to flirt with anyone he likes.

But really, her? With the flippy hair and obnoxious voice? And while you’re supposed to be pregnant with his baby too? He’s practically cheating on you openly!! Never mind that you aren’t actually knocked up with his kid. It’s the principle of it all.

By the time you reach the counter to exchange your token for your locker key, your expression must have evolved into something truly frightening, because the poor girl manning the counter squeaks at you in fear when you bark out your locker number at her.

When you’re done changing your shoes, you head into the washroom for a bit to splash some water on your face so that you can cool down, and also to check if your period is here, but it’s not. A few minutes later when you leave, you find Park Jimin waiting outside, still in his bowling shoes, his cheeks flushed with exertion and his hair ruffled out of place.

“Are you okay?” He asks, then clears his throat. “I mean; did anything happen? While you were in there? Did your period come?”

You feel the urge to brush past him in annoyance. The whole of last week, the two of you had avoided each other; on one hand you were completely swamped with work, but on the other hand, there is also this awkwardness in between you that hadn’t existed before that fateful night. You still hadn’t directly addressed it yet, only skirted around the topic in hems and haws.

“No it didn’t,” you say, your voice small all of a sudden. “Who’s that girl in your lane?”

“Oh, Seulgi from Divorce Support,” Jimin says. “I was just teaching her how to bowl.”

There’s another awkward silence as the two of you avoid eye contact, and then you hear Seulgi’s high pitched voice calling Jimin’s name, asking him to come back and help her score another strike. Jimin is just about to respond back to her, but then you grab his collar and pull him into the secluded space just behind the female toilets, shutting him up with your lips on his.

His protests soon turn to muffled moans against you, and his hands come to circle your waist somewhat hesitantly, but the intention alone is enough for you. Breaking apart for air, you finally get a glimpse of how sinful Park Jimin looks, and flashbacks from that night revisit you once more. Plush, swollen lips parted mid gasp, cheeks red and flushed and his eyes that can’t stop devouring you whole.

“You should be teaching mehow to bowl,” you push him up against the wall for added emphasis. “I’m the one you knocked up, not her.”

Jimin gulps nervously as he feels your body press against him, and all the blood rushing down south that will soon make itself known against your lower belly. He tries to put a little bit of space in between your bodies so that he won’t embarrass himself, but you are relentless, pressing your breasts into his chest as your hand makes its way to the front of his pants.

“Yo-you aren’t really knocked up,” Jimin tries to protest weakly as you grab a handful of him, and he hardens immediately.

“I could be,” you shoot back. Aware that you don’t have much time, you pull down the zipper on his dress pants and reach inside to grope him lewdly over his underwear. “You knocked me up with your cock right here. Came inside me and filled me up so good.”

“Shit,” Jimin is panting harshly against your neck now, his hips twitching involuntarily as he feels himself soak the front of his underwear. “Wh-what’s got into you?”

“Your cum,” you say simply, watching his eyes widen again as you sink down to your knees, pulling his underwear the rest of the way down to expose the leaking head of his cock. In your previous one-night stand (the actual one), you regrettably didn’t have a chance to admire him properly, but now you’re going to make up for it.

His cock is thick from base to tip, the head of it already red and angry. You can feel your jaw ache just with the thought of deepthroating him all the way, yet you don’t even care if it’d make Park Jimin feel good.

Pushing his cock to lie flat on his belly, you give the underside a long, salacious lick that has Jimin gasping and sobbing already. You start from the bottom again and maintain eye contact as you kitten lick your way to his head again, and then you take him whole into your warm mouth, suckling him as his hands find their way into your hair.

“We- we can’t do this, we’re at work,” Jimin pants, his actions contradictory as his hip surge forward to chase the warmth of your mouth. All it does is showcase his less than ideal willpower when it comes to you.

“What would your Granny say? If she saw you flirting with another girl while the one you knocked up watches?” You squeeze his cock hard, causing Jimin to buck his hips with a groan.

“Pl-please don’t talk about my Granny when you’re sucking my cock,” Jimin protests as he pushes your head further down on his cock.

You let him push his cock down your throat, relaxing and breathing through your nose as you take him for a few seconds. Then you pull back with a wet, sloppy sound, his cock covered in your saliva and precum that drips onto your blouse as you swallow and breathe. “We aren’t at work right now. We’re at a bowling alley.”

And then your mouth is back on his cock, bobbing up and down as you give him the suck of his life, his taste salty on your tongue. One hand wraps around his girthy base as you suck the rest of him, and the other hand comes up to play with his balls. Jimin is all curses and breathy pants above you, his thick thighs trembling with pleasure as he struggles not to lose his balance, nor his load.

“Like it when I play with your balls like this, hmmm?” You pull yourself off his cock to watch the effect your words have on him, tugging on his balls that feel tight and heavy as you jerk him off with the other hand. “When was the last time you came, Minnie?”

The pretty column of his neck is drenched with sweat as he throws his head back against the wall, cock twitching in your grasp as Jimin struggles not to cum. The nickname makes his knees go weak and his voice is lost somewhere in his chest.

When he still doesn’t answer you, you turn and sink your teeth into his fleshy inner thigh, causing him to whine sharply.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Minnie.”

“L-last week,” he gasps out. “Wi-with you.”

“Someone’s been a good boy,” you resume your strokes of his cock as you lick his balls, causing his thighs to clench in response. “Are you sure you haven’t cum since? Didn’t stroke your cock like a dirty pervert and make a mess of yourself with your cum?”

“I-I promise, I didn’t!” Jimin peers down at you in the haze of his desperation and lust, only to see his precum coating your chin, red lipstick smeared all over, but yet you’ve never looked prettier.

Satisfied with his answer, and also how fucked out he looks within such a short span of you getting your mouth on his cock, you wrap your lips around his head again as you jerk the rest of him off, still cradling his balls with your other hand.

“I’m gonna cum,” comes Jimin’s half plea, half warning.

You double your efforts at jerking him off, opening your mouth to show him the head of his cock as it rests heavy on your tongue. That’s all it takes for Jimin to lose his load, his balls pulsing under your grasp as pretty white ropes of cum shoot decorate your tongue. Jimin can’t quite keep his eyes off the way your mouth fills with his seed, and the way you swallow down every drop of him, licking and cleaning his cock as if to make sure you get all of his cum.

When you make sure he’s clean, you press a light kiss to his oversensitive head. “Just remember. I was the one who sucked your cock and swallowed your cum today. Not Seulgi.”

Jimin reaches to tuck himself back into his pants, hands shaky and thighs still trembling. When you stand up and start to walk off without another word, he reaches for your waist to pull you back into him, wanting a taste of your lips after you swallowed his cum.

It’s bitter and sweet at the same time, and Jimin’s sinful moans only make your thighs clench together harder. When you pull apart, Jimin doesn’t let go of his arms around your waist.

“You have a thing for cum?” You raise an eyebrow at him, remembering him eating you out after he came inside you the last time as well. Most guys you’d been with in the past had no problem kissing you after eating you out, but turn it the other way around and they’d be utterly disgusted.

“It’s hot,” Jimin mutters as his eyes slide away from yours.

Recognizing the telltale signs of his embarrassment, you place your thumb on his chin to stop him from looking away. “It’s hot when you do it.”

Hearing you validate him makes him visibly relax in your arms. “What are we? I don’t think we’re coworkers anymore.”

There’s a brief pause as you are aware of how intimate this is, feeling the arousal still pooling in your underwear and feeling Park Jimin’s body warm against yours. There’s something about being in his arms like this that makes the rest of the world disappear.

“No, we aren’t,” you admit. “We… we could be something more. If you want.”

It’s your turn to be nervous now and you can feel your heart racing in your chest, already anticipating for the handsome golden boy to turn you down. Why would he want to be something more with you after all, when there are so many other pretty girls in the office for him to fuck around with?

“I want to. Be something more, that is.” Jimin smiles back, a cute little shy smile that makes your heart skip a million beats.

*

“_____! It’s been so long since I last saw you!” Granny welcomes you with a wide grin and comforting arms as she bundles you into her embrace. “You look so pretty! Glowing, as usual. Has our Jiminnie been treating you right? Hmmmm?”

Her tone rises into a slight warning as she glares over at her grandson, who is currently struggling with both your luggage a few feet behind.

“He’s been good, Granny,” you reassure her with a relaxed smile.

Granny invited the both of you to spend the long weekend at Jimin’s childhood home in the countryside which also now serves as a sort of vacation home for the Parks. You can’t even remember the last time you had a vacation, had the chance to pull out your flowy summer dresses and really let your hair down. Though this time, there’s another reason altogether for you to wear loose and flowy clothing.

You are ushered into the house to meet the rest of Jimin’s family; his parents and his brother welcome you as if you are already part of the family. They invite you to spectate a game of Wii Tennis, and it’s then that you realise that Jimin’s family are a bunch of heathens because they don’t wear the Wii remote strap while playing.

Jimin is paired up with his father, against his mother and brother. You are more than content to watch from the sides, nestled in beside Granny who feels as soft and comforting as your own mother. Her words, not so much, as she urges the Jimin and his brother to do better, why, if she joined the game she’d beat all their asses!!!

When Jimin’s side wins, the whole family claps and cheers as his mother stands up to give his father a kiss, and when they’re done, the whole family turns expectantly to you and Jimin.

“A kiss for the winner, that’s the prize!” Jimin’s mother says with a mischievous grin on her face.

Jimin fidgets on the spot, tips of his ears growing red as he protests. “Ma…”

“Oh come on, don’t be such prudes!” Granny chides the both of you. “You already did the nasty with each other. How else did my grandchild come into this world?”

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Jimin’s brother begins to chant with a shit eating grin on his face that reminds you of a certain co-worker.

Jimin is getting more and more embarrassed trying to fend his family off, but for you, it’s no big deal. It’s not like you and Jimin haven’t said or done more lewd things to each other. In a sense, Jimin’s Granny is right. The both of you already fucked. What is one tiny little kiss?

So with that, you pull a protesting, flustered Jimin closer to you and tiptoe to reach his lips, arms around him as you kiss him deeply, putting on a show for his family. Whoops and cheers celebrate the two of you, and though Jimin is stunned for a moment, he kisses you back just as passionately, letting his tongue meet your own as he tastes you.

When the two of you part for air, Jimin’s brother lets out a loud whoop, and Granny is still clapping. But poor little Jimin is as red as a tomato, and he tugs on your hand, mumbling something about showing you his room and retiring for the night.

You are still laughing and giggling over how embarrassed he is when Jimin closes his door behind the both of you, giving you a cute pout as he crosses his arms in indignance. But he’s too cute too pass up on, and you pinch his cheeks, squishing his face.

“Was my baby Jimin embarrassed?” You coo at him in a baby voice, grin lighting up your face as it gets him even more annoyed at you. Unfortunately for Jimin, (but luckily for you) he’s just that kind of person who gets even cuter when they are angry or upset.

“I’ve never kissed a girl in front of my Granny you know,” he turns his cheek at you as he goes to sit on his bed to continue sulking. “She’s seen me in my underpants when I was a kid!”

“So? I saw you in your underpants too,” you grin lewdly at him, laughing when he throws an arm over his face and groans in embarrassment.

When he hears your laughter, Jimin peeks out from behind his arm to see your face glowing and radiant, hair loose in waves around your face and looking… happy for the first time. Not stressed or worried about work, or in tears because Bae Joohyun humiliated you.

Just happy.

“You look really pretty like this,” Jimin admits in a small, shy voice.

You stop mid laugh to look at him properly. “Like what?”

“When you’re happy,” he clarifies. “When you laugh like that.”

“It’s when you make me laugh like this,” you look down at the pattern on his bedspread, tracing along it with your fingers. “I haven’t laughed like this in a long while. But ever since you came in, I… I don’t know. Mondays haven’t been so bad for me lately.”

The two of you are shy suddenly, and Jimin feels like he’s a teenager again, confessing to his crush in his childhood bedroom. Back then he always dreamed of bringing a girl back to his house and confessing to her, maybe even making out with her behind his parents’ back, but of course back then he wasn’t nearly cool enough to do any of that.

But seeing you look so soft and pretty in your dress that dips down at your neckline, giving him a good view of your cleavage, seeing you beside him on his bed, your attention focused on him solely makes him glad that all his childhood fantasies never happened, because he feels like they’re going to be fulfilled right now.

“Can I kiss you?” Jimin asks.

“Not shy anymore?” You tease him one last time before you lean in and capture your lips with his, and then Jimin is switching positions with you so that your hair fans out over his pillow, he is on top of you in between your legs.

“I want to do it properly,” Jimin scatters kisses down your neck and chest, one hand pinching your nipple through your thin dress. “The last time was rushed. And we were drunk. And we were still co-workers back then.”

Your strap slides off your shoulder sinfully as Jimin pleases himself by worshipping your breasts, kneading them and sucking your nipple through the material.

“I- I told you… we were never co-workers. From day one,” you retaliate against his teasing by pinching his nipple through his shirt with a devious smirk on your face.

“You mean we were fucked from day one?” Jimin grins back as he takes off his shirt in one smooth motion, baring his toned chest and slim abs for your viewing pleasure. Your hands are on him immediately, stroking his firm muscles and running your fingers over every inch of his beautiful skin.

Jimin hikes up your skirt, kissing his way up your thighs till he reaches your underwear. The scent of you is driving him insane, he can already see a wet spot on your panties even though he’s barely touched you. The thought of you getting so wet for him makes him even more eager to pleasure you, so he hooks his fingers into the side of your underwear, pulling it down to expose you to his gaze.

“I still owe you from the bowling alley,” he says when you tug at his hair impatiently, wanting to see his face, kiss his lips. With that as explanation, Jimin gives your core a sloppy lick before he seals his lips to you, French kissing your pussy and making sure he gets your clit with every stroke of tongue.

Your cries and moans are music to his ears; at this point he doesn’t even care if his family hears you anymore. Pulling your dress up to your waist so that you can see in between your thighs, the sight nearly sends you over the edge as you witness Park Jimin eating your pussy like a man starved, his chin glazed with your arousal as he laps everything up. His hands are on your inner thighs, opening you up for him even though your muscles spasm from the pleasure.

“Jimin- fuck! Please,” you are already begging as he assaults your clit with his tongue, circling it relentlessly. “Want your fingers. Please.”

“Want to feel me stretch you for my cock?” Jimin gives in with one finger first, slowly inserting it into you with care until you whine and thrash under his grasp in protest. “My baby wants more? What a greedy pussy you have.”

He embellishes this with a sharp spank on your clit, and your thighs twitch again as you cry out. Jimin gives you two fingers now, and the burn feels so good as he pumps in and out, his tongue occasionally flicking at your clit. Your arousal coats his fingers and his palm messily, starting to drip down onto his sheets, but Jimin figures that the both of you are going to get a lot messier before the night ends.

As you watch Jimin pleasure you with his fingers and tongue, all traces of the shy boy who was embarrassed to kiss you in front of his family are gone. The submissive side of him that gave in to your demands so easily at the bowling alley is also gone, in its place is a gentle but firm dominant who takes charge of your pleasure, and you love that he can switch between the two.

“Cum for me, let me see my baby cum on my fingers,” Jimin coaxes you as he speeds up his fingers, curling them to try and find that one rough spot inside you. “You made such a mess already.”

You can feel the edge right there, the knot so tight in your lower belly and just ready to burst. But words escape you, and all you can do is whine Jimin’s name. In response he wraps his thick plush lips around your clit, maintaining eye contact with you as he sucks,and then you come undone, legs going boneless as your back arches, clenching hard around his fingers as you ride out your orgasm.

Jimin helps you to calm down as he withdraws from your pussy, stroking your legs gently as he admires the glow on your face, your fucked out expression as you breathe deeply. His own cock is straining against his jeans, and he is dying to feel your pussy wrapped around him.

When you finally regain your senses and open your eyes, you see the uncomfortable looking tent in Jimin’s jeans, reaching for it immediately to give him his own release. Jimin shifts his body so that his thighs can fall open, and you pull his jeans off, revealing his thick thigh muscles that you straddle as you get his cock out of his soaked boxers.

“Wait,” Jimin stops you with a hand on your waist. “We need a condom. We still don’t know if… if you’re pregnant. From last time.”

Your cheeks heat up as you swallow back the guilt. After bowling, when you went home that night, your period had come, just one day late, but you didn’t tell Jimin. Upon the sight of blood staining your underwear, there was a strange sense of disappointment that bloomed in your chest, and it confused you so much that you didn’t have the bandwidth to even think about telling Jimin what this meant. You had to take time to process both the consequence of not being pregnant, as well as the unprecedented feelings of disappointment that came with it.

“Um… actually, my period came last week.” You say after taking a deep breath.

Jimin raises an eyebrow as he takes in the news. “So it means… you’re not pregnant.”

“I’m not,” you agree with him, and you want to keep going, but the words are just stuck in your chest.

“The first time we were risking it, but I was just thinking…” Jimin picks up on your hesitation, his own words coming out slowly. “If we should… if we should start trying. For real.”

Jimin is completely serious as he returns your gaze, biting his lip in uncertainty.

“You mean… try to get pregnant? Intentionally?” You’re aware that you’re just repeating his words, but some part of you needs to confirm it.

“Yeah,” Jimin says as he strokes your waist, and you’re fully aware of his cock twitching as he says his next words. “I want to have a baby with you.”

Your breath is sucked out of your chest as the impact of his words hit you, and arousal aside, you feel your stomach fill with butterflies.

“That is… if you want to as well,” Jimin scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you into anything-“

“I want to,” you interrupt him, reassuring him with a grind of your hips. “I want to have your baby. We’re about three months late, but I think if we start trying real hard now, this baby will get made and we won’t be too far behind.”

Jimin’s cock twitches again, giving away how aroused he is, but he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Hearing you say that has awakened a fantasy in him that he didn’t even know existed. No longer is he going for the low hanging fruit of just kissing a girl in his childhood bedroom. No, he’s going to make a baby in his childhood bedroom.

You pump him with a few strokes, watching the precum bubble up from his head and run down his girthy length, admiring how hard he is for you. His length feels so heavy in your palm, and your mouth waters as you remember how much better he felt in your mouth, how salty and thick his cum was as he released down your throat.

Just as you bend down to give yourself a repeat ride, Jimin stops you with a hand on your cheek, his own cheeks rosy and embarrassment creeping back in as he says, “You’ll get a mouthful of cum if you do that. As much as I want you to swallow my cum, you’re not getting pregnant that way.”

And then he’s back in charge as he flips you over, spreading your legs wide and resting them on his shoulders as your pussy leaks your arousal. Jimin uses the head of his cock to collect all your juices, teasing your clit before he prods at your entrance. The blunt head of him nudges in slowly, and the stretch makes the both of you moan.

Your legs are trembling, hands reaching out for something to hold on to as Jimin bottoms out inside you. You don’t remember him feeling so big inside you, stretching you out so good and going so deep that you can feel him at the base of your lower abdomen. When you look down, you realise that there is a small bump there, and Jimin is watching that exact spot as well.

“Feel so good and tight, my baby was made to take my cock,” he praises as he intertwines his hands with yours, forcing them above your head as he begins to thrust. His cock slides in and out of your drenched pussy easily, and your walls grip him so tightly that Jimin never wants this moment to end.

Jimin leans forward so that your thighs are pushed to your chest, making the fit even tighter around his cock. Your pussy is already clenching around him, and your breasts are bouncing, cheeks flushed red and lips swollen and shiny from his precum and saliva.

“Harder, fuck me harder Jimin,” you groan as he punishes you with his thrusts, every slap of his thighs against yours reminds you that the both of you are fucking to make a baby. Just watching the sweat drip off his chest, his abs tense and feeling his ass flex as he fucks into your pussy with the full intention of giving you a baby, hisbaby, makes your pussy cream uncontrollably around his cock.

“Does my baby like this?” Jimin gives a harsh thrust and bends your legs back till he can feel your cervix. “Fuck, you’re driving me fucking crazy. Wanna give you a baby so bad. You’re fucking asking for it, asking to get filled with cum.”

“I want it, Jimin,” you gasp as you feel him against the entrance of your womb; Jimin is giving you no mercy as he continues to aim his thrusts deep as he can go. “Want your baby. It’s all I ever wanted.”

Jimin lets your legs fall off his shoulders as he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you into him, as his thrusts increase in power and speed. Your legs wrap around him tightly as if to keep him from pulling out, so all Jimin can do his grind the head of his cock against your cervix, feeling himself twitch as his orgasm draws near.

“I’m not gonna last, cum with me please,” he begs, mouth open and kissing your neck as he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder.

“I’m close, just a little more, fuck,” you loosen your thighs a little so that Jimin can thrust a little more, and the movement of him brushing against your clit sends you into an orgasm, clenching hard around him as you cry out his name and your walls milk him dry for every drop.

Jimin groans as he feels his balls tighten up, filling you up with cum as he thrusts to get every drop right where it should be. “Take it all, take my cum and give me a baby. That’s what my girl wants right?”

“Yes, yes!” You whine as you feel the warmth of his cum in your pussy, his frenzied thrusts as he rides out the last of his orgasm, making sure he gives you everything he has.

Jimin’s face is still buried in your neck as his hips continue to fuck his cum into you, hearing the filthy squelch as he tilts your hips up so that not a single drop can escape. The leisurely thrusts feel intimate as you hug him close to you, feeling his soft breaths against your skin as your legs wrap around his waist, feeling him finally still with his cock still deep inside you. Everything is warm and sticky, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A few minutes pass before you realise that Jimin is perfectly content to have his cock plug your pussy up with cum, and while the thought kind of turns you on, he’s heavy, and you nudge him off you with your knee. Jimin pouts as he settles beside you, still drawing you closer to him as he lifts one of your thighs to get a better look at the mess he made of you.

“It’s all coming out,” he says in a disappointed whine as his fingers scoop out the frothy white cum that spilled out of you because of his fucking, gently pushing it back into you. But he can’t resist a little taste, bringing his fingers to his lips for a second.

“Jimin! Stop stealing my baby batter,” you grab his wrist to stop him, shoving it back toward your thighs.

“That’s the least sexy word for cum I’ve ever heard,” he frowns disapprovingly at you. “Stay there, don’t move. You need to keep your hips up.”

Jimin pushes a pillow under your hips, and whilst you’re rendered immobile, he takes the chance to sneakily lap at your inner thighs, cleaning up some of the cum that he didn’t manage to push into you. You glare at him, reaching down to tug at his hair, but then-

“Stay safe, kids!” It’s his father’s voice from down the hallway.

“Why do they need to stay safe? She’s already having his kid!” You hear Granny’s voice a second later, and your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No need to stay safe, Puppy! You heard me? It’s good for the baby!”

You glare at Jimin, then push your chin toward his door, expecting him to answer his Granny.

Jimin mouths a ‘what’ at you in exasperation, his lust filled brain unable to think of a single appropriate response for this situation. Finally, he forces a cheery tone as he shouts back, “we will, Granny! Night Granny!”

Your head falls back into the pillow with a groan at how lame he is.

You’re most definitely not looking forward to breakfast tomorrow.