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sturniolohouse · 5 months ago

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Do Not Wait - M.S

a/n: this got heavier than i planned initially but i just leaned into wherever the story took me. it's also very reader focused, which i realized way too late. but, do not fret, matt is still in it :) lmk if you'd like me to continue this as a series... i hope yall like it, im proud of it.

summary: while matt is away, reader learns and struggles with some unexpected news that will change both their lives forever.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, vomit, blood, death, grief, panic attacks, cursing. (no use of y/n)

word count: 11.7k

song: do not wait - wallows

"And it gets worse before it gets better That's one thing that I have come to know Just so you know"

“I hate to leave you like this,” Matt sighs, pushing my hair out of my face as his dark silhouette sits beside me on the bed.

I lay curled up in a ball after spending majority of the night sick. I feel terrible because I kept Matt up when he had to be up early for his flight to Chicago today.

Despite my attempts to avoid disturbing him, he spent most of the night beside me, rubbing my back while I hunched over the toilet and bringing me water.

I toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position as my restlessness and nausea worsen by the second.

Matt’s hand touches my forehead, gently pushing my hair back and mindlessly scratching my head. I sit up as another wave of nausea twists my stomach, and I take a deep breath, hoping to suppress it. Matt sits up behind me, his hand now rubbing my back as I lean over the side of the bed with my head between my knees.

Thankfully, a moment later the wave of sickness passes and I sit up straight with a small groan as my body aches.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch. I don’t want to get you sick, and you have to be up in a few hours,” I croak, but he protests, gently pulling me back into bed.

"I don't give a fuck. I'll sleep on the plane, you're staying right here,"

As the morning light begins to filter through the curtains, Matt’s alarm goes off. By then, we had maybe collectively slept an hour and I knew he must have been exhausted. He got ready quietly trying his best not to disturb me, but I was already awake.

I don’t think sleep is in the cards for me tonight.

He places the back of his hand on my forehead, then my cheek, his touch gentle and searching.

“You still don’t have a fever...I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” He sighs, his fingers sifting through my hair with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.

Even with the faint light of dawn as our only source, I can still make out his concerned expression as he scans my face.

“I've never been this sick before. It must be a bug,” My voice is hoarse from repeatedly throwing up.

“Please, stay here with Nick while I’m gone so you have someone to look after you. I’m gonna text him now so he sees it when he wakes up. God, I don’t even want to go anymore,” He wipes his hand down his face in stress and I shake my head.

“No, stop, don’t worry about me. I’m gonna be fine. I’ll stay here with Nick. Please don’t be late for your flight,” I insist, gripping his hand weakly. “I’m going to make some tea and try to get some rest.” I go to get up but he puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll make you tea, while we wait for the Uber. What do you want, mint?” He asks softly, his hand rubbing up and down my hip.

I nod weakly, thanking him.

I doze off a bit while he goes to make my tea, the repercussion of not sleeping catching up to me. When I open my eyes again, he’s setting my steaming mug on the bedside shelf carefully and placing two advils next to it.

“Text me when you wake up? And let me know if you have to go to urgent care, I’ll send you an Uber.” He tells me softly, his voice trembling with an emotion he’s trying to hide.

His reluctance to leave is evident in every line of his face.

I nod tiredly, “Mm, text me when you and Chris land. Have fun in Chicago. I love you.”

“I love you,” He kisses my forehead, before grabbing his suitcase by his bedroom door and leaving.

I was able to sleep a couple of more hours before I woke up again, dry heaving into the toilet because I quite literally had nothing left in my stomach.

I showered, brushed my teeth and went into the kitchen, searching for something bland to settle my stomach. I had decided to grab a rice cake and made more mint tea before I sprawled out on the couch in one of Matt’s hoodies.

It’s not the first time he’s been away, but this time, I miss him more than I anticipated. Even the scent of his hoodie brings a wave of emotion that catches me off guard.

We’ve never been one of those couples that spends every second of every day together anyway. Not even when we first started dating. We’ve always given each other the space we need.

But I must admit I could go for one of his hugs right now.

It’s around 10 AM when Nick comes down stairs and his face tells me everything I need to know about my appearance.

“I know, I look like shit.” I deadpan and he covers his mouth with wide eyes.

“I got Matt’s texts...I thought that motherfucker was being dramatic. Are you feeling any better?” He asks with a hand on his chest.

“Well, I haven’t thrown up in three hours, so that’s a new record. Your poor brother, I kept him up all night,”

“He'll live, do you want to go to urgent care?”

“No, I’ll wait it out. It’s gotta pass and I was able to keep my breakfast down.” I wave a hand.

Nick goes to make his own breakfast, slicing an apple before coming over to sit on the couch with me.

“Apple?” He offers me, munching on his own bite.

I decline shaking my head with a frown.

Nick wanted to watch Love Island, so I let him change the TV, feeling my eyelids grow heavy. As the sounds of the show filled the room, I found myself dozing off, giving in to the rest my body needs.

When I wake up, I have a blanket over me and Nick is editing on his laptop.

He notices me move and takes his headphones off one ear.

“Hey, you feeling better? Matt keeps pestering me for updates,” He shows me his phone with messages from a worried Matt.

I sigh, “Jesus...I’ll call him. But yes, I feel better now that I've gotten some sleep.” I get up and stretch my body, wincing at my achy muscles.

“How long was I out?” I ask grabbing my phone to see my own set of messages from Matt.

Kid worries too much.

“About 3 hours, you were knocked out. I’m gonna order food, are you hungry for anything?” He asks and my stomach rumbles at the thought of one food.

“I could fuck up some tacos right now,” I raise an eyebrow at him at my suggestion.

“I like the way you’re thinking.” He snaps his fingers pointing at me in agreement.

“Birria tacos for me and a Diet Coke. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go call your brother before he has a heart attack.” I say walking to Matt’s room and calling him.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” He breaths out, his voice soft.

“What did I tell you about worrying about me?” I tease him and he laughs, sounding relieved.

"Hi!" I heard Chris shout in the background, before I heard a door close and Matt sigh. I'm guessing he went into a separate room.

“If you saw the state you were in before I left this morning, you’d be worried too. I take it you’re feeling better? Heard you napped,” He speaks up again, talking at a normal volume now.

“I was physically feeling the state I was in. But, yeah, a little better after my nap. How was your flight?” I ask, playing with the trinkets on his shelves.

“Besides me worrying the entire flight about you dehydrating and dying? Fine. A little turbulence, but nothing crazy.”

“Okay, drama, relax. I’m staying hydrated, I’ve napped, Nick and I are about to order some tacos. It must have just been a bug. I must admit, you're very cute when you worry about me though.” I smile and he hums shly.

A beat of silence goes by and I look at the photobooth picture of Matt and I on his wall.

“I miss you,” I admit to him, leaning down to inhale the collar of his sweatshirt on me.

“I miss you too. You know I haven't even been gone 12 hours though,” He reminds me, sounding amused at my unexpected sappyness.

I sigh, “I know,”

Suddenly I have a lump of emotion in my throat and he automatically hears the switch of my tone.

“Hey woah, what happened? Why are you upset?” He sounds panicked.

“Oh my god, sorry. I don’t know. I’m not even sad,” I choke back my tears.

“Doesn’t sound like it.." He doesn't sound convinced. "Do I need to come home?" He says next and I'm immediately objecting.

“What! No. Matt, I promise I’m fine.” I tell him quickly, taking off my hoodie as I begin to overheat.

“I love you... I’ll be back before you know it, okay? S'nothing we haven’t done before.” He reminds me softly and my bottom lip wobbles.

“Mhm,” I manage to get out and he sighs again.

“Sweetheart... You’re telling me not to be worried, but I’m beyond worried. Can you please tell me what’s wrong?” He pleads and I shake my head even though he can't see me.

“I honestly couldn’t tell you...I-i think I just needed to cry, and missing you isn’t helping because I wish I could hug you but you’re so f-far,” I hiccup.

“Okay, deep breaths, how about you take a nice hot shower–maybe a bath. Use Nick’s bath and when you’re done, you can eat your tacos and you’ll feel better. Okay? Listen, Chris and I are about to leave for dinner, are you going to be alright?” He checks in, sounding hesitant to hang up.

“Yes, I’m fine. Seriously. I’m sorry. I must be starting my period soon.” I compose myself, trying to ignore the sudden ache in my heart.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, his voice gentle and sweet.

Any other time, he’d be teasing me for being a crybaby—lovingly, of course—but I think he senses that my emotions are genuinely beyond my control right now.

“I love you,” he says again with emphasis, wanting to hear me say it back.

“I love you, so much," I say weakly, "Have fun at dinner and tell Chris I said hi.” I tell him, wiping my eyes.

“Will do. I’ll call you when we get back.” He says goodbye, hanging up.

I take a deep breath and I shake my head, feeling frustrated with my poorly-timed emotions. I feel terrible for worrying him more, I wanted this trip for him to be fun. Chris had really been looking forward to going with Matt—it had become a sort of tradition for the two of them. I need to get my emotions under control.

I wince again as I feel the heaviness and soreness in my breasts. Sighing, I go to my phone and check my period app to see when this torture will be over.

My stomach drops when I open the app and see I'm 13 days late.

My head feels dizzy suddenly and I pinch my eyes closed as the pit in my stomach spurs on more nausea. I lay back and put my arm over my eyes and take deep breaths.

My mind races, but I can’t seem to focus on one thought.

No, I can’t be.

I’m just stressed, that’s all.

I have an IUD, it's not possible.

But everything's adding up; the nausea, heightened emotions, late period...

I sit up slowly, feeling the weight of the realization settle on me. My heart pounds in my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of emotions threatening to drown me. But there’s no escaping this.

With trembling hands, I go to call Matt back, my thumb hovers over the call button but I stop myself. He’s going to dinner right now, on the opposite side of the country.

I can't burden him with this, not when I don’t even know for sure.

Dropping my phone onto the bed beside me, I try to self soothe, taking deep breaths to steady myself, but the anxiety is relentless.

I walk out of the room and Nick is asking me what kind of salsa I want with my tacos before he looks up at me. He immediately furrows his brows in worry.

“Hey–what's going on, are you okay?” He sits up and places his laptop on the coffee table.

“I-I can't breath,” I gasp, reaching out for him, feeling like a little kid.

He instantly stands up, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

“What’s happened? Deep breaths, big deep breaths. There you go,” He rubs my back and I breath deeply with him.

My cheek smushed into his chest as I listen to the beating of his heart to help ground me. I pull away, still trembling and shake my head, unsure if I should even be telling Nick this.

This should be Matt.

Nick's eyes search mine, sensing my hesitancy. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” he says softly, his hands rubbing my shoulders.

I bite my lip, feeling a mix of guilt and desperation.

I don’t want to drag Nick into something so personal, but this is too overwhelming to keep bottled up.

“I… I think I might be pregnant,” I finally whisper, the words barely escaping my lips.

Saying it out loud makes it feel all the more real, and the weight of it presses down on me like a ton of bricks.

Nick’s expression shifts from worry to shock, his mouth falling agape and silence ringing between us. Once he hears me whimper, he snaps out of it and brings me back into a bone crushing hug.

"Shh, okay–it's okay, um…” His voice wavers, and I can feel his heart racing against my cheek.

For a moment, it seems like he’s trying to find the right words, but all that comes out is a nervous laugh.

“This is… wow, this is big. I'm sorry– I don't know what else to say right now,” His voice high pitched and shaky.

I can’t help but let out a shaky laugh with him, even through my anxiety.

“Yeah, big,” I agree, my voice barely above a whisper.

Nick pulls back just enough to look at me, his uncertainty showing in the way his eyes dart around, trying to process everything at once.

“I mean, I’m no expert on this—obviously—but we'll figure this out. You're gonna be okay, everything's gonna be okay.”

His reassurance is genuine, but I can see he's trying to convince himself too; a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

This is uncharted territory for both of us.

Nick and I had decided to order the tests along with the food, killing two birds with one stone. He’s doing his best to stay calm for my sake, but the trembling of his hands as he places the order is hard to miss.

"Okay, tacos and tests are on the way. I got, well, all of them because I don't know which one is best. I even got ice cream. Fuck, when did it get so hot in here? I'm overheating–are you overheating?" He says, his words moving a mile a minute as he fans himself with his shirt.

I can't help but to laugh as his nerves show and he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, I know you're the one potentially knocked up by my idiot brother but I'm just so nervous. I'm sweating like a monster," His voice cracks.

"Do you mind if I use your bath?" I ask and he nods right away.

“Are you kidding? Of course, go ahead. Someone has to use it. I’m gonna…Well, I’ll just wait out here and try to chill.” He gives me a quick, reassuring smile, though it’s clear he’s still on edge.

I head to his bathroom and try to forget about my racing thoughts.

I turn the faucet on and put in some bath salts, checking the temperature before I step over to the vanity mirror. I take a look at my appearance and notice the puffiness in my face right away. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are bloodshot.

I blow out a raspberry as I undress and get into the hot water.

The heat soothes my aching muscles and clears my mind. I soaked for a while, even draining a bit of the water and refilling the tub with more hot water. Once I feel myself pruning, I decide it's time I get out.

As I dry myself off, I notice light blood on the towel. My heart races, and I quickly check again—I'm bleeding. Very lightly, but there’s blood.

Relief floods through me, and I almost cry again, this time from the emotional whiplash. My legs feel shaky, so I sit down on the edge of the tub to steady myself, my breath coming out in shaky bursts.

Clutching the towel to my chest, I close my eyes and let out a long, relieved sigh.

“Thank God,” I whisper, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

I try not to dwell on the small part of me that almost wanted to feel disappointed. Maybe even mourning the part of me that might have embraced being pregnant–excited, even.

Instead, I focus on center of my emotions, the part where a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Eventually, I pull myself together, cleaning myself up and getting dressed.

When I step out of the bathroom, Nick is on his bed, clearly trying to keep himself distracted. My eyes go to the food and the tests at the foot of the bed.

As soon as he sees me, he shoots up, his expression immediately shifting to one of concern.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft. I nod, a small smile breaking through the lingering anxiety.

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “I uh…I got my period, I think,”

Nick’s face lights up with relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Oh, thank God,” he shouts, “This is great fucking news—right?” He checks in and I nod.

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling a little dazed by how quickly everything has turned around. “I think we’re in the clear. We won't be needing those tests, I'll pay you back for them,"

Nick ignores me, pulling me into a bear hug, his arms so tight around me, I can barely breath.

“Shut up I don't care,” he says, “You don't have a parasite in you!" He cheers, jumping us up and down.

We both let out laughs, the tension that had been looming over us now replaced with a lightness.

“Let’s eat,” I suggest, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Nick nods, "Couldn't agree more,"

We sit on his bed and for the first time all day, I feel like I can actually breathe.

As we dig into the tacos, Nick puts Love Island back on and we rot in bed for a few hours.

But even as we talk and laugh, there's still a pit in my stomach. A small portion of me can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over yet.

Yeah, there's was blood. But it was different than my normal period. It was lighter.

I try not to panic, but I can't help but feel like my intuition is trying to tell me something. For now, I push my thoughts aside, focusing on Nick beside me yelling at the annoying horny people on his TV.

Nick offered for me to sleep in his room but I declined, wanting to sleep in Matt's bed.

Matt never called me, but he texted me apologizing and checking in on me. I listened to a voice memo he sent me of all they did today and I was genuinely glad he was having fun, so I didn't mind him not calling.

Plus, I'm not entirely sure I'm in the right state of mind to have a conversation with him right now. I wouldn't be able to keep today's events to myself.

I know I can’t keep him in the dark—I need to tell him what’s going on.

I glance at the stack of tests on his dresser and sigh. The bleeding from earlier has stopped, leaving me with a pit in my stomach.

I know I’ll have to take those tests, even if only for clarity. But for now, I’m going to force myself to sleep.

I find myself in a place that feels both familiar and strange. It's warm, the sun showering the garden and I immediately know I'm in my grandmother's backyard.

The breeze picks up, carrying the scent of blooming flowers—lilies, hyacinths, peonies, and marigolds—enveloping me in a peacefulness that feels like a comforting blanket.

I walk along the familiar stone path, my fingers grazing the soft petals of the flowers. Each step feeling like a compelling, magnetic pull, guiding me deeper into the garden.

I see her then–my grandmother, seated on a wooden bench beneath the shade of the large oak tree I used to climb as a child.

My breath hitches, she doesn't look sick. Her smile is lively, her cheeks rosy and the green in her eyes vibrant.

But there’s something else different, a kind of ethereal glow about her that sends a chill down my spine.

“Come here, my girl,” she says, her voice soft and inviting.

I walk over to her, feeling a strange mix of emotions: comfort, longing, and an inexplicable sadness.

I sit down beside her and she takes my hand in hers, her touch warm and reassuring.

“I’ve missed you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, unable to fathom her not sick in a hospital bed.

She smiles, her eyes full of love. “I haven't gone anywhere."

There’s a pause as I try to process her words, but then she looks at me knowingly, another shiver down my spine.

"You're glowing," She hums, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I look at her confused until she places a hand to my stomach. My breath hitches and I can't control the tear that rolls down my cheek.

I shake my head in disbelief, "How...d-do you know?" I whisper, my voice getting lost in the intoxicating breeze.

It's then that I feel a deep flutter in my stomach, one that I can't describe.

I place my hand over my grandmother's that still rests on my stomach. The flutter intensifies, my heart mimicking the pattern as warmth blooms in my chest. The feeling is overwhelming.

An unexpected, joyous sob escapes my lips before I can stop it, tears blurring my vision.

“You're both going to be okay,” My grandmother says softly, gently wiping away my tears.

My lip wobbles and I let out a shaky breath before she speaks up again.

“She’s strong too, just like you.”

“She..?” I squeak. My grandmother’s smile returns, softer this time and she nods.

A wave of shock and confusion washes over me, but before I can ask more, the garden begins to fade. The colors bleeding into each other until everything is a swirl of light.

Her voice echoes as the dream dissolves, “Don't be afraid, Petal.”

I shoot up, my heart racing, my face soaked in tears and my body covered in a cold sweat. I feel disoriented as I take in my surroundings and my mind tries to grasp the remnants of the dream.

My grandmother’s face, her words, the fluttering in my stomach. But now, that fluttering has turned into a twisting feeling in my gut.

Something was wrong.

My phone buzzes, startling me out of my tangled, fuzzy thoughts. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for my phone.

It’s my mom.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice thick with sleep and confusion.

There’s a pause on the other end, and then my mom’s voice comes through, shaky and heavy with emotion.

“Honey...I'm sorry I'm calling you so early, but it’s Grandma....Sh-she passed in her sleep early this morning.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. She continues to talk but I can't hear her, my ears ring and time slows down.

A flood of emotions overcome me.

Grief, shock, and the strange sense that the dream was more than just a figment of my imagination.

As the reality of her passing sinks in, I’m left with the weight of her final words to me. She was telling me something important, something I can’t ignore anymore.

My stomach twists again and I bolt to the bathroom where I throw up until I'm dry heaving into the toilet.

I'm not even shocked when the test immediately shows up positive. I stare blankly at the two pink lines, the only hint of emotion is the tremor in my hand as I grab the test and chuck it into the trash can.

I feel numb.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I see the emptiness in my eyes, the darkness encasing them. The person staring back is a stranger.

I'm pregnant.

I should be feeling joy, maybe even excitement—I want to at least, but all I feel is nothing. My experience overshadowed by my grief. By the anomaly of this situation, how this could have happened.

I have an IUD, I was bleeding, but here we are.

I wanted Matt to be the first to know, to share in that moment with him, but now everything feels wrong, out of order.

I feel robbed of the happiness I should be feeling.

I step into the shower and let the scalding hot water claw at my skin. I finally let myself break down, grief rattling through me and slicing me open.

My dream replays in my mind over and over again. My grandmother's eyes, her warmth, her words, her hand on my stomach.

“You’re both going to be okay,”

My hand instinctively goes to my stomach. I press my palm into my abdomen, expecting to feel that flutter, desperate to feel any sort of connection with the life that's there–to cling to the intense joy from my dream...but there's nothing.

It was ripped away from me from the moment I woke up.

“She’s strong too, just like you,”

I whimper, the sound dissolving into the rush of the water.

I don’t feel strong. I feel weak.

My grandmother told me not to be afraid, but I can’t escape this overwhelming anxiety, the suffocating uncertainty that engulfs me.

The tightness in my chest, the heaviness in my heart, the deep-seated guilt that festers within me.

I cry and cry and cry until I can’t anymore, until the tears run dry, leaving only the ache in my chest.

When the water turns cold and the sun fully rises, is when I finally get out. My feet drag beneath me as I walk back into Matt's room and get dressed.

I pull on one of Matt's crewnecks and some sweats before I go into the kitchen to make a tea.

I make myself an Earl Grey, my grandmother's favorite.

I sit down at the dining table and book the first flight back home to Maine, which is tomorrow morning. My mom and I spoke again and she told me the funeral isn't until next week, but I wanted to be there for her. I couldn’t stay here right now.

My stomach growls loudly and I press my palms into my eye sockets. I suppose I should really eat something with substance, especially now.

I grab the berries from the fridge that are in their last leg, washing them before forcing myself to eat. The tartness of the blueberries sparks a memory of helping my grandmother make blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings. I smile sadly at the fond memory of being her little sous chef.

When 7 AM rolls around, restlessness overtakes me and I step outside, sitting in the front stoop before calling Matt.

"You're up early," His voice thick with sleep as he greets me through the line.

"Hey," I say weakly, letting out a sigh as I gaze up at the clear sky. There's not a single cloud in sight.

"What's wrong?" His tone immediately shifts to concern.

"Matt... my grandma passed this morning," I start, my voice trembling slightly.

I omit the dream and the positive pregnancy test in his bathroom, grateful that he can't see my face.

There's a heavy sigh on the other end. "I'm so sorry. I know she was sick for a while... Are you doing okay? How's your mom?"

"I'm... managing. And my mom, she's actually doing okay. I think we're all relieved in a way, you know? It was only a matter of time. I'm just glad she's not suffering anymore," I navigate my feelings about her passing, my voice surprisingly steady.

"Of course," His voice is so soft, fueling my longing for his touch.

"Do you think…there's any way you can change your flight on Tuesday to go to Maine? The funeral isn’t until next Thursday, but I’m getting there tomorrow afternoon." I ask, playing with a loose string on my sweatpants.

"Of course, I'll look at flights right now," he responds without hesitation.

"Thank you, I just....I need you there," I tell him, feeling a tightness in my chest when I avoid mentioning the conversation we need to have.

"I'll be there. I found a flight that will get me there tomorrow night."

"Matt–" I start to protest.

"I already changed it. No refunds," He cuts me off, his voice firm. "Sweetheart, you need me, I'm not going to make you wait until fucking Tuesday."

"What about the rest of your trip? You'll miss the rest of the festival, and Chris–" I try and reason with him.

"Listen to me carefully...I don't give a fuck about the festival. You need me there, and I'm going to be there. Chris will be fine, he's a big boy. He has Sam here with him and they'll fly back to LA together," His tone leaving no room for argument, his mind was made up.

A small, grateful smile tugs at my lips as tears well up in my eyes.

"I love you," I manage to say, my voice trembles with emotion.

"I love you, so much it hurts. I wish I could hug you right now but I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m gonna go talk to Chris, text me or call me if you need me. I mean it, kid."

“I will,” I promise, ending the call and looking up at the sky again, wrapping my arms around myself as the cool morning air brushes against my skin.

I take a deep breath, the air filling my lungs grounding me. As I exhale, I try to focus on the one thing I know for sure—I may not feel strong, but I need to be and not just for myself, but for the life growing inside of me.

My grandmother's words echo in my mind.

"Don't be afraid, Petal."

–

Nick wakes up shortly after, only taking one look at me before I’m breaking down again—the weight of everything crashing down on me like another tidal wave.

I tell him everything, my dream, my grandmother's passing, I show him the positive pregnancy test.

I cry into his chest, feeling overwhelmed.

"I'm just s-so confused," I manage to say between sobs. "In my dream, I was so happy... everything felt right. I felt connected with..." My words trail off, dissolving into incoherent blubbering.

Nick just listens, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.

"Listen," he begins softly, "your body is under a lot of stress right now. You just found out about your grandma, and then this very unexpected news on top of it… Every single emotion you’re feeling is normal, and 100 percent valid. But you have so many people by your side who love you and will help you through this, no matter what you decide..."

I sniffle, trying to regulate my breathing as I take in his words.

"I'm angry, too," I admit, my voice cracking with the strain of holding it all in. "This is so unfair. The timing of this couldn't be worse... I can't even talk to Matt and I feel awful keeping this from him. He shouldn't have to find out like this."

"Everything is going to be okay, deep breaths," Nick repeats, his voice calm as he helps me process the flood of emotions.

I blow out a raspberry, pulling back and running my hands down my face in frustration. When I look at him, he's watching me cautiously, trying to read my expression.

"I'm pregnant," I say softly, the words finally leaving my lips for the first time.

A mix of emotions swirls in my chest and stomach—fear, uncertainty, a strange kind of acceptance.

Nick nods slowly, his eyes still scanning my face, and for a moment, I find myself imagining if this was me telling Matt.

More dread fills me.

How will he react? Will he be the support I need?

We’ve talked about having kids before. They were always in the cards for us, but never this soon.

We only just started to discuss getting our own place and now our lives are going to be changing forever.

Nick helped me pack as I tried to arrange a last-minute appointment to confirm my pregnancy, which proved to be quite the ordeal.

The receptionists initially inform me that they didn't have any openings for weeks. However, when I mention the IUD and a positive pregnancy test, the urgency in their voice shifted dramatically.

They told me to come in right away.

The urgency in the receptionists voice on the phone didn’t help my nerves. Neither when they took me straight into an examination room the minute I told them my name.

They take my vitals, draw my blood and give me a cup to pee in.

I left Nick in the waiting room, dressing down into the gown they placed neatly on the exam chair. I look around at the diagrams of the fetuses and the posters of the development. I’ve seen these countless times and never thought twice, but this time I feel unsettled.

I swallow thickly and sit on the loud crinkly paper with the anticipation of the doctor coming in soon.

There’s a soft double knock on the door before a head of wild, curly hair peeks in.

“Hello, hello. I’m Dr. Sullivan,” She says washing her hands and sitting down on the swivel stool next to the examination chair.

The woman has a mane of big, unruly curls that frame her face, with chunky black square-framed glasses perched on her slightly humped nose, drawing attention to her bright hazel eyes. A wide smile, complete with a distinctive gap between her two front teeth, radiates warmth and adds to her quirky charm. She almost seems like a character out of a cartoon—lanky, with an energetic, bouncy stride that matches her bubbly personality. She can't be much older than my mother.

"So, you are in fact pregnant. The lab results confirmed the presence of HCG, which is the hormone produced during pregnancy. "

“Do you have any idea how this happened? I mean, obviously I know how it happened but, I have an IUD.” I say, still trying to wrap my head around the situation.

She nods dramatically, her lips pressing into a line as she listens to my concerns.

“Unfortunately, no birth control is 100 percent effective. In most cases, the IUD might have been displaced, or in some instances, the body rejects the device without you knowing. I actually would like to get clarity on that with an ultrasound, but I think it’s important for you to know the risks of this scenario here.” She says, turning slightly more serious.

“Risks?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she says softly, “There is a possibility that, due to you having an IUD, this pregnancy may not be viable. Having an IUD increases the risk of what we call an ectopic pregnancy... are you familiar with that term?” Her hazel eyes lock onto mine and I shake my head, my heart starting to pound.

“Well, because you have a contraceptive device in the space where a fetus would normally develop, there's a risk that the pregnancy could occur outside the uterus. Typically the egg will implant itself in the fallopian tubes, which cannot host a safe or viable pregnancy...And if not treated immediately, the tube can rupture and cause internal hemorrhaging," She explains gently, carefully choosing her words to convey the seriousness of the situation.

I feel my heartbeat in my ears now as I process her words.

"So you're saying, this can be life threatening...for me and the..." My throat closes up and I can't finish my sentence.

She must take notice of the panic in my face, her round eyes widening slightly.

"If it goes untreated, yes. But I don't say this to make you panic, you're in good hands and whatever happens, we will take the next steps together." She places a hand on my knee, giving the tissue box so I can dry my uncontrollable tears.

"Based on your last period, you should be about seven weeks along. This ultrasound will confirm that and also ensure the pregnancy is positioned in the uterus. Before we proceed, I'd like to ask you a few questions... do you need a minute?" she asks gently, noticing my unease.

I hiccup and shake my head. "N-no, I'll be okay. Sorry," I mumble, wiping my nose.

"Don't apologize," she says kindly, giving me a moment to collect myself anyway, which I appreciate.

For a moment, I consider calling Nick in, but I decide against it. Even though we're close, this may be a little too personal, even for him and I.

"Have you been experiencing any cramping or discomfort in your back or abdomen?" She asks and typing my answer into the computer as I tell her no.

"Any spotting or bleeding?"

"I had some light bleeding last night, it only lasted maybe an hour... I had thought it was my period, but I knew something was off." I explain to her and she nods.

"That was most likely implantation bleeding, which is normal. It can be light spotting of blood, or some women experience heavy bleeding, similar to a period." She continues to take her notes before looking to me again, "Any tenderness in your breasts?"

"Oh, for sure. My breasts have been very sore the past few days,"

"Any nausea or vomiting?"

"Yes, the last couple of days–especially at night, I've been vomiting. I haven't really been sleeping well because of it."

"Yeah, the term 'morning sickness' is misleading... It can happen any time of day, you seem to be experiencing yours during the evening. Any other symptoms you've noticed that you'd like to note?" She asks and I try to think of some things.

"Uhh, I guess I've been more tired than usual, but I chalked that up to being up all night sick...I've also been getting hot flashes recently and I've definitely been more emotional,"

"These are all good to note, thank you very much," She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose before typing again.

She swivels herself back towards me, smiling warmly.

"We'll go ahead with the ultrasound now. But to get an accurate picture, we're going to do a transvaginal ultrasound, if that's okay with you."

"Okay, that's fine," I say, shakily.

She pulls the ultrasound cart to toward her before standing to move the stirrups into place so I can place my feet into them. She places a privacy cloth over me and I take a deep breath.

She puts a covering on the sheath of the ultrasound wand and places lubricant on the top of it. She taps a few buttons on the computer, calibrating the machine before turning towards me with a reassuring smile.

"So this will feel cold and you might feel a little pressure but if you feel any discomfort don't be afraid to tell me." She informs before placing the device inside to create the image.

I try not to wince and try to relax as much as possible. I go to look toward the screen but she has it faced towards her, so I opt to reading her facial expressions.

Dr. Sullivan adjusts her glasses by putting them on the tip of her nose and tilting her head back to get a better view.

She's quite animated with her expressions, her mouth opening slightly in concentration as she looks over the screen.

Although I can't see what she's looking at, she seems pleased, which is a relief.

"Okay, so good sign so far, I see your IUD," Dr. Sullivan says, leaning forward and pointing to the screen. "I can clearly see that it's sitting at the top of your cervix. It’s shifted down and away from your uterus. Do you happen to experience heavy cramping during your cycle?" she asks, her fingers tapping some buttons on the monitor.

"Yes, I do," I reply, the worry still gnawing at me.

She nods thoughtfully. "That could explain the displacement. Sometimes, intense cramping can cause the IUD to shift from its original position. It’s not common, but it does happen. It’s good that we’ve caught it now."

"I see the embryonic sac in, from what I can tell, a great spot. You're measuring at about 6 or 7 weeks along. Size of a blueberry." She says and I stop breathing.

I don't even hesitate to say yes as she asks if I would like to see.

My eyes are glued to the screen as I follow where her finger points, focusing on the grainy image. There it is—a tiny black oval with an even tinier dot in the middle. It's so small, I almost think I'm looking at the wrong thing.

“That’s... them?” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I try to comprehend the sight in front of me.

Dr. Sullivan nods, her expression tender. "That's your baby. It's early, but everything looks promising..."

"Really?" I squeak, still in disbelief, my throat tightening with sudden emotion as more tears fall down my face.

Relief— as she nods in confirmation, handing me the tissue box again.

Hope— as she zooms in, showing me the flickering of the heartbeat.

Joy—as I hear the heartbeat, feeling it sync with the thumping of my own.

For the first time since my dream, I feel joy, something beyond the crippling dread that had loomed over me all day. My heart swells and then bursts as I continue to stare at the flickering dot on the screen, blinking away the tears that blur my vision.

I breathe in shakily before a laugh escapes through a sob.

"Nice strong heartbeat, everything looks as it should... this looks like a healthy pregnancy," Dr. Sullivan announces, gently removing the ultrasound wand but keeping a looped video on the screen, allowing me a few more moments to take it all in.

"She's strong too, just like you,"

"So, the next step—for your safety—would be to remove the IUD today," she continues, her tone calm yet serious. "We can also discuss your options moving forward, including your decision on whether or not you would like to continue with the pregnancy. It's important to weigh all the possibilities and make the choice that's right for you."

"I-I'm gonna continue the pregnancy. It was in no way planned, but–"

"You don't need to explain...I had a feeling" She dismisses me gently, giving me a knowing smile, "I guess this calls for a congratulations,"

"Thank you," I say just above my breath, warmth still blooming through my chest.

After Dr. Sullivan removes my IUD, she tells me to dress while she steps out to calculate my due date.

I stare at the printed ultrasound picture, my heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. I’m not worried about the complications or uncertainties ahead right now. All that matters is this life inside me.

I feel much stronger than I did merely hours ago.

My due date was February 7th, the same as my grandmother’s birthday.

–

I had landed in Maine a few hours ago, my mom and I were organizing all of my grandma's belongings. We spent the afternoon together, grabbing lunch before heading over to my grandmother's house.

The house always felt like a time capsule, preserving every memory. The duck wallpaper in the dining room, the scent of pine and clove, the worn couch cushions, her miniature schnauzer figurine collection, and the framed pressed flowers from her children’s weddings—everything was always in its rightful place. It always looked the same.

Memories of me and my siblings spending weekends here whirling behind my eyelids as I inhale the familiar scent.

It evokes a bittersweet feeling.

We keep the mood light, sharing stories with each memory we packed away. I still saw the flicker of sadness in my mom's eyes, even through her laughter as we reminisced.

Sitting on the carpet in the living room, we go through the boxes full of pictures to put together a collage for the funeral. I come across a picture of my mother pregnant with my older brother.

It's a candid photo in the kitchen of my grandmother's house, her hand resting on her swollen belly that pokes out the bottom of her blue shirt, a soft smile on her face. My grandmother is beside her, beaming with pride, tying an apron around her waist.

My mother looked so young, her freckles prominent on her flushed cheeks and her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

I was always told I looked more like my dad, but seeing her like this, so close to my own age now, I can't help but notice the resemblance.

My mom notices my pause and looks over my shoulder. "That was just a few weeks before your brother was born," she says softly, her voice laced with nostalgia. "Your grandmother knew we were having a boy from the moment we told her,"

Her words send a chill down my spine.

I linger on the photo, feeling a wave of emotion rise up at the mention of my grandmother as the weight of my own news presses heavier on my chest.

"Were you really sick, when you were pregnant?" I ask, lowly.

She hums in thought, "With your brother? Only for maybe the first few weeks. With you though? Forget about it, I was sick everyday for months."

I stay silent for a moment, studying another photo of my mom and dad in the hospital room with my brother the day he was born. My mom is in the hospital bed, looking tired but radiant, while my dad is crouched next to her, gently cradling my brother in his arms.

"He was so bald," I laugh softly, and my mom chuckles beside me.

"His hair was so blonde, it was practically see-through. Your father called him 'egghead' for the first two months of his life," she says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes with a smile.

I look at the photo again, my gaze lingering on my mom's face. Her expression is filled with such warmth and love as she looks at my dad.

"How did you tell dad? You guys were both pretty young," I ask and she stifles a laugh.

"We actually found out together in a gas station bathroom..." She starts off with a slightly shameful smile, "I had been so sick on our camping trip with your aunt and uncle, so I decided on our way back home to take a test. We were shocked to say the least, but we were happy," She shrugs casually.

I think about how I was alone when I found out I was pregnant. Matt wasn't there, and it wasn't his fault, but the last 36 hours of keeping this from him has been torture.

The moment I saw the second line show up with fresh cold sweat still rolling down my neck, I had to bottle up this relentless guilt.

I feel guilt. It wasn't anyone's fault. This is the most serendipitous situation I've ever been in, but I put the blame on me. I have a choice and I'm choosing the route that will completely flip our already hectic lives upside down.

Tethering us together for life.

Even if this decision it feels right, it still carries an enormous weight. It’s not just my life that’s about to change—it's Matt’s too.

I have no doubt Matt will be supportive, but when you're left alone with your thoughts long enough, you can convince yourself of anything.

I've spent every waking minute wondering how he'll react, imagining every possible scenario, from the worst to the best. It's been an endless loop of 'what ifs,' and it’s taken everything in me not to just blurt it out over the phone.

"Were you scared at all? I mean, weren't you like 20?" I press, searching for reassurance in her response.

Her eyes widen before nodding, "Oh, we were scared shitless. Your father almost passed out. We had no idea what we were doing, but hey, we survived. For better or for worse,"

I nod, looking down at my lap and fidgeting with my fingers. My chest feels tight, and the weight of everything becomes almost unbearable.

"Mom, there's something I need to tell you... I–"

"I know," She looks at me with a small smile, her green eyes glistening with tears.

My brows furrow together, giving her a confused look.

"You do?" I ask, my voice trembling.

She shrugs, "I know everything, I'm your mom... Plus, you gagged at the smell of chicken today, that was a dead giveaway." She bites back a smirk and I cover my face, laughing through some tears before looking at her again.

"I guess I’m not as good at hiding things as I thought."

"You never were," She says softly as she scoots closer to me, bringing me into her warm embrace.

I sigh deeply into her, squeezing her tight and breathing in her comforting scent.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, still holding onto me.

"Scared shitless..." I joke and we share a laugh before she pulls back to wipe the tears that escaped against my will, "But I'm happy," I admit, scanning my mother's face for any sign of judgement.

There was none.

She wipes her own few tears, looking at me with only love in her eyes.

"My baby's having a baby,"

"I think grandma sent me this baby," I whisper, allowing my emotions to come through.

My mom tucks my hair behind my ear with her gentle, comforting touch and she listens intently as I tell her my dream. We hold onto each other and cry. I then show her the ultrasound pictures and we talk until the sun disappears.

My phone buzzes softly and I check the message to find Matt’s text that he’s landed and on his way. The reality of his imminent arrival causes a mixed-wave of nausea and guilt to wash over me.

My mom looks at me with a reassuring smile.

"I'll leave you two be so you can talk. I'll see you in the morning, my love." She tells me softly, kissing my cheek and hugging me tight.

Matt and I were gonna stay here during our time in Maine. It's best right now that we have our own space, especially since my brother and his girlfriend are staying by my parents house.

As she heads out, I take a deep breath and text Matt to let him know the door is unlocked. I slip into the shower, trying to calm my racing thoughts and steady my nerves. The warm water helps, but my mind keeps racing as I mentally prepare for the conversation ahead.

Wrapped in a towel, I check my reflection in the mirror, trying to see if I look any more put together than before.

I think this is the best we're going to get.

I jump when I here the front door open and shut, then some feet shuffling. My heart skips a beat.

Matt's here.

"It's just me," I hear him call out as well as more shuffling and a paper bag crinkling.

"Hey! I-I'll be right out!" I call back out, my heart picking up again but I take a deep breath.

I quickly get dressed in a tank top and shorts; there's a heat wave here, and I can't figure out how to adjust the thermostat.

I step out of the bathroom to see Matt standing at the kitchen island, unpacking burgers and fries onto the counter. The aroma of it makes my stomach growl and I realize I hadn't eaten anything since lunch.

I admire him for a second; he's wearing pink sweatpants, a black hoodie and a backwards fitted hat.

He turns at the sound of my presence and his face softens. I'm trembling when he steps forward to embrace me into a tight hug. He buries his face into my neck before giving me a few kisses there.

"Hi," I breath out, my voice shaky.

I was so nervous.

"Hey, you okay?" His voice is so soft, my heart aches. He pulls away, rubbing his hands up and down my arms while scanning my face.

"You're shaking. What's going on?" He presses.

He knows something is up, he can see it all over my face. I shake my head, brushing it off to have one more minute with him.

I pull him back to me, wrapping my arms around his neck this time and locking him against me. He bends down a bit to accommodate but doesn't question it, just hugging me back. His arms wrapping around my waist and pressing our stomachs together.

My heart is slamming against my ribcage and I know he can feel it, his thumb rubbing my hip soothingly tells me he does.

"How are you doing?" His voice is muffled with his face buried into my neck.

"I'm okay, better now that you're here. I missed you," I mumble, kissing the side of his neck and running my hand down between his shoulder blades.

I breathe him in, noting the warmth of him and the solidness of his body against me.

"I missed you... I brought us food. I don't know about you, but I'm fucking starving," He puts his hands on my hips to pull back from the hug, but I stay put.

He chuckles, giving me one more squeeze.

I pull back just enough to line our faces up and give him a kiss, which he eagerly returns.

"Thank you for being here, it means a lot," I say against his lips and he pulls back slightly to push my hair out of my face.

"I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else." He hums into another kiss, then places three quick pecks before giving my butt a light tap, signaling that it’s time to let him go.

I finally release him and head to the food on the counter.

"I passed a Five Guys on the way here, so I hope that's good for you," He grabs a handful of fries before munching on them.

As I reach the counter, the smell of the burgers makes my mouth water, and I can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness.

“Five Guys is perfect, thank you,” I say, grabbing a fry from the bag and tasting its salty warmth.

Matt grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Good, because I was too hungry to think of anything else,” he jokes, unwrapping one of the burgers and handing it to me.

I take it, thanking him quietly, my fingers brushing against his. For a moment, I just look at him.

He’s here, and I should be telling him I’m pregnant with his child, but instead, we’re standing in the kitchen eating burgers. As if I’m trying to cling to this last bit of normalcy before everything changes.

I force myself to take a bite of my burger, moaning at the greasy, savory goodness. Matt smirks at me, taking a hearty bite of his own burger.

“S’good?” he asks through his bite, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

I nod, moaning again in response, savoring the taste as it temporarily distracts me from everything else.

Matt takes a sip of his drink before bringing a napkin to my face and wiping the corner of my mouth and chin.

"Wipe ya lip, kid," He teases and I roll my eyes, grabbing the napkin from him.

Matt inhales another large bite of his burger, and we slip into our familiar rhythm.

He tells me about his brief trip to Chicago, and I’m relieved to hear he managed to gather a few funny stories and catch at least one day of the festival. He’s notably enthusiastic while he talks, and I can’t help but smile at his excitement.

He also reassured me that Chris wasn't upset at all, which I already knew from the sweet text he sent me this morning.

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” I say, trying to match his enthusiasm.

I then give him the rundown for the next few days while we prepare for the funeral and memorial.

We continue eating, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as we enjoy the burgers and each other’s company.

It feels so easy, so light. It always is with us. But underneath the surface, the words I need to say weigh heavy on my mind, threatening to break the easy rhythm.

Matt watches me closely, his own burger forgotten for the moment as he sees me disappear inside my head again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, his eyes look between mine. “You seem… I don’t know, you're acting weird.” He tries to find the right words.

"Matt..." I go to dismiss him, getting up slowly but he cuts me off, standing up too.

"No, I'm serious. You've been acting weird for days, and I'm no longer 2000 miles away for you to push me away or avoid me." He steps closer to me, trapping me against the counter with his arms on either side of me.

"Is it about your grandma? Did something else happen while I was gone?" He throws out, looking between my eyes.

"I–" I try to speak up but my voice gets caught in my throat and I get lost in the icy storm of his relentless gaze.

"It's not just my grandma," I manage to say, the admission causing him to soften slightly, a glimmer of relief at the small breakthrough.

"Okay, so talk to me, sweetheart. Please, I've been worried sick about you. You have no idea," he pleads, his breath brushing against my skin.

"I didn't know how to tell you..." I try to put together my words but I feel like I'm making it all worse.

I watch as his eyebrows pinch together and he leans down more so he's eye level with me instead towering over me.

"Tell me what, kid. I'm not a mind reader," His voice strains, frustration evident in his face.

When I try to break eye contact with him he pulls my chin to align our eyes again.

"What, d'you crash my car?" he guesses, clearly joking, his eyebrows raising playfully.

I can't help but smile and snort at his attempt to ease the tension.

"No, it’s not that," I say, my voice cracking slightly. "It's much bigger than that," I trail off and he waits expectantly.

"I uh– I went to the doctor yesterday," I pause and study his face, which drops ever so slightly, seeming to be bracing himself.

He stays silent, whether it was out of patience or fear, nothing could have prepared for my next sentence.

"I went to confirm that I was pregnant," I finally blurt out, my voice shaky, and he freezes.

Not one muscle moves in his face or his body.

"You're..." His voice cracks and he clears his dry throat, hitting his chest, "Are you serious?"

"I'm seven weeks, or a month and a half," I stammer, my voice wavering. "I don't really know how to—"

"Seven..." He whispers in disbelief, the shock settling in and I nod. "Y-you were on birth control– you have that AED–"

"IUD, yes, I did. It still happened, that shit is useless if it moves out of place," I explain and he looks down between us.

"A-and everything's okay, you're okay?" He looks up at me again, holding onto my face.

I take hold of his wrists, rubbing my thumb over his skin.

"I'm fine, the baby's fine..." I say softly and his eyes widen in realization as he pales.

"Oh my fucking god," He pulls back, cupping his hands over his mouth. "I need to sit down."

"Okay, okay. Do you want water?" I panic, hoping he doesn't pass out or puke.

He takes a seat at the dining table, shaking his head before taking off his hat and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Oh my god, I thought I was crazy..." He says, his voice cracking with nerves as he presses his palms into his eye sockets.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"I had a feeling all fucking week," he says, his voice still shaky, and my brows knit together.

"I knew something was up. You were acting different. You were moodier than usual, you were napping all the time—and you never nap... and your tits are huge," he adds, and I roll my eyes.

"Sorry, that’s beside the point," he continues quickly, "I just couldn’t shake the feeling that you could be... I think I was trying to convince myself you weren't, but then you were so sick before I left," he rambles, staring blankly at the wall.

"It's a lot to take in, I know." I swallow thickly as I watch him process everything.

"You're pregnant," he says finally, looking at me again, this time with tears brimming his eyes. "And you were dealing with all of this by yourself," His voice is low and I shake my head, moving to stand between his legs, cupping his face gently.

"Hey, no. None of that... How could you have known?" I shush him and pull his head towards my chest.

His hands rest behind my thighs, his thumb lightly stroking my right leg. I run my fingers through his hair, comforting him as much as he's comforting me.

"I've been so scared to tell you..." I confess softly and he pulls back slightly, looking up at me with his brows furrowed.

"I know this wasn't part of our plan...at least not for a while. But before I took a test, the night my grandma passed, I had a dream. I was here, in my grandmother's garden... and she told me I was pregnant. Matt, the feeling I had," I pause, struggling to find the right words.

"It was the most intense, pure form of happiness I've ever felt. I can't even describe it to you..." I trail off.

I shake my head, "I know, I sound crazy. But I think this was meant to happen." I whisper, heat creeping up my neck at the admission.

He’s silent for a moment, absorbing my words. Then, a slow smirk carves a crease into the side of his mouth. "You are fucking crazy…" he murmurs, his playful tone breaking the tension as his smile lines deepen.

I huff a breathy laugh, the sound catching in my throat as my emotions take over again. Tears blur my vision, and I can’t hold them back any longer.

"Are you mad?" I squeak, letting my fear slip through the dam I built up.

He's immediately shaking his head, his eyes widen with sincerity, "Mad? Of course not. I mean, I thought we'd maybe get a cat first but..." He says, quirking his lip and I can't help the laugh that escapes through a sob.

I was the definition of an emotional wreck.

He gently squeezes my hips as I tip my head back to collect myself.

"Look at me," he says firmly, and I sniffle and hiccup before forcing myself to look at him. "Am I surprised? Yes. Terrified? Definitely. But, not even close to mad."

He wipes my tears tenderly, "We're going to be okay. Take it easy, alright? Deep breaths," His tone gentle but assertive, dragging me out of the pit of my dark thoughts.

I sigh as his thumbs draw circles on the exposed skin on my hips.

"I'm sorry," I say and he pulls me to sit sideways on his lap this time.

"Why are you sorry?" he asks softly, intertwining our fingers and bringing my hand to his mouth for a kiss.

"Our lives are going to change and I feel like it's my fault,"

"C'mere," He pulls me in fully, wrapping his arms around my waist. "I love you, and we're going to get through this... We were gonna do it anyway; we're just getting a headstart, yeah? Everything is going to work out," He tells me softly and I can tell he means every word.

Matt never says anything he doesn't mean.

"Also, don't say stupid shit like this is your fault. Last time I checked, it takes two to tango," He says firmly, lightly slapping my hip.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat as I lean into him completely, resting my head on his shoulder. His hand rubs gentle circles on my back, and I close my eyes, letting myself soak in the comfort of his presence.

"I missed you so much," I whisper, my voice muffled against his shirt. "I've been so sick, this kid might be trying to kill me," I try to joke, and he breathes a laugh into my shoulder.

A few beats of silence pass, broken only by the distant sound of crickets outside and the occasional creak of the old house settling.

"We're having a kid," He speaks up, realization laced in his voice and I hum against him. "Maybe we're both fucking crazy,"

I stifle a laugh and pull back to look at him, "D'wanna see it?" I ask, getting up from his lap and he looks to my stomach with a raised brow.

"Kid, you're not showing yet," he says, leaning back into the chair with his arms crossed, a playful smirk on his face and I roll my eyes.

"No, the ultrasound. Hold on," I say as I head to the counter to grab the pictures from my bag.

I pull out the strip of photos, and when I turn back, I see Matt standing up and stretching. He takes off his sweatshirt and his shirt riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of his stomach. Heat rises to my face but I can't stare too long though because he's walking towards me to look over my shoulder.

"Okay, what am I lookin' at?" He stands behind me, his hands on his hips as his head tilts in concentration.

"You see this black circle here?" I point to the sonogram, and he leans in closer, his breath warm against my neck as he grabs hold of the paper to steady it.

"Yeah, that's it?" He asks, narrowing his eyes and I giggle.

"No, do you see the tinier white blob inside it? That's the baby." I explain and his face scrunches for a second, looking at the picture again.

"No fucking way," he says in disbelief, a wide smile breaking across his face. "That tiny thing?" His voice raises a pitch as he looks at me, eyes wide with awe, "Can barely fucking see that," He says playfully before rubbing his eyes.

"Mhm," I can't help but giggle as he wraps an arm around me, pulling me in and placing a kiss to my temple. "Just wait til you hear it, the heartbeat was insane. It was so fast," I add and he freezes.

The realization in his face settles in even deeper as I tell him that, his soft smile returning.

"You heard the heartbeat?" He whispers, looking between my eyes and I nod.

"Yeah, yesterday. They emailed me the video of it, I'll show you in a bit if you want," I tell him and he kisses me then like he can't help himself.

"That's fucking nuts... do you feel pregnant?" he asks, his voice curious and his eyes slowly lowering to my stomach peaking out of my tank top.

I shake my head, "Not at all. I just feel like shit... and constantly bloated," I admit, laughing softly.

He lightly chuckles himself, a charmed smile on his face as he reaches to rubs my stomach a couple times.

"We're really gonna have to lock in, kid." He moves around me to pull me into a full hug, pressing our stomachs together.

"Okay, gamer...acting like this is a video game," I scoff teasingly and he bends down, laughing into my neck.

"Well, what else do you want me to say? We're leveling up in life–" he continues the joke and I jab his side with my finger.

"Ow," he fake-cries, clutching his side with exaggerated pain before breaking into a fit of giggles.

"Stop saying corny shit, you goof," I warn, though his laughter makes it impossible not to smile.

I bury my face in his chest, my ear pressed against his heart as we settle into a comfortable silence.

"Now we really gotta get our own place," He says and I can hear his smirk.

"I don't know…" I shrug slightly, considering. "Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to stick around for a bit. It might be nice to have the extra help before we go completely on our own."

He pulls back slightly to look at me, tilting his head with an inquisitive expression. "You really think my brothers will be any help? They don’t know anything about babies."

I snort. “Probably not, but neither do we." I reason and his mouth shrugs in defeat.

"Good point... I guess we can wait it out, we're not in a rush. It'll definitely give us more time to research where would want to be somewhat permanently," He points out.

I hum into him and try not stress about that. The reality is we'd be putting ourselves in a tough spot—both our families are here on the East Coast, but our jobs and lives are rooted in LA.

It's easy to go back and forth when it was just us, but now we're gonna have a kid.

"I already hear your mind racing," his voice breaks me out of my thoughts as he rubs my back. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out..." he says softly, and I sigh deeply.

My stomach turns when I get a whiff of the food still laid out on the table.

"Matt," I say, pulling back slowly, holding my stomach.

"Mm?" he hums, looking at me with concern as I put my hand over my mouth.

"The smell of those burgers is making me sick now," I try not to laugh, and he shakes his head, immediately tossing all the trash into the large paper bag it came in.

"Alright, where's the incinerator?"

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #dad!matt #sturniolohouse

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baocean · 1 month ago

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#undercover

jjmaybank x bestfriend!reader smau series

finished!

since the pogues got home after getting rich off gold, you’ve all moved in together, the business is going well, life is good. you’ve also, gone viral. a few of them become overnight tiktok sensations. you, being the friend you are, create a fan page for your best friend, jj.

thinking nothing of it, you post aimlessly on there, expecting no attention of any of your best friend’s fans or your best friend himself. until you do.

mood board 🦢🍸🤍🌾

reader

jj maybank

warnings

drinking, smoking, cursing, a whole lot of inappropriate jokes and insults, afab!reader.

guide

extras

going on a girls trip | baby pogue | happy 21st! | the real gold

notes

if you wanted to be added to the taglist let me know!

i’ll try to tag everyone who asks! if i’m not able to tag you in the fic itself, i’ll try to tag you in the comments :)

#obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx season 3 #outer banks #outer banks imagine #john b routledge #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #obx jj #obx smau #smau #jj x kook!reader #jj x you #outerbanks rafe #mimi speaks #undercover

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jarofstyles · 8 months ago

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Flower

Hello… here is another mini series I started even tho I have other things I definitely need to finish…. But I’m kinda obsessed with them so I hope you guys like them 🫢

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 2 and 180+ exclusive writings!

WC- 2.8k

Warnings- y/n being oblivious, stupidly sweet h, things alluding to masturbation

“Y’know that isn’t normal for him, right?” Gia murmured as she came up next to Y/N. The low light of the bar had her squinting slightly, but thankfully the rock music wasn’t blaring too loud over the speakers over here. Coming after work, she had looked forward to meeting up with her friends for some much needed socialization- even if she was exhausted.

Confusion painted her features, looking at her friend with furrowed brows. “What are you talking about?”

“Harry. He’s like, all over you. All the time” She looked over to the man with a smirk, who had previously excused himself to participate in this round of pool. Y/N wasn’t much for the game so she stayed back in their seats, taking a moment to decompress. Or, try to. Sometimes it got a bit overwhelming with so many people talking at once.

“He’s just touchy, isn’t he?” Y/N had only known Harry for a few months, moving here to teach and one of her coworkers so kindly helped integrate Y/N into her friend group. Harry owned a contracting business, actually, and Y/N had been getting lots of help from him on a variety of projects. Specifically, the latest project regarding his expertise in what sort of bannister she should have for the staircase. It was antique, and she didn’t want to be like those flippers she saw online who ruined the charm of old houses. If she wanted a brand new build, she would have bought one. “See?”

Harry had his arm around Mitch, laughing about something probably a little dumb. The man was borderline tipsy but he’d just started his water rounds. He seemed to be an affectionate person, cuddly. At least to her and Mitch and Niall, all of whom seemed used to it.

“Yeah, but not with women. He’s more reserved when it comes to them but not with you. Like… what was that before?” Her cheeks flushed slightly as dhe knew exactly when her friend was talking about. Harry had come back from the bar with their soft pretzel and another drink for her, and when he sat down she was promptly dragged into his lap. She’d let out a yelp but it turned into a laugh, settling in his thighs. Of course there was no admitting that her stomach had erupted in butterflies and she felt them kick up every time he rested his chin on her or squeezed her a little tighter to him. That the scent of his cologne had become something that grounded her anxiety in the moment, and it was weird how he seemed to be an anchor for her every time he pulled something like that. Somehow he just had that sort of effect on her.

Now that she mentioned it, she had noticed Sarah’s eyes widening when he did that, but she had assumed it was just for the pure audacity of a man manhandling a woman into his lap and ripping off a piece of cheese dipped pretzel and bringing it to her mouth.

Y/N knew Harry was a cuddle bug. He was needy, like a pup, nosing and pawing his way into peoples hearts. But she assumed he did this sort of stuff with everyone. Maybe she wasn’t paying enough attention, but she had been too nervous to allow herself to think of his touches as flirtation. It would bring down the wall she’d tried to set there to not get her hopes up and look too deep into things. It had gotten her heart bruised a few times already. “Oh.” She replied, looking at her slowly emptying glass. “I, um, didn’t really think about that. He’s been pretty handsy for a long time.” He was also a flirt. Said things on purpose to make her flustered, but only in her ear so she’d get even more worked up. That was something he really liked to do- whisper in her ear or close to her to share something only with her.

“Babes, you need to open your eyes. That man is completely gone for you. Smitten kitten. I was convinced you guys were secretly banging but I was trying to mind my business… but you mentioned a dating site earlier and I got confused.” She’d wholeheartedly thought they were already an item. “You need to talk to him or make a move or something. He’s all but pissed on you to claim you from the rest of the group, and he keeps looking over here to check on you. He acts like your boyfriend already, but there are more benefits you can cash in on if you just go for it.” She wiggled her brows making Y/N groan, hiding her head in her hands.

She was way too sober for this conversation.

Of course she had interest in Harry. Some feelings, even, but he’d never expressed interest in dating anyone. How could she not? He was almost unreal, checking loads of boxes she had in her mental list of ‘what my dream man would have’, including the dimple thing. The fact that he always said he was “waiting for the right one to find me” when she’d ask floated back into her mind, clearing a bit of the fog that usually surrounded her when she thought about him. Had he been trying to tell her something?

Y/N could admit she wasn’t the most perceptive at times. She was a little oblivious, some could say, and didn’t read into signs well. The trait was something that used to get her into trouble when she was younger, her head always off in the clouds instead of where it needed to be according to the adults around her. It was possible she missed something, but she wanted to find out how to rectify that.

“Speak of the devil…” Gia whispered, moving over a bit with a snicker as Harry seamlessly slipped back into the booth and ran his hand over her hair. Y/N felt his presence like a blanket, face turning to look at him and his concerned features. That little wrinkle between his brow she always noticed when he was upset or focusing heavily on something.

“Hi, petal. Something wrong? Headache?” He asked delicately in case the answer was yes. She got migraines frequently, as much as it sucked- but Harry had brought her some pain relievers while she was at work once to save her ass. God, her head was a mess but it wasn’t from the migraine this time around.

“No, I’m okay.” She lifted her head, feeling his hand slide under her hair to hold the back of her neck. Hopefully he wouldn’t see the chills settling on her skin as his thumb rubbed over the side of her throat, concern still etched on his features. “Was just a bit dehydrated but I’m fine now.” Her smile must not have been as convincing as she tried, his lips pursing as he shook his head.

“Got t’be careful with eating the salty chips and then having the drinks… one glass isn’t gonna be enough.” He sighed. “Stay here for me, yeah? I’ll be right back, let me get you some water.” Without thinking he leaned in and pressed a peck to her temple, sliding back out of the booth leaving the spot tingling. Sitting there with rapidly blinking eyes, she watched the stretch of muscles flex under his tee shirt as he made his way towards the bar to order said water.

Okay. Yeah. Now that she mentioned it, she definitely knew he didn’t press little kisses to the rest of the girl’s heads, or give that amount of attention to her but… again, she had tried to ignore it. Tried not to get her hopes up.

“Girl… you’ve got to see it now.” Gia’s brows were raised up. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

Maybe she was right.

——

“I’m okay, H. I promise.” Y/N laughed out the words as he brought the straw back to her mouth and gave her a look. “Fine. But I’m gonna have t’piss soon if you keep force feeding water down my throat.” She shook her head as she took another drink, making a show of swallowing it. “See? Done.”

Harry’s eyes had dipped down to her throat when she swallowed and back up to her mouth, taking a beat too long to respond. “Good. You… we can’t have you feeling poorly tomorrow. Are y’still up for it?” His hand was traveling around her body. Not in a sexual way, not really, but over her shoulders. Rubbing her arm. Cupping the back of her neck. Fiddling with her hair. For the first time, Y/N could consciously see what Gia was talking about. Maybe it was sad she needed someone else’s validation of it first, but now that she had it she didn’t feel as crazy for the emotions she felt.

“Of course.” Harry was taking her to a sick used bookstore that he had helped remodel a few years back. When he found out she had gotten back into a reading mood lately, he’d suggested it immediately over text under the table, which now that she was thinking about it…. It was obviously to ensure it would be just the two of them. No one else. He wanted to take her by herself, a little outing for just the two of them.

Stupid butterflies kicked in overdrive. “I’ve been dying to grab some new books.”

“I know. I remembered it when the owner called me a few days back about something and knew I had t’take you.” He grinned, leaning in a bit as he tucked the hair behind her ear. “I really hope you’ll like it.”

Y/N didn’t have much time to respond before the chatter got louder and the group that had gone back up to the bar for more drink ambled back and climbed into the booth. This time it wasn’t as much of a shock when she was scooped up into his lap, but it still made her hot under the skin. Her tummy swirled as he wrapped one solid arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, the other running over her thigh. It wasn’t suggestive, closer to her knee as he began to rub his thumb over the soft skin there.

For some reason it was getting to her, making her worked up. The gentle touches, the wholesome nature of it made her feel a bit ashamed as she felt herself throb between her thighs, but it only got worse when he adjusted her in his lap, lifting her like it was nothing. Of course he had strength, the man hauled lumber by himself and did all sorts of superhuman shit when it came to construction, but it still shocked her every time she got to experience it first hand.

Taking a moment to think about it, it was always apparent that he was a beautiful man with a beautiful body. One thing that she really liked were his arms. Just as a whole. Hands, arms, how they’d built out a bit from all the hands on work. His hands could be a little rough with some callouses from those tools, but her grandma always did tell her that was the sign of a hard working man. It wasn’t something she focused on before because she had tried to deny the possibility of not only rejection but not being able to be in the friend group if things went sour.. At the moment she was past that.

She could see the vein in his arm just a bit, near the anchor tattoo. His hand curled over her knee, almost possessively. This entire position was him claiming her. Realizing now he’d never pulled any of the other girls as close as he did her made her head spin. Hell, he really didn’t do much than give a friendly hug or hand to help them if they were stumbling. Fuck, he could actually feel something for her. Far past friendship.

“You’re quiet.” His words were so close they almost vibrated in her ear, making her startle a bit. “Shit, sorry Petal. Didn’t mean to scare you.” The little smile given to her made its way into her bloodstream, heating her up the longer he looked at her. “Why are you in your head, hm? Tired?”

The way he spoke to her was so tender and sweet… gah! Now that she was allowing the possibility to be a thought, it was shaking her up.

“Yeah, getting tired.” She wasn’t lying. Her Friday classes had been a handful. That was the truth. “Need to take a long shower and sleep until an hour before you come to pick me up.”

“Sounds like a good plan. What kind of soap or shampoo do you use?” He asked, a noticeable shift in his voice. A little deeper, softer for her ears only. It was intimate, she realized. How he spoke to her privately with her tucked in his lap. Her body melted further into him, but the lump in her throat had expanded from the realization. “You always smell fuckin’ amazing.” His nose skimmed over the side of her jaw making her exhale shakily. He was taking an inhale of her as he hugged her body against him. Her poor vibrator was in for it when she got home.

“Uh- it’s like a coconut citrus mix?” She had to think about it. It was hard to focus on anything with her revelations at hand and the man of the hour touching her so liberally. Like she was his to touch. It wasn’t disrespectful and she knew he was the first person to read her body language- hell, he probably could read her mind better than she could process her own thoughts. But it was still sinking in, the feelings gripping her stomach. “Thank you. I try my best. No one wants to be stinky.” Nose crinkling in disgust, she felt him shake his head against her.

“Trust me when I say you’re the best smelling person I’ve met. Wouldn’t complain if all my things smelled like you.” Oh? He didn’t elaborate, but there was a barely there kiss to the hinge of her jaw rendering her speechless. His reaction was to place his chin back on her shoulder, interjecting into Niall’s rant while Y/N sat there trying to process what that was.

Deciding to test something made her really nervous, but she wanted to see what he’d do. While he was always the affectionate one and she never pushed him away, she didn’t usually return it as much. He always sought her out and she reciprocated but she wasn’t one to initiate a lot… so she wanted to see what he’d do.

Letting out a yawn, she leaned her head against his shoulder and let her head nuzzle into his neck. Without saying a word, her hand went for his on her thigh and weaved their fingers together, pulling it further up her thigh. Holding his hand, she could feel his body stiffen ever so slightly for a mere moment and his heart rate pick up. His other arm around her tightened, thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “Comfy?” He mumbled to her.

“Mhm.” She nodded, letting his hand squeeze hers. He was just solid and sturdy. She could lean against him and feel protected in a way. Why she hadn’t tried this sooner she didn’t know, but she could hear his mood get better as he spoke. It was palpable, like he was vibrating a little bit, squeezing her hand every once in a while to remind her he was there. Or maybe it was for his own mind?

It continued like this for a bit until everyone decided to get going, Harry being the last to stand. He was gentle about helping her off his lap, beating her to get on his feet and offered his hand to her to help her up. “C’mon, sleepy Flower. Time for your shower and sleep. Can’t have you too tired for the selection of books, hm?” His hand steady on the small of her back, he led her to the car with a bit of a delay as they said good, a hug tight and lifting her off the ground a bit as he did so before having her promise to text when she got home.

She fulfilled the promise, as well as her guilty vibrator session thinking about that tiny kiss on her skin and his hand on her knee, hoping that would make her chill out. It didn’t.

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dianaladrislovebot · 1 year ago

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it’s so funny to me that caine explicitly states that he heavily dislikes having to deal w bug. even HE can’t deal w the fucked up little creature 😭 everything i know about bug has been learned against my will

#gone series #michael grant #gone michael grant #the gone series #fayz #the fayz #caine soren #gone series bug

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rafey-baby · 5 months ago

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hidden 2

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, rafe getting injured & reluctantly letting her clean him up, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

It’s past midnight and Rafe is driving over the speed-limit— he said something about handling business and then more or less shoved her into the passenger seat of his truck before she even had the chance to open her mouth.

The island sky is as dusky as the bottom of the ocean while he races through the soundless highway that reminds her of the yellow brick road; never-ending and with no certainty of what’s looming at the finish line.

She’s sits silently, because even if she was curious as to where exactly they were headed to, she’s well aware that he wouldn’t tell her if she asked— which is why she merely lets her heavy lids flutter shut to the lullaby of the wind picking up outside the vehicle, so exhausted she falls asleep within minutes. Therefore, she’s not sure how much time has passed before she’s jostled awake to the sound of him turning off the engine in an empty parking lot.

“Don’t even think about openin’ the door, alright?” a heavy warning lingers in his tone while he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabs a thick wad of cash from the glove compartment.

She hums her acknowledgment, watching his actions with wandering eyes filled with questions. However, he merely offers her a brief glance before he’s throwing open the door and disappearing into the eerily serene night— leaving her alone in the dimly lit space with her nervous inhales the only thing keeping her company.

The moment he’s gone, she tries to peer through the window, squinting in order to see where he’s run off to. However, the faint glow of the street lamps provides little to no help, which makes her tap her nails against the center console; impatiently waiting for him to return. Then, she attempts to press her ear to the window, but unfortunately no sounds other than the leaves in the trees surrounding the area reach her eardrums.

She sighs. What if something happens?

Realistically, she knows he doesn’t need her to worry about him but she can’t help it; no matter how terrible of a person he is, she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, she’s not a carefully programmed robot entirely void of human emotions, is she?

The mellow memory of him reluctantly attempting to soothe her after her outburst the other day still lingers at the forefront of her mind— turning her initial thoughts about him into something softer. After all, she was certain he was going to kill her when she threatened him with his gun. However, he seemed almost entertained by her stupid bravery, opting to mock her instead of showing a single ounce of actual fear.

And she doesn’t know why, but there’s this peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever her brain decides to mull over the moment of him wrapping his big arms around her shaky form in an almost gentle manner. She wants to forget about it, wants to push it aside and simply despise him for forcing her to help him, but she can’t— can’t help the fact that even if she’s utterly terrified of him, there’s something almost fascinating about the way he’s such a polar opposite to her.

Not only is he a Kook but he’s also violent and hostile, whereas she doesn’t even have the heart to kill a bug. His demeanor is aggressive and she thought that was all there was but then he goes on and practically hugs her when she’s a trembling mess with salty tears streaking her cheeks. And she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to think of that.

In fact, all of it confuses her to no end— disarranging her cerebrum and making foreign emotions bubble in her chest like molten lava. Or maybe she’s just touch-deprived; starving for whatever attention Rafe is suddenly offering her so generously.

However, she doesn’t necessarily want to think about any of it right now, opting to stare out into the gloom of the night, forcing her mind somewhere else entirely when all at once, the driver’s side door slams open and her head snaps towards it; eyes startled and heart jumping in her chest at the sudden intrusion.

“Calm down, s’just me,” Rafe mutters, sounding out of breath, his exhales harsh and chest rising and falling like a madman while he leans against the leather seat— eyes soon flitting over her tense form.

“You seriously didn’t move?” he huffs out, brows raised. “When’d you learn to listen? Should give you a treat for bein’ such a good little puppy, huh?” he lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head while she comes to the conclusion that she’s definitely craving a very specific type of attention when her thighs involuntarily press together in response to his twisted notion of praise.

“You— uh…you okay?” she cautiously asks; an attempt to focus on something other than the warmth scattering along the apples of her cheeks.

“M’fine,” he mumbles before starting the engine and speeding back out onto the road still sound asleep— the pitch-black sky beginning to fade into a navy blue with the dim glimmer of the street lamps illuminating their journey.

However, when she gets a better look at him, she notices a few cuts and bruises adorning his tired face. There’s a particularly deep scrape on his cheekbone; crimson transferring to the back of his hand when he mindlessly swipes over it. “Rafe you’re bleeding. What happened?” she exclaims, uneasiness coating her voice.

“Don’t worry, okay? Jus’ had some, uh…disagreements, you should honestly see the other guy,” a lazy smirk paints over his face when he lets out a dry chuckle.

“Do you want me to clean them up for you? Those could get infected or something.”

“S’just a few scratches, you’re actin’ as if m’bleedin’ out,” he rolls his eyes, turning exasperated.

“M’being serious, you can’t exactly go to the doctor if those actually end up getting infected, can you?” she argues with a pout.

“Shit, are all pogues this fuckin’ stubborn or jus’ you? Told you, s’fine,” he snaps in disdain, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel.

“It’s not fine, though. Can you jus’…can you just let me help? It’ll take like ten minutes and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she rakes a hand through her hair in frustration because in her opinion, Rafe is the one being stubborn right now.

“M’not worryin’ about it!” his gravelly voice suddenly thunders from his chest, making her flinch.

“…well— I am,” her tone is quiet now, slightly regretting bringing up the topic in the first place.

At that, he lets out an irritated sigh before he’s abruptly pulling over to a parking lot next to some gas station.

She turns to look at him with a surprised expression.

“Don’t have all day, get the fuckin’ first aid kit from the glove box then,” he grumbles out a harsh demand.

“O— okay,” her face begins to light up in victory as she scurries to open the compartment in front of her, rummaging through and trying to not pay attention to the plastic baggies filled with white powder or the wads of cash her hand comes in contact with.

At last, her tentative fingertips find the small red bag she was looking for. However, when she turns to face him again, he’s not initiating any sort of movement, simply spreading his legs out in front of him in his slouched position and staring down at her expectantly.

She hesitates. “You’re not gonna…move?”

“If you wanna play nurse so fuckin’ bad then you have no problem sittin’ on my lap, right? Not gonna reach all the way from there, are ya?” his voice is mocking and she can practically feel the warmth crawling up her face.

“Oh, right. Um— yeah. I’ll just…” she blinks and then she’s clumsily climbing over the console and awkwardly lowering down to his lap while he merely looks at her with a bored expression; annoyance swimming in the lagoons of his eyes as he glares at her, clearly bothered by the fact that he has to waste his precious time on something as trivial as this.

It makes her huff before she’s timidly opening the first aid kit and trying to settle down onto his lap. However, with his long legs sprawled out in the legroom, he’s not exactly making it easy for her— being petty and difficult on purpose while she takes out a clean cotton pad and dampens it with some antiseptic spray.

“Can you just…” she trails off before gingerly taking ahold of his jaw and tilting his face in an attempt to examine the injuries.

And to her surprise, he lets her freely maneuver his head as she pleases and despite the sting, he doesn’t even flinch when she dabs over a smaller cut on his jaw— merely lets his gaze flicker over her features, making her grow nervous under his curious eyes while she tries to concentrate on the vermilion spots on his face and not the way he’s soundlessly observing her. Or the fact that she’s currently closer to him than she’s ever been before— can feel the even breaths from his nose tickling the skin of her lower face when she leans down for a better angle.

“So…you’re a drug dealer?” she decides to try her luck, not being able to sweep the cocaine in the glove compartment under the rug so carelessly.

“What did I say about questions, puppy?” he scolds her instead of answering.

“Right— sorry,” her eyes drop. At least she tried.

And she doesn’t say anything more, instead focuses all her attention on gently cleansing the scrapes while she tries to not pay any mind to the fact that as an afterthought, this position is incredibly improper, and she’s not entirely sure why she agreed to it so easily. Upon careful consideration, she thinks she’s entirely too aware of his sturdy muscles underneath her and it’s turning her respiration more and more labored by each wipe over his skin.

“Thinkin’ about goin’ to Guadeloupe next week,” he utters out after several moments of silence.

“You are?”

“Mhm, m’family has a house there,” his voice is calm, almost relaxed.

Her brows crease in a question. “But how’re you—”

“I have a private jet,” he states as if it should be obvious. He is a proud Kook, after all.

“Right, of course you do,” she shakes her head when the corners of his mouth tug up. “How long are you gonna stay there?” she then asks while lifting her hand to swipe the saturated cotton over the deeper wound on his cheekbone.

He shrugs. “Don’t know, ’til I figure somethin’ else out.”

She hums and then shuffles around on his lap some more, trying to wriggle upwards in an attempt to not fall. However, as she’s shifting into a more comfortable position, he suddenly lets out a low grunt from the back of his throat.

“Shit, puppy. You, uh, you really gotta move around so much?” he murmurs, promptly resting his hands on her hips, halting her movements altogether.

“S— sorry,” her eyes round out when she realizes there’s a slight bulge in his pants.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tryna get me hard on purpose, hm?” a breathy chuckle escapes his lips, amusement glittering in blue gemstones while he inspects her flushed face with intrigue.

“Oh, no— m’not…was jus’— trying not to fall,” her words are rushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she blinks repeatedly.

“Just, uh…stay still, yeah? Need me to steady you?” he rasps out before strong arms are holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist.

“Thanks,” her voice is a muted whisper while she tries not to seem so affected— getting a new cotton pad and beginning to scrub off some of the dried scarlet from under his bottom lip, not daring to shift an inch after that.

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bluewolfangel01 · 7 months ago

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How the brothers make sure you're safe in the Devildom: Older Bros edition

Lucifer

Papa Luci mode activated

He has to know where you are or where you're going if you want to go out

It doesn't matter to him that you have 7 of the most powerful demons under your command or that you're training under humanity's most power sorcerer

You are required to have someone with you when traveling anywhere in the Devildom

If he doesn't know where you are, for some reason, he while be doing everything he can just to figure out your location

Of course he isn't going to panic just yet mind you, he'll first ask his brothers if they know where you are

Ex. he makes Levi track your phone or asks Mammon to locate you via crow familiar

If none of them know, then he's going to ask the dateables and side characters

And if they don't know?

He (and the everybody else of course) are going to tear the Devildom apart to make sure that you're okay

And if you are not? May Father have mercy on whoever dared to lay a finger on you cause Lucifer won't

If he starts getting on your nerves about always having to know a general area of where you are, don't hold it against him to much

He just doesn't want you to get hurt, cause if you were you'd have a very said and pissed off Luci on your hands

Mammon

Two words: Crow familiar

Around when you made a pact with him, he gave you a crow familiar

He claimed that it was to make sure he didn't have to deal with Lucifer's punishment if you ever died or even got hurt

Don't let him fool you, that man just wants to make sure you're safe cause he cares about you so much

He has so many crows he sadly can't keep track of ALL their names, so he let's you name yours

The crow will of course love you to bits and do things for you because of his connection to Mammon and cause you treat them so nice

Pls have some seeds on you, the crow will adore you even more if you do

Whenever your out the crow will follow and watch you from a distance or maybe even close by depending on how big the crowds are

If you're ever in trouble and can't handle it (or even if you can) the crow network is put into use to alert Mammon

The second he is told he drops whatever it is that he's doing and he's rushing to get to you no matter what

He'd take out the threat so fast, you blink and it's gone and in its place is Mammon

He's smiling at you and saying how he just so happened to be in the neighborhood

Whatever the threat was seems to have disappeared and Mammon leads you away saying how he wants to show you something he wants to buy nearby

But if you listen closely, you can hear a series of loud caws coming around the area you were just at

Simp

Levithan

Although he doesn't go out of his room much, that doesn't mean that he can't protect you from the outside

Like previously mentioned, there's a tracker on your phone (all the brothers have the same on theirs, don't feel bad)

The only reason he checks it is either because Lucifer asked him or it's been a bit since he's seen or talked to you and wants to know that you're okay

The other way he protects you is checking online and keeping a lookout for any potential threats or nefarious plans against you

He won't intervene unless said people seem to be very serious or actually putting their plan into motion

If such a plan is in motion, he warns the rest of his brothers

No matter what arises if he either ends up stopping or warning the others about there's always the same result

Anything they want online, somehow they can't find it anywhere

They want to simply look about the internet? They best be prepared for all the pop up adds and bugs imaginable

Levi is making sure they never even think about hurting you ever again

This turned out longer then I originally thought it would be.... I promise to write about the other brothers!

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mermaidgirl30 · 1 month ago

Text

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 6: New Introductions with a Cup of Hot Chocolate✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The frequent need to write about these two is always sitting in the back of my mind. The slow burn is burning, friends 🥹 I have so much more left for these two, so this is a little New Year’s present because the writing bug hit me this week. I hope you enjoy 🩷

Chapter Summary: An unexpected guest appears in Joel’s front door, but it’s not just any guest. It’s his daughter Sarah, and he wants you to meet her.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter Tags: Fluff, angst, meeting Sarah, soft! Joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s and Joel is late 40’s), slow burn, mentions of being trafficked, hurt Joel, yearning, so much yearning

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

November autumn leaves fall from the oak and maple trees outside the view of the floor to ceiling windows, stacking vivid piles of bright orange and dark red colors across the front lawn. Whiffs of pine and cinnamon permeate through the house, creating the perfect atmosphere to read by the crackling fireplace in the living room.

That’s what you spend most of your time doing these days. Reading anything and everything you can get your hands on. Joel has hundreds of books scattered around his house, so you don’t have to go far to find something you want.

You love the afternoons. Love being in the comfort of a home where you feel warm and relaxed. Where you feel… safe. Yes, safe. Joel does that. Makes you feel like you’re in the presence of a knight in shining armor. You guess that’s what he is to you. Your savior. But mostly, you love afternoons because that means he’s here, and he’s choosing to spend his time with you.

The other night when he watched Gone with the Wind with you was the first time you actually had fun in a long, long time. And he made sure you were comfortable and taken care of, made sure you got to bed okay. But the one thing that burns like flickers of embers in your brain is the moment he picked you up and took you upstairs.

He was so… careful. Gentle, even. You latched on so tight to him that he had to pry your fingers from his flannel. He tucked you in, that much you remember. But also, you vaguely remember the faint brush of his fingers on your cheek, a lock of hair pushed behind your ear, and whispered words of affirmation.

Beautiful. He called you beautiful. Even if you were falling in and out of sleep, you still heard his slow drawl float through your ears, and you’re still blushing from the electric moment. He doesn’t need to know you heard it. You’ll just keep it tucked away in your locket, save it for a rainy day when you can repeat it a thousand times in your mind. Maybe one day he’ll say it again. Or maybe, one day you’ll be strong enough to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly how he makes you feel. Safe, beautiful, whole, seen.

Thumbing through the colorful bookcase, you slip a book out and start scanning the back. Just when you start to flip the front page, the click of the front door opens, and then you hear voices. Joel’s and someone you don’t recognize. Pressing the book against your chest to hug away the anxiety that’s building in your system, you pause when in comes Joel with a girl with big doe eyes and long strands of curly dark hair. You take a good, long look, your brain suddenly registering who she is.

Sarah.

You drop the book from your arms and it goes tumbling to the floor, your mouth parted open in mere shock as you register the situation.

Joel steps forward, enough to feel the heat from his body against yours, his arm placed gently around Sarah’s back, pushing her forward to present to you. He clears his throat and smiles. “Have someone I’d like to introduce you to, sweetheart.” He flicks his brown eyes to you and then back to Sarah as she stands gleaming in the sunlight with a bright smile. “This is Sarah, my daughter.” And then he says your name, introducing you the same.

You stand there lock-jawed, eyes wide, arms down at your sides, your mouth parched of words as you take her in. Big smile, as kind as her brown eyes. Eyes like Joel’s. She has a light dusting of freckles across her nose, cheeks warm and pink. She looks so kind. Kind like Joel, you think.

She says your name brightly and flashes you a genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.” Before you register what happens, she’s throwing her arms around your back and pulling you in for a tight embrace.

Your eyes widen in confusion, mouth hanging open as she squeezes you tighter with your arms still draped to the sides of your body. It’s like you’re a long-distance cousin she hasn’t seen in years, but you’ve never met her in your life. But you think it’s okay because she’s a survivor like you, and you feel like you do know her. Joel’s told you so much.

Briefly flicking your eyes up, Joel chuckles under his breath from the foyer and gives you an encouraging smile, his eyes sparkling with glee as he takes in the sight of his sweet daughter pulling you in for a hug.

As if he’s encouraging you, you cautiously snake your arms around her back and hug her right back, embracing her like a sister that got lost along the way of the kidnapping. And when you finally breathe in her strawberry scent, you hold her tighter for just a few seconds knowing that she had everything stripped from her years ago too.

When you release your arms from her, Joel gives you a small smile and slowly retreats back from the room. “I’ll get out of your hair, let you two talk.” And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone with Sarah.

“You want to go out on the back porch?” Sarah asks brightly, brown eyes as big as the moon.

You give her a shy smile and hesitate because you’ve never actually been out there before. You kind of just locked yourself in the house, afraid to venture far from closed doors and warm air. Afraid to go far because you’re still scared. Scared someone could take you away from Joel again… “Umm, sure. I’ve never really been out there before.”

“You’ve never been out back?” she asks, shocked, jaw dropping like you just said you’ve never seen colors before.

You shrug meekly and say, “Kinda keep tucked away in the house.”

Registering your answer, she closes her lips and nods. “I understand. It’s nice and cozy in here, but come on. You’ll love it.”

She tugs your wrist and pulls you along with her toward the back glass door, only stopping momentarily to pick up two fleece blankets from a little basket tucked next to the fireplace. Handing you one before she slides the door open, she encourages you forward.

When you step out onto the wooden back porch, your jaw drops as you take in the beautiful view. Acres upon green acres expand over the horizon. A small pond that glistens in the sunlight sits a couple miles out. A flock of birds soar in the blue sky, only disappearing behind some forming grey clouds in the near distance. And the trees… so many tall, green, large scatters of them expand over the open land. It’s almost like home…

“Whoa. This is…” You pause, mouth suddenly dry as you join Sarah on the porch swing, eyes still roving across the beautiful view. How did you not know this was out here all this time?

“Pretty great, right? Dad owns all this. All the way back behind that line of thick trees.”

You scan the horizon, but you don’t see an end anywhere in sight. He must own hundreds of acres.

Taking a deep breath, you part your lips and smile, pulling the blanket up over your lap to dissipate some of the November chill. “I’ve been kind of a recluse since I’ve been here. I just can’t believe I missed this. It’s beautiful…” And it is. Breathtaking, actually. It kind of takes the ache away, fills you with a little happiness that replaces all the bad things that have happened to you over the past couple of years.

“That’s okay,” she smiles encouragingly. “You’re seeing it now.”

You take another moment to soak it all in. The crisp smell of autumn, the yellow and red tinted leaves that blend in with the deep greens, the open land that’s filled with picturesque views that you swore would never be in Texas. But this? This is as close to home as you’ve felt for a long time.

Sarah’s warm voice pulls you back to the present. “Dad’s told me a lot about you.”

You turn your head, eyes a little weary. He’s told her about you? “Really?” you ask, taken aback.

“Mhm,” she hums out with a smile plastered on her glossy lips.

“Nothing bad I hope,” you breathe out.

She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement. “Oh, no. Only good things. He really likes your company.”

He likes your company?

You smile to yourself, feeling a blush set in on your cheeks as the cool air blows against your skin. He likes your company… “Well, I like his too.” But really, you mean to say you just like him. More than his company. You like being in his space, nuzzling into his soft flannels that smell like him—Pinewoods, mahogany, and a hint of black coffee. You like talking to him, watching his dimples cave into his tanned cheeks when he’s smiling. You just like him. All of him. You like everything about him. Especially how kind and soft he is with you. You like it all. And that scares you a little, but you shouldn’t be because he makes you feel so safe.

Yes, safe.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her pink hoodie, the blanket loosely draped across her shoulders, and then she takes a good look at you, like she’s doing a deep dive into your mind. “How are you doing, really?”

You let the question simmer, let it bubble inside you as you contemplate exactly what you’ll say. How are you really feeling? Drained, worn down, discarded, hurt. But there’s a chip inside you, one that’s filled with a little warmth, a little healing. A part of you is being stitched back together. One thread at a time. And it’s not because you’re away from that awful house, away from their clawing hands and sharp commands. You think maybe, just maybe, Joel’s healing a teeny tiny part of you. Inside and out. He’s making you whole again. Even in the short amount of time you’ve been here, you think he’s making you brand new.

He’s making you feel not so alone. He’s making you feel safe, wanted. He’s giving you wings…

“I’m hanging in there,” you say quietly, fingers brushing lightly over the fleece blanket. ”Kinda just taking it one day at a time.”

“It’s been a little over a month now, yeah?” she questions, tilting her head as her brown eyes glisten through the clouds now hanging over the covered porch.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod, eyes wandering back to the big, open field. You could get lost in those sea of trees. Run, disappear forever. But you don’t think you want to anymore. At least, not right now.

“How long were you gone for?”

You fiddle with your bottom lip, wincing at the lost time that’s gone by. “Almost two years. Seems more like ten, if I’m being honest. Time seems to blur together when you’re… Well, when you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night.”

A lump forms in the back of your throat, making your eyes a little blurry from the thought of being gone for so long. How had you managed to survive all those days of abuse and torment? How’d you ever get saved by the likes of someone like Joel? Warm, kind, safe.

She twirls a strand of her dark curls around her index finger, eyeing you with big sad eyes that make you want to choke out a sob, but you don’t. “I wasn’t gone nearly as long as you. And I can’t imagine what you went through. Two years, that’s… God. I’m so sorry.” Regret fills her eyes, and then she places a hand softly on your shoulder, saying just as much in her touch.

“Yeah, I am too,” you say a little dazed as her hand slips away from you, back into her lap.

You mull over what you’ll say next while your emotions are running rampant. You feel everything all over again. The fear, the blinding pain, the inconsolable ache in your bones that won’t go away. You’ve been scared for so long, so how are you supposed to navigate your way through life again? How are you supposed to go on when the weight of the world rests like cement on your chest?

Turning your head toward her slowly, you ask something that’s been bothering you. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” she questions; her tone gentle and patient.

“Keep living a normal life,” you whisper, letting your words float across the frigid air, right back to Sarah.

She shifts in her seat and takes a beat before answering, her voice calm and collected. “I wouldn’t exactly call my life normal. It’s gotten almost to that point, but there’s still days I can hardly get out of bed, nonetheless eat. But my boyfriend, Ryan, helps me when it gets like that. Or I talk to Tess. Have you seen her yet?”

Tess. That’s right. You forgot about Tess.

You shake your head. “Not yet.” But you’d really like to.

“She’s great. She’s really helped. Even my dad sees her sometimes.”

“Your dad sees her?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

She nods. “Yeah, she’s actually helped him a lot too with everything. Especially with his line of work. He really needs someone to lean on on the hard days, you know?”

You let your mind settle on her words, your thoughts turning back and forth over the endless images of Joel’s sleepless nights. The deep shadows under his chocolate eyes. The restless image of him hunched over a laptop with his fingers lacing frustratedly through his dark locks. The late night runs he has to do periodically. The stressful calls he takes right when he’s about to head to bed. The times he’s not home when it’s three in the morning. The pacing back and forth he does when Tommy’s talking to him about a job. But there’s one thing you don’t ever miss. The pain that flares behind his brown irises, blending in with the inky flecks that remind you of dark chocolate.

Something hurt him. Something continues to hurt him, and you don’t even know what that something is.

Jesus. You don’t even know half of what Joel goes through, but you think he might need someone just as badly as you do. Maybe, just maybe, you can be that something he needs because he’s that to you. He’s your foundation when you had nothing.

“Your dad, what he does, he’s helped so many girls…” you murmur, your voice caught in your throat as you think about everything he’s done specifically for you. But really, it just takes a toll on you thinking of everyone he has saved. He’s… incredible.

She smiles, her cheeks bright from the crisp air. “He’s saved countless lives. And for that, I really couldn’t ask for a better dad.”

No. She really couldn’t. He is the best dad, and she’s so lucky to have him.

After a moment of silence passes, she speaks again. “He seems happier lately.”

Your eyes flick over to hers while your heart does a somersault in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she smiles gently.

“What makes you say that?” The knot tightens in your stomach, and maybe you’re a little scared of the answer. Was it… was he happier because you were here? No, that couldn’t be possible, could it?

“I don’t know,” she laughs, shrugging casually as her hair tumbles past her shoulders. “He just seems lighter, maybe a little brighter. His eyes, they’re a little clearer. I think… I think ever since you came here. Yeah, that’s when I noticed the change.”

Your eyes widen, lips part in awe. Did she just say… No. You must’ve heard wrong.

“Me? But I…”

She stops you mid-sentence and smiles. “He likes your company, like I said. I can tell. He’s never been… Well, he hasn’t been happy in a while. It’s nice to see him smiling for a change.”

You bite your bottom lip out of habit and curl your fingers into the fleece of the blanket, tossing ideas back and forth in your mind. Maybe he has been smiling more lately. Like on movie night. You’ve never seen him laugh so carefree before. He did seem happier. A little more teasing, maybe even playful in a way. You wanted to see more of that. Carefree Joel is heart stopping.

“And you think I’m the reason he seems happier?” you laugh, a pang of disbelief flowing through your body. Could you really be the reason he was happier?

“I really do,” she confirms with the imprint of a dimple in her cheek, solidifying the question.

You’re the reason he’s happier…

“Hey, umm. I just wanted to say you can reach out to me anytime. I’m always available if you need a friend,” she smiles, her eyes sincere and warm. “And just know that you’re a survivor. You’re a strong one, and there’s nothing you can’t overcome. Never give up. Keep fighting the long fight. You’ve got this. I believe in you, my dad believes in you, Tommy does too.”

They believe in you. Joel believes in you. And that in itself means so much to you…

“Thanks, Sarah. I’m so glad I got to meet you.” A tear forms in the corner of your eye, but you brush it off just as Sarah squeezes your knee in encouragement.

Before you can say another word, you hear a shuffling noise by the door. “Hope I didn’t intrude on anything.” Joel slides the glass door open, balancing mugs with two hands and one braced against his flexed arm, making you almost lose your balance at the sight of him. Tall, fitted blue flannel around his muscular arms, slicked back hair with silver streaks glistening even under the cover of a grey cloud. So handsome, so put together, so…

“Oh, no. Not at all, Dad!” Sarah chimes in, giddy as she reaches for the pink tinted mug in his firm grasp.

“Thought I’d whip up some hot chocolate for you two. It’s a bit chilly out here. Don’t want ya to catch a cold. Plus, I know how much you like my homemade recipe, Sarah.” He smiles as she takes a big gulp, groaning when she swallows the first taste.

“Yes! I knew you’d make me your famous hot chocolate. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” She throws him a toothy grin and settles back against the swing, kicking her legs carefree while she indulges in the warm hot chocolate, eager for you to try a taste yourself.

“Here ya go, sweetheart. Reckon you like hot chocolate.” He smiles, reaching his arm out, offering you a warm mug with swirls of steam billowing out the top.

“Yes.” You extend your arm, palm open with an invitation. And when he slides the cup into your hand, his calloused fingers brush against yours, causing goosebumps to rise on your shivering skin. You gasp, feeling how warm and welcoming his hand feels against yours, but it’s only there a second, the next he’s whisking his arm back to his side. You already miss it—his hand sliding against yours implicitly.

Physical contact is not in your book of things that make you feel good anymore. But with Joel? It feels more than right. It feels… perfect. Like his hand was made to brush against yours. Or maybe it was made so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, thread them together like your stitched-up heart. You think you’d like that. One day. And maybe he would too.

“Put some extra whipped cream and marshmallows in jus’ for you. Know how much you like everything extra sweet.” He gives you a gut-wrenching smile. One that could bring you to your knees. Especially once that dimple forms on the middle of his cheek.

God. What did you ever do to be worthy of looking at that angelic face? Carved to perfection, tanned, smooth like his tousled curls. And his eyes. Big pools of warmth that instantly make my insides all fuzzy and warm.

“Thanks, Joel. You didn’t have to go through all that extra trouble though,” you smile bashfully, still trying to get a grip on this reality.

“‘Course I did. You’re worth the extra mile.”

Your mouth parts at the words. You’re worth the extra mile. Sarah giggles under her breath, but she keeps to herself. But you can’t help but notice her eyes keep roaming from Joel and then back to you. She must see it. See just how much we affect each other. Just one look and you’re melted butter. It just takes one glance from those big brown eyes until you’re nothing but dust in the wind.

“Dad makes the best hot chocolate!” She brags, taking another sip of her steaming hot chocolate. “Don’t for a second let him tell you it’s nothing special.”

But it is special. Every single particle of him is special. How’d you ever get so lucky to be sitting here on his porch, drinking his hot chocolate that he made specially just for you?

“You know,” he drawls. “Thanksgiving’s next Thursday.”

Thanksgiving? How had you forgotten it was Thanksgiving? To be fair, you weren’t really in the mindset to think about holidays. You overlooked Halloween already, what used to be your favorite.

“Already?” you laugh uneasily, afraid he’ll be upset you forgot.

“Sure is,” he chuckles back, but he gives you an encouraging smile, saying you’re just fine.

“Dad makes the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted! I’m so excited,” Sarah squeals excitedly beside you. “Well, I guess everything he makes is the best, but this is to die for!”

“Oh?” you ask while Joel nods shyly. “What about blueberry pie?”

He tilts his head and looks at you a beat before he says, “I can make that, but only if you help me.”

“You want me to… help you?” you gawk, mouth parted in surprise. You’re not a cook, never really been one in the first place. Do you even remember how to do anything?

No… you really don’t.

He nods as he takes a sip of his warm coffee, brown eyes locked on yours. “Can’t do it without you. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

He’s not making this easy, is he?

“Okay,” you break after a beat. “You’ll just have to guide me. I’m not the best at baking.”

“Well, I’ll jus’ have to teach ya then,” he smirks, sending a wink your way and making you blush all over again.

“Perfect,” Sarah giggles, like she knows something we don’t. But she’s been watching us like a hawk; silently tapping her talons and sharpening her ears. Maybe she sees the chemistry swirling between us like the smoky fog hovering over the glassy lake. If she does, the only thing that gives her away is her sneaky smile and bright eyes flicking between us.

He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath while he leans against the wooden porch fence. One elbow propped lazily up on the edge, his other hand flexed around his royal-blue coffee mug. You follow the map of lines on his forehead, memorizing every crevice, every wrinkle like the constellations in the sky.

He catches you staring, which makes you look down, a deep blush burning in your cheeks. But when you look back up, he’s still watching you. Almost like he’s memorizing your face just the same.

Soft. His eyes are so soft. Warm, big, his brown irises full of promises of something. It makes your breathing hitch, makes you a little off center. But yet, he keeps watching like he can’t quite believe you’re there, sitting right in front of him too.

And it stays just like that until Sarah starts up the conversation again. But he still doesn’t take his eyes off you. It’s almost like he’s just as mesmerized as he makes you feel.

There’s a spark, a lapse in time where fireworks go off somewhere in the far distance. You can almost hear the sizzling and booms as they light in the sky. But instead, you hear Joel’s name whooshing around your mind, lighting you up a variety of colors. He painted you a multitude of shades and brought life back in your eyes when all you could see was black and white before.

You’ve never seen such pretty shades of brown before until you looked up and saw his eyes. You think he lit you up the very moment you became his that night he saved you…

“Joel?” you call, a few minutes later when the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves in the distance.

He turns his head toward you, coffee cup snug in his big hand. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You hesitate a second, looking from Sarah and then back to Joel. Yes. You think it’s time. “I think… I think I’m ready to talk to Tess.”

His brown eyes light up like Christmas lights, a soft smile splaying across his lips which nearly takes your breath away. And the way he’s looking at you? All soft and warm. Well, you think you’ve just fallen all over. “Why don’t you give her a call this week? I’m sure she’d be happy to get you in soon. In fact, I’ll drive you to your appointment. Whenever you’re ready, you can count on me.”

You can count on me. He’s so reliable, so sweet, so genuinely caring. It makes a smile crack over your lips, makes another wave of warmth rush through your chest, filling you up with sunshine and the hot chocolate he made for you. With extra sugar, you can’t forget that part.

When Sarah congratulates you on taking that step forward, Joel can’t help but to smile even bigger and brighter. He even goes so far as mouthing the words “I’m so proud of you” to you through the air. Even though you didn’t hear them, you swear you can taste them as they simmer through the chilly air, along with his thick Southern drawl.

And just like that, you’re falling through cloudless skies, crashing down to earth. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore of dying because he’ll be right there waiting to catch you.

Later, when Sarah’s gone for the night, you’re wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket, knees tucked up underneath you while you silently read under the bright lamp. The fireplace crackles in the corner, making for the perfect night to read in the living room. But this is kind of a ritual now, a normal routine you’ve slipped comfortably into.

And then there’s Joel—the man who completes these relaxing nights. He’s here. Right where you need him. He’s perched on the leather couch, his guitar between his legs, gently taking a rag and dusting off the smooth wood, carefully cleaning each string with rapt attention. It’s a little distracting you think—watching his hands slide over the instrument, oh-so-carefully polishing and refining something that seems like it means the world to him.

To be honest, this is the first time he’s actually taken the acoustic guitar out of the reading room. He’s never really talked about it before. Which means, it’s something he hides deep inside his chest, careful not to show emotion when he glides over the colorful moth that’s etched in the wood. You think it means a great deal to him, whatever it symbolizes.

Putting the book down on your lap, you sit up straighter and muster enough courage to call his name. “Joel?”

He looks up, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners when he focuses on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I, umm. I was wondering…” You bite your bottom lip, suddenly nervous as he zeroes in on you, waiting for your question. You muster up enough courage to ask, but you don’t want to overstep. “Would you… Do you think you could play me something?”

His jaw ticks, his lips quiver as he muddles over your big ask. There’s a glimmer in his eye, a faint recognition of something hiding deep behind those brown pools. Uncertainty, maybe. Or was it just sadness?

Grazing the tip of his thumb up one of the strings, he sighs. “Haven’t played in quite some time, sweetheart.” His deep drawl is filled with anguish, and the last thing you want to do is make him sad.

Taking back your ask, you whisk it back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You don’t have to…”

He stops you before you can finish your stammering. “S’alright, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything.” But it feels like you did. After a beat, he huffs out a breath. “I’ll, uhh. I’ll try, sweetheart. For you, I’ll try.”

Those words mean more to you than he knows. He’ll try for you. That’s all you can ask for. Putting him in a vulnerable position, and he still wants to try? You don’t think you could be more smitten.

He straightens his back, mulls a little more over what he’s doing, then he’s placing the guitar carefully over his lap, adjusting his arms as he cradles the instrument like it’s the most fragile things he’s ever touched.

You fall silent and watch the way his thick fingers flex, eyebrows thread together, eyes close, lips slowly part. It almost feels like he’s keeping something down—something that’s hurting him, cutting him deep, bleeding him dry. You wish you could sew the wound up, wipe away his invisible scars that only show beneath the surface. You want to take his pain away like he takes yours.

After a silent fist fight in his mind, he slowly places his fingers gently on the taut strings and oh-so-carefully begins to play a steady, melancholy tune. You can feel the weary emotion he wears on his face, can see the hurt lined in his weathered stare, can feel the debilitating pain he wears on his slouched shoulders, can even hear the grieving through the deliberate cords he strums.

You feel the backs of your eyes burn with held-back tears the longer you watch Joel wear his heart on his flanneled sleeve. And as the melancholy tune carries throughout the stifling room, you feel every single emotion he’s ever poured out into that guitar. That special, one-of-a-kind, gem of a guitar. Whatever it means to him, you see it so clearly now, even if you don’t really know what’s got him so torn up. Was it the moth etched to perfection in the wood, or was it the person that gave him that guitar. Or, had he lost someone, too?

When he plays the last note, his jaw goes slack, and he lays the guitar flat on his lap, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the little moth. Tears well in his big brown eyes, but he doesn’t dare let one fall. He holds them back, like the strong man he is. But strong men are allowed to break too. And right now, you’re fighting every single particle in your body not to tiptoe over and fall into his arms.

Joel deserves that. Someone to take his pain away, lock their arms around his neck and promise him that he’ll be okay. Just like he promised you…

He looks up slowly, steadily, his head still hanging low, but his eyes meet yours for a brief second. It almost kills you to see those big, sappy brown eyes lathered in such sadness. Makes you want to just rush into his arms and never let go.

Who hurt Joel? That’s what you want to know. Who tore his heart from his chest and ripped it in two?

You slowly peel yourself off the couch, leaving your book open, laying face down in the blanket. You silently tiptoe over to him, careful not to disturb his sulking, keeping your eyes glued to the way he’s brushing the pads of his fingers against the scarred strings. He’s got his heart spilled all over them like black ink.

Carefully, you slide in next to him, fully aware you’re about to play Russian roulette in the next few seconds. “That was beautiful. The song you played,” you whisper out, afraid you’ll shatter his glass box that’s cased around him.

He shifts against the leather, dragging his thumb smoothly across the polished wood. A sad smile crosses his lips, but it doesn’t meet his darkened eyes. “I uhh… I wrote that for someone. Someone who meant a lot to me…” The pain in his strained voice is etched in his clenched jaw, his palms a little shaky as he speaks.

You almost reach your hand out for his, but you think better of it. Someone did hurt him. Or maybe, he lost them… “Joel, that’s… that’s…” You can’t even finish your sentence without your own voice cracking. What could you say to that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He rasps out a sigh and slumps his broad shoulders a bit more, one hand dragging over his silvery scruff, all the way across his mouth. And his eyes. Still glistening with held-in tears.

Oh, Joel…

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask bravely, clenching your fingers as the words leave your lips.

Sniffling, he murmurs, “Not tonight. Not right, at least.”

You let his words simmer, let them soak into your sweater until you feel it’s safe to respond again. Shifting just a little closer, you brush your fingers just inches away from his hand, enough to where he might be able to feel the warmth coming from your palm. “Joel?”

“Hm?” he hums, his deep bravado echoing around the room.

Your fingers dance closer, just enough to lick flames from your skin. If you were brave enough, you’d thread your fingers through his until he let you take away some of his held-in pain. “You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything.”

He lets out a breath and slowly looks up at you. His eyes are hazy, a little cloudy with the fog from his watery eyes. It makes pain flood inside your chest. You freeze when he brushes his knuckles gently down your cheek, a light touch that means he appreciates you when words surely fail him in this moment. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the center of his gravity, making a tear leak from the corner of your eye. But of course, he wipes it away before you can blink.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he smiles, letting his thumb trace your jawline before he snaps his hand back to his side. And there you go, wishing his warm palm was still lingering across your skin.

The way he touches you—it’s not sexual. Not in the least bit. It’s warm, filled with so much care and attention. Just like the special recipes he conjures up in the kitchen. It’s filled with extra care. And God, how he cares for you. Just like you care for him…

He stares at you for a beat, crystallized brown flecks dancing across your vision, soaking you up like you want to do with his pain. He tilts the guitar against the leather couch and lets his palm drag down it, eyes flicking back and forth from it to you repeatedly. He looks like he wants to tell you something. Maybe the reason he’s hurting?

Please, Joel. Give me your pain.

Once he’s settled his mind, he blinks a couple times and looks at you with hurt-filled eyes. He focuses on a strand of your hair, lets his fingers fall over the silky surface while you hold your breath from the contact. And he fixates on it while his mouth twitches to let the words he really wants to set free out. “The reason I haven’t played in so long is because… Because I…”

You hold your breath, waiting for that something to come tumbling from his lips like an old wound he just won’t let go of. But before he can finish, his phone starts ringing off the hook, deflecting him from the one secret he was about to share with you. The one thing you might’ve been able to remotely help him with.

Pulling his phone free from the front pocket of his denim jeans, he sighs, carding his free hand through his slicked-back curls. You get the faint view of Tommy’s name scrolled across the screen which means it’s probably going to be another late night for Joel. He deserves a break. He works too hard, pushes himself past his limits most nights. He deserves someone to stop the madness for just one single night.

Could you stop it? Press pause on the world for just one night? Just long enough for him to get a decent night’s rest. The dark circles beneath his tired eyes never go unnoticed. He’s got so much weight on his shoulders, so much baggage to pull around. Would he let you take some of that weight off, just for one night?

Groaning, he pushes off the edge of the couch and stands, his thumb hovering over the answer button. “I’ve gotta take this,” he mumbles heavily, dragging all his pent-up frustration and pain right back on his shoulders. But before he clicks the button and walks away, you recklessly reach your arm out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling the thick flannel just enough to get his attention.

Stay, Joel. Don’t go. That’s what you really want to tell him, but you’ve said enough through your rampant movements.

Looking down at your closed hand around his wrist, he lets the phone keep ringing, just stares into your eyes while his big, wide brown irises cross with yours. There’s a hesitation there, a moment in time where everything just stops. It’s just you and him for the second, the flickering embers that crackle like pop rocks in the flames of the fireplace.

Parting his lips in awe, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, tears pooling in the backs of his irises, you think he might crack right on the spot. But the world begins to spin again, bringing you back to the present where his phone continues to ring and ring and ring repeatedly.

Don’t answer it, Joel. Let it go to voicemail. Stay. Stay with me. But the disappointment bubbles up inside you the moment he clicks the green button to life, letting Tommy’s voice slip through the end of the receiver. “Yeah?” His voice cracks, strains as he swipes at his teary eyes. It makes you crack just the same.

Just when you let a puff of air leave your lips, he fills the empty space by just a smidge. Slowly, carefully, he reaches over and cups the back of your head affectionately, letting his fingers linger in your hair, tangling for just a second as he fights to pull away. He’s talking on the phone, nodding his head and repeating what Tommy says, but his wide eyes are tethered to yours in a wave of emotions tossing through his beautiful brown eyes. He’s said enough in that touch, even as he pulls away. He’s saying thank you, that he appreciates you being here, that he revels in the way you’re trying. He’s trying to let his walls down too. Just enough to let you creep in and slip into the parts he keeps tucked away, afraid to show just how vulnerable he is too.

Taking one more good look at you, he snaps his hand back inside his pocket and disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with the flickering fireplace and solid guitar next to the now empty couch.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest as you blow out a heavy breath. You were this close to getting a glimpse into his mind. And now? You didn’t know if you’d get that chance again.

Joel… He barely touched you, barely grazed his fingers across your skin. But that last touch? The way he ran his hand down your hair and cupped the back of your head? That was everything all at once. He was everything. Gentle, kind, and so very soft.

You don’t know how long you stay there, but it’s long enough that you’ve faded off to sleep. Long enough that you feel him slip his strong arms around your body and carry you back to bed in the early morning hours of dawn. This time you don’t fight the need to sleep; you just curl into his chest for those few short, blissful seconds, breathing in his woodsy scent until he tucks you safely into bed. And you don’t miss that same brush of knuckles across your cheek before darkness takes a hold of your body. The last thing you remember is hearing his soothing Southern drawl whisper sweet nothings through the air.

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#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel x female reader #joel miller tlou

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lightseoul · 19 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 7 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.3k (jesus. this is the longest one yet)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, some minor timeskip manga spoilers, slightly nsfw themes, mentions of food, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings, feelings—lots of 'em, the true calm before the storm, shit's about to go down!!!

a/n. we're so back, y'all!!! this one took me a while, i have to admit. it even got to a point where i thought i'd just leave this series unfinished for a plethora of reasons. but after clawing through a few sessions of barely being able to write anything, i was struck with the vision of how to get the chapter going in the middle of a massage lol. the rest was history. that said, i'd love to know your thoughts so far, so please don't be a stranger <3 (comments keep me going. btw. not to sound like a slut)

links. masterlist, ao3

You ended up not getting home until past 8 PM that Monday.

After you successfully used your quirk on Kirishima and Hiroto, resulting in the transfer of that fated scrap of paper containing the attack’s details, Kaminari insisted that you hang out after lunch and make the most of your day off until everybody relented. Bakugou was uncharacteristically quiet—you noted—even as the electric hero whisked the six of you away to the nearest mall where you shopped and visited a KTV spot afterward.

You didn’t expect to spend hours watching the four goof off and sing their hearts out while Bakugou sat silently to the side, although time passed by faster than you thought it would anyway. The group eventually parted ways at around 6 PM, after which you and Bakugou decided to eat at a ramen restaurant where you sat yourselves by the counter so you wouldn’t have to force conversation.

Hiroto shadowed the two of you the entire time, up to the instant when you and Bakugou entered a darkened spot in the outdoor parking lot to wait for the twin to message Kouki and have the old man teleport you back to headquarters. You didn’t have to wait for too long—you were gone and right back at the front of your bedroom in a matter of minutes, bug-less and cameras covered another minute after.

And only as you stripped off your going-out clothes for the day in the privacy of the bathroom did it sink in—how you actually did it.

You actually transmitted the message.

And as much as it fucking sucks, the most you can do now—at least until D-Day—is to put your faith in Kirishima and the rest of the pro-heroes who will be tasked with stopping this act of genocide altogether.

Easy enough…

Right.

The next day—Tuesday—starts typically as the others have transpired in the last two weeks-ish of living in the headquarters: violently woken by a twin’s knocking, then scrambling to seem like you were sharing the bed, to promptly getting ready for and having breakfast at the mess hall.

Just like how every day’s been in this supremacist hellhole, everything goes by like clockwork.

That is, up until Omiru walks up to your usual table just as you are about to take your last chug of water after downing your substantial plate of pancakes.

You peer at her from over the rim of your glass, cautious—and rightfully so. Beside you, Bakugou puts down his utensils and straightens up in his seat. Neither of you says anything, opting to let her speak first instead.

And when she finally does, she’s looking straight at no one but Bakugou.

“Follow me.”

At that, you glance at the pro-hero in question, who only shoots the twin a stern look before nodding curtly. You watch him as he gathers his tray and stands up, and you’re about to move and follow suit when Omiru’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Not you,” she spews pointedly. “Just him.”

From where you are half-sitting with your ass frozen mid-air, you blink at the woman. “What?”

“Masaki-san needs him at the private training facility, pronto,” comes her terse reply, sounding more impatient by the minute. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

Your face contorts in displeasure before you can think better against it. Then, schooling it into a more neutral expression, you shake your head as you finally straighten up, willing your voice to stay firm. “Whatever you have to say to him you can say to me, too.”

Omiru opens her mouth to most likely snap at you for wasting more and more of her time, but she doesn’t get to do that because you’re both silenced by a sudden hand on your forearm. You whip to look at Bakugou, and his lips are pressed into a thin line as he nods again—only this time, at you—as if that was all the explanation you needed.

“It’s okay,” he offers, his voice low. “I’ll come and look for you by the time we’re done.”

You can only stare at him, tamping down the incredulity that’s creeping up your throat.

Since when did he decide to be Mr. Calm and Collected?

As much as you want to, you don’t question him, though, knowing it will cause more harm than good. You’re so close to the day of the operation, and the last thing you need is to blow your cover.

So instead, and with a wary heart, you nod back at him, before leaning in and pressing a quick peck on his cheek.

“Take care, babe,” you say timidly, grateful he took the kiss just now like a champ—with little to no faltering.

“I will,” comes his weirdly soft response, before he steps out of his seat and trails behind Omiru, leaving you and your tray of empty plates.

You move to tuck the stretchy fabric into the rest of the contorted arrangement you’ve got going on—folding your panties was the most you could think of doing to keep your mind off the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you the entire day, after all—and plop it on your pile of fresh undergarments.

Or at least, you were going to do that, when the door to your bedroom suddenly bursts open, and you startle so badly, that the neat stack of underwear crumbles like a poorly built Jenga tower on top of the bed.

You scramble to hide them behind you just as Bakugou emerges from the hallway, and the very first thing that registers when your eyes land on him is that he’s fucking drenched.

In sweat. Drenched in sweat.

And, to your chagrin, he must’ve noticed you gaping at him because his gaze drifts over to meet yours after he closes the door behind him. “What?”

You blink at him, suddenly yanked out of your dumb stupor. “Nothing—it’s just…” you trail off, now trying to ignore the weirdly scandalous way his wet shirt is clinging to his muscled torso. You knew his hero costume accentuated and therefore showcased a built body from the chance encounters about him in the news, but seeing it through an almost translucent cover-up…

“Just what?”

You gulp, bringing your eyes back up to meet his unnervingly scrutinizing ones.

…Why is he looking at you like that?

Instead of dwelling on the thought, though, you manage to voice out the question you and the imaginary mouse in your pocket are wondering. “W-why are you so… sweaty?”

Now, if he’s offended by how that came out just a breadth’s hair away from sounding disgusted, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he crosses the short distance between him and your small wardrobe and flings it open.

“I thought you were smarter than that, princess,” comes his casual reply, and you find yourself stiffening—not just at the nickname, but at what came before that.

You frown, although he doesn’t see it with his back turned against you. “I don’t get how you’re being so nonchalant today,” you say so honestly you shock yourself, voice lowered out of instinct despite having made sure that there are no extra bugs in the room.

Whatever Bakugou expected for a response—it must’ve been anything but that—because he stops rifling through his clothes and whips to look at you, a mild expression of surprise written across his features.

But before he can say anything to that, you beat him to it. “What did they make you do, Bakugou?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but pauses before he can get a word out. You watch the man as he stands there for a second, the metaphorical gears in his head spinning loud enough that you can practically hear them. You can tell they’re still turning a beat later, even as he closes the wardrobe behind him and turns to fully face you.

“I—” he starts, hesitant, “I thought you would’ve figured.”

“Figured what?” You’re getting impatient now.

“That I was called on to start making the bombs.”

Oh.

The realization dawning on you must be evident in your profile because Bakugou nods as if in confirmation. “I was anticipating they’d call me in sooner or later, so I wasn’t surprised when that twin approached us during breakfast.”

Fuck, you feel stupid.

How you’re feeling is none of Bakugou’s business, though, so you will yourself to dip your head to show you understand. “I totally forgot about the bombs,” you admit.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame you,” he turns again and resumes busying himself with the cabinets. “They did their research and found out my bombs are more explosive the fresher they are. Explains why they waited ‘til the last minute.”

Huh.

“I guess that also explains why you look like an over-glazed doughnut.”

That makes him bark out a laugh. “More like a wet dog, but I’ll take that.”

You’re about to say that no, he definitely looks more like an over-glazed doughnut, but then you remember you’d rather fail this mission and cause massive destruction before you go off admitting he looks…maybe just a tiny bit delectable in this state.

You’re back to avoiding the sight of…him—altogether—in silence, when Bakugou glances at you over his shoulder. “Can you pass me my towel?”

“Sure,” you say as you fetch it from where it’s hung across the couch’s backrest before padding back toward him.

You hand it over. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

Now it’s your turn to stand somewhat awkwardly behind him as he finishes up gathering his change of clothes for the night. There’s one more thing you need to ask him.

Anytime now.

You take a sharp inhale just as he whirls to face you, expectant. You muster a small smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I was just gonna ask—they didn’t hurt you, did they? You were treated okay?”

Your stomach instantly drops when the expectant look just now morphs into a smirk. “I think you underestimate my ability to protect myself, princess.”

You feel yourself flame. “I—” you stammer, wildly caught off guard, and his grin widens. You then frown, resigned. “Come on, man, not cool.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, sounding far from apologetic, “‘m sorry. Though, you should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“That’s it,” you raise your hands in mock surrender, spinning to gather your folded underwear that are still scattered on the bed. “They can go ahead and snip off your balls, for all I care.”

“Damn, that escalated quickly.”

You only toss him a sarcastic smile as you take up the spot beside him, opening your tiny drawer and dumping the articles into them before he can get a closer glimpse. The last thing you need is for him to see your threadbare, granny panties.

Bakugou chuckles again, the indication of his mirth the last sound that echoes in the room before a quiet envelops the two of you, the atmosphere taking a sudden shift.

“How about you, huh?” he suddenly asks, almost making you jump. You raise an eyebrow at him, still not quite past his earlier teasing.

He doesn’t react with hostility, though, only shrugging in response. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” you parrot lamely, shocked at his query.

To your disbelief, he doesn’t roll his eyes or shoot you a derisive quip, only nodding—an unmistakable, serious glint in his crimson gaze. You gulp despite yourself.

“It was pretty much the same for me, I guess. Except there weren’t as many people around…”

You falter, debating whether or not you should tell him the more incriminating truth. But then you make the mistake of meeting his penetrating stare and then suddenly, it all comes tumbling out.

“I—I was worried about you.”

That takes Bakugou by surprise, his brows shooting up in a profound display of bewilderment. An abrupt pang of embarrassment shoots through you at the sight, and you scurry to save face.

“Looks like there was no need, though, considering how you’re joking around and being an ass and all,” you jest, taking the hoodie you were meaning to get from the rack and closing your side of the wardrobe.

“I—”

“Good night, Bakugou,” you cut him off, plopping yourself on the couch with your back turned against him, effectively shooting the conversation down.

Needless to say, you struggle to sleep that night.

As if she knew you fell into a fitted slumber and needed more goddamn sleep, Omiru was already up and banging at your door five minutes earlier than usual the morning after, ripping you out of your sluggish haze. It didn’t help that it was your turn on the couch that night—which, even after all this time of dozing there, still proved to be quite unforgiving to your neck and lower back, especially. Once you were all ready and had opened the door, though, your usual routine was done but not before a rundown on what was to happen that day. You were to pack your things and prepare to leave the headquarters by the time Bakugou was done producing the last batch of bombs.

She conveniently didn’t say when that was, opting to whisk Bakugou away instead.

So without any idea as to when you were making the move, you tried your best to keep busy—a task that proved to be herculean, seeing as how the number of people present had dwindled significantly, you could count them with just your fingers and toes.

It didn’t take you long to figure out why that was. The people who’ve gone—they were all teleported to their posts to prepare for tomorrow’s attack.

By batches.

Because, as it turns out, you were right. Kouki’s quirk does have a limitation.

He can only muster enough power to teleport a certain number of people—across a certain distance—a handful of times a day. It all depends on three factors: number, distance, and frequency.

And because Bakugou’s got important business as the organization’s very own human-bomb factory, you two will be transported later in the day as part of the last batch.

You mull over this newfound information—again and again, mainly because there really isn’t much else to do other than pack—until, unbeknownst to you, the clock on the wall strikes five. You jump from where you are seated on the sofa when, as if on cue, the door bursts open, revealing a yet again sweaty Bakugou, with Kouki and the twins tailing closely behind him.

“Just let me take a quick shower and finalize my stuff,” Bakugou offhandedly says, eyeing you as he picks up his towel, not wasting even a modicum of a second. “Then we’ll get going to my place.”

His what?

“Sorry?” you manage to ask, acutely aware of the panic that’s rising in your throat—fast.

Bakugou peers at you for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. But then he’s chuckling—oh so naturally, like your reaction was adorable to him rather than potentially detrimental to your covers—as he walks toward you.

And then he’s leaning down and into your space, a warning look in his eyes. You barely catch a glimpse of it before he leans even further and kisses your cheek, smiling as he pulls away.

“My place, baby,” he coos, “Where we’ll stay the night.”

“Here we are,” Kouki announces just as the floor beneath you rematerializes, light and markedly spotless as compared to the nicked, hardwood floors you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past weeks. You look up, a faint trace of dizziness clouding your mind still, although it’s quickly replaced by awe as you take in the rest of the room.

Dropping your luggage to the side, you make quick work of what can only be Bakugou Katsuki’s living space.

Well, it’s just what you’d expect from the guy. Purposively designed, no-nonsense, and exceptionally pristine.

And closer to the Prime Minister’s Office. At least, as compared to your more modest home, which is why you’re even here in the first place.

Regardless, you were about to compliment the man for being an outlier of the male population when you suddenly remember that you’re supposed to be well-acquainted with his high-rise apartment unit. You know, as his girlfriend?

You slam your mouth shut, just as Kouki steps forward and turns to face the rest of you like a commander in the military. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Big day tomorrow,” he declares, his trademark haughtiness heavy in his tone. “The four of you, review your assignments and be ready by 6 AM sharp. I’ll pick you up here.”

Then, a pointed look toward you and Bakugou. “Don’t be late.”

And just as quickly as you teleported into the pro-hero’s unit, Kouki vanishes, leaving the two of you with the twins.

Silence.

“That man’s got a bug up his old ass, that’s for sure.”

You whip to face Bakugou, surprised and equal parts amused. He only tosses you a smug look, as if daring you to question him.

You don’t, similar to how you don’t dare spare either of the twins a worried glance.

“We should order,” Bakugou says not a minute later, effortlessly picking up your belongings and transferring them to an empty spot beside a door. “I cleared out the ref two weeks ago. ‘m out of groceries.”

“Sure,” you reply, seating yourself comfortably on his sofa like you’ve been here countless times. You sense all three pairs of eyes studying you as you burrow into the plush cushion, willing every neuron in your system to relax. “How ‘bout from that restaurant we went to with the squad? I’m craving some curry.”

“Aha,” Bakugou smirks as he walks over and throws his butt down way too close beside you. “So you did want to switch.”

You bristle, if not at being unceremoniously caught then at how he just slung an arm over the backrest behind you. “T–That’s beside the point,” you argue, before swiftly turning to Hiroto. “Can we have our phones for just a sec, please? We need to order.”

If Bakugou noticed your smooth segue slash redirection just now, he doesn’t point it out, instead letting you take your smartphones from the absurdly tall man without much of a hassle. You quickly place your orders—even asking the twins what they want despite how badly they’ve treated you since your first meeting at that dingy club.

You’re not a monster, after all.

They seem to think you are, though, because they blatantly ignore your kind offer.

Well, then. If they have a hard time falling asleep because of hunger later then that’s not your problem anymore.

Not even thirty minutes after ordering, your food arrives, and the twins end up allowing Bakugou to go down the lobby by himself to fetch the delivery. You almost groan when he walks through the door with the goods in tow, the strong waft of curry sauce filling the air and making your stomach churn in budding anticipation.

“You’re not helping your case, babe,” Bakugou teases as you excitedly pore over the takeout bag, reaching into it to grab your share and then his.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over this glorious smell,” you quip, which grants you a chuckle.

No more words are exchanged as you get started on your feast, too wiped out from today’s activities—Bakugou and his bomb production and your…well, trying not to go crazy—to even start, let alone maintain, a steady conversation. The room is silent aside from some slurping and quiet chewing here and there, with neither Omiru nor Hiroto saying anything to break the monotony.

And you think it must be that—the quiet—that spurs the abrupt observation mid-spoonfeed of how domestic everything is. You wouldn’t have ever thought you’d be eating a meal with Bakugou in his dining room—high schooler you definitely wouldn’t have—but as it turns out life’s got a funny way of pulling the rug from underneath you and messing with your head.

Just like these muddy ass feelings.

No, you think to yourself. Now’s not the time.

Not when you’re barely able to stomach your food, anyway. You were—are hungry—if the incessant rumbling of your abdomen since late afternoon was any indication—but you forgot you’ve been sickeningly nervous the entire day. Still, you force each bite down. The last thing you need is to be frail tomorrow.

“Here,” Bakugou reaches out from across the table a few moments later, “Give me your plate.”

“No,” you say as you lift the empty ceramic further from him, “Let me help.”

Your plea falls on deaf ears, however, because Bakugou leans closer and snatches the dish from your hands before you can even scream a strangled wait! You must be looking stupefied, because Bakugou only smirks at you as he quickly gathers the dishes, beaming with pride as if having a ridiculously wide wing span is something he earned rather than was unjustly given.

“Unfair…” you mumble as you resort to gathering the trash instead, collecting it in the bag that the delivery came in.

“Just leave it there,” he calls out from the kitchen a few feet away, scraping the scraps off the platters. And when he’s realized you’re not listening: “Babe.”

You lift your hands like you’re a contestant in Master Chef and Gordon Ramsey just called time’s up, a petulant frown on your face. “Jeez, I’m just trying to help.”

“And I’m trying to be a gentleman,” comes his snarky retort. You bite back the urge to snort. “Go unpack in the bedroom while I finish up here,” he orders, “I’ll be quick.”

Please don’t be is your visceral reaction, although you manage not to say it out loud. You need at least ten minutes—give or take—of being alone in his bedroom to come to terms with this precarious situation you’ve been dealt with. You manage to reply with a small ‘okay’ before heading over to grab your things, very much cognizant of the ticking clock.

But then it dawns on you that you don’t have any idea where his fucking bedroom is.

You pause mid-bend, pretending you’re studying the hard case of your luggage for non-existent scratches. You know that there are three doors, not counting the one Bakugou went in and out from to get your food. One has to lead to the common restroom, another to his home office slash gym that you’ve heard him talk about once during your lunches at the headquarters, which leaves the last one as his bedroom’s entryway.

Hurry up, your brain tells you. You’re getting suspicious.

Wait.

You let your mind flash back to a while ago, a few moments after you arrived here. ‘We should order,’ was what Bakugou said, as he conveniently hefted your bags to this spot here, which must be right beside…

The bedroom door.

Bingo.

You repress a sigh of relief when you’re greeted with the sight of a massive mattress upon turning the knob, wasting no time as you squeeze into the threshold with your belongings. You were about to shut the door behind you when a female voice calls out your name out of nowhere, and you startle. Turning to face who must’ve been Omiru, you’re quick to put on a nonchalant facade, as if she didn’t just scare you in your metaphorical boots.

“Your tracker,” she says flatly when you don’t move an inch.

“O–oh. Right.”

You stand in place as she goes over the motions while Hiroto does the same with Bakugou. You’ve gone through this so many times that you don’t even wince when she rips out the device, instead only giving her a quick thanks and a rare good night when she steps away.

She doesn’t say it back.

You take that as your cue to go back into Bakugou’s sleeping quarters, and only when the weighty slab of wood is closed behind you do you let out a heavy exhale, suddenly feeling the fatigue that’s been looming over you since last night in its entirety.

But then that’s immediately booted out with a shot of adrenaline when you see it.

The couch.

Or the lack thereof.

You're still standing there—mortified—by the time Bakugou enters the room with his stuff, shutting the door and consequently granting you your first semblance of privacy for the day.

“What,” he says more than asks a minute later, when you still haven’t said anything.

“There’s no couch,” you croak-whisper.

You were not about to sleep on the floor.

You were not about to share a bed with Bakugou, either.

Not after you’ve spent the last two weeks slaving over your high-maintenance sleeping arrangement.

“Relax, dumbass,” comes his fluid retort. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man is finding this shit funny. “I have a futon.”

Turns out, he wasn’t lying—what feels like a huge burden lifted off your shoulders when he opens a cabinet to his right and pulls out a moderately thick cushion. You waste no time in assisting him, taking two corners while the pro-hero handles the other two, coordinating as you place the futon perpendicularly, right at the foot of the bed.

“Thanks,” you tell him when you’re done, dusting off your hands. “Do you have a blanket I can—”

“Too late,” he cuts you off, lightly diving into the mattress.

You gawk at the man. “Wha—”

“It’s your turn on the bed tonight,” he says as a matter of factly, not even bothering to look you in the eye. You splutter, but ultimately relent. As much as you want to argue, you do need some proper rest, especially after last night’s sorry attempt at recharging.

Thankfully, though, Bakugou doesn’t rile you up any further as you each go through your nightly routines and take turns in the built-in bathroom, careful not to invade each other’s spaces. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes and you’re already both plastered and tucked in your respective beds, the occasional noises from the traffic tens of floors below you the only thing filling the otherwise empty air.

But as it turns out, the getting ready for bed part isn’t the problem.

By the time it’s 10 PM, you’ve already tossed and turned roughly twenty times, agonizingly nowhere near asleep despite the luxurious bedding beneath your limbs. It’s after the 21st time, though, that you finally let your mind wander to the man on the floor and whether or not he’s asleep. He must be—having been tuckered out from producing explosives for two days straight. Still, your mind refuses to let go of the thought—brimming with boredom-fueled curiosity that’s begging for visual confirmation.

Sitting up carefully, you strain to peek at Bakugou. He’s been awfully quiet, you think to yourself.

Just a little bit more—

“Can’t sleep?”

You freeze. Shit.

“Uh, no,” you reply, aborting mission and lying back down as silently as possible. “Not really.”

“No shit. I heard you, the last twenty times.”

“Twenty-one,” you correct him. “But who’s counting?”

That earns you a laugh. “What, you scared?”

Your face reflexively contorts in offense, although it’s quick to fall when you realize you’ve actually no right to be offended. “If I told you I was, would that make me a loser?”

To your surprise, his answer is instant. “Nah.”

At that, your brows furrow. “That’s it? Just nah? No what do you think, princess, or some other equally lame taunt?”

“Oooh.” Jesus, you can practically hear him smirking. “You want me to call you princess?”

“There it is. Welcome back, Bakugou.”

A chuckle. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You snort. “So I’ve been told.”

Then, a pause.

“Hey,” you start again a few beats later, gaze fixed—unwavering—on the gray ceiling, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

You gulp. “Are you scared?”

This time, the answer is not as instant, but it appears to remain the same. “…No.”

“Really?” you ask, voice inadvertently teeming with incredulity.

You hear some rustling, like he’s shrugging against the bedsheets. “I’ve gone through much worse.”

Oh…

Right.

He did die and came out as one of the most important heroes of the Great War, alongside formidable people—the very people you tapped to help you just a few days ago. Maybe he’s right not to be scared.

“Is it my turn now?” he pipes up suddenly.

Huh? “Your what?”

“My turn to ask a question.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were taking turns.”

“Well, we are now.”

You roll your eyes, comfortable in the knowledge that he can’t see you. “Okay, then. Go ahead.”

Now—don’t go ahead, is what you would have said, had you fucking known what he was going to say next.

“That day before winter break—” he begins, and you find yourself instantly tensing.

Fuck, no.

He huffs. “—You were gonna confess to me, weren’t ya?”

Fuck.

A deafening silence falls upon the room.

A silence that goes on for what must be a decade.

Then—

“…Is this some hidden camera prank or something?” you laugh dryly.

“No,” he says so seriously your eyes widen. “I was just…thinking about it.”

Well, fuck. Now he’s done it.

What are you supposed to do? Or say to that? Deny it and say, dude, no, you’re delusional? Or ask him where he got the motherfucking audacity and call it a day?

But then the strangest thing happens and an inexplicable feeling washes over you, one that is too nostalgic it’s almost painful.

Ah, yes.

You remember this one.

It wasn’t the first one to show up in the scene, but it was quick to envelop every other emotion afterward, lingering with you until the soothing balm that is time did its magical work and helped you forget.

The regret of not being able to admit your feelings.

And now, a full ten years later, you’re suddenly thrust with the opportunity to finally do what you failed to do then.

You don’t even have to think about it.

“Yes,” you rasp out, heart thrumming frantically against your chest. “I mean, the answer is yes, I was going to. Luckily you didn’t let me get to the embarrassing part, though, huh?”

“Look, I—”

“If you’re gonna apologize,” you cut him off, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Bakugou. That thing’s in the past now. I’ve moved on, as fucking cheesy as it sounds.”

You then chuckle, ignoring the way your hands are stubbornly shaking. “That was just a silly high school crush, anyway.”

“Yeah, well—” he clears his throat, “I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. But…I do still want to apologize, though. For that first day, around two weeks ago.”

“What about it?”

“You don’t remember? I was an ass to you.”

First day? You don’t—

But then it all comes rushing to you—the intimidating looks, the backhanded remarks, the outright insulting comments.

He sniggers. “You just remembered now, didn’t you?”

You blanch. “I—”

“Don’t try to be nice,” he preempts. “I know I fucked up. It’s just—it was a lot to take in, and I took it out on you.”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “First it was having my past rehashed, and then when I met you I got reminded of how arrogant I was as a kid and it just felt like—”

“A slap to the face?”

Another huff. “Exactly.”

You smile—genuinely—this time wishing you were face to face so he could get a good view of it. You try to let it show in your voice instead.

“Thank you for telling me, Bakugou. Apology accepted.”

A sigh of relief. You feel your smile grow bigger.

“Now go to sleep, dumbass,” he spits, the vulnerability from just a second ago long gone, now replaced by his signature snark. “You heard the old geezer. Big day tomorrow.”

You can’t help it—you laugh.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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