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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

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Endless Summer

She thought it would fade. That the initial anxiety she felt when she found out she was pregnant again would go away. But it doesn't. It grows as her belly does, taking up all of the space in her chest until she feels like she can't breathe.

A follow-up to Endless Spring.

-x-

I did a lot of research for this one, and as ever have done my best to deal with a very difficult subject with respect.

-x-

Warnings: References to miscarriage, Pregnancy, Anxiety, Pregnancy after loss

Words: 4k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily can’t stop staring at the picture in her hand.

She runs her finger over the black-and-white image, of the slope of her daughter’s nose, distinct even in an ultrasound photo. She hadn’t had an ultrasound last time. She had no keepsakes apart from the positive pregnancy test that was still at the back of the bathroom cabinet and the calendar page for March of last year. Torn out of the calendar when the year came to an end and folded up and placed in a drawer because throwing it away felt like saying that pregnancy had never happened. That the loss and grief she still felt had come from nothing.

As soon as she’d found out she was pregnant this time she’d booked in to see her doctor. The joy she’d felt the first time around was nowhere to be found, dread climbing up her throat as the thought of it happening again threatened to choke her. She thought it would fade. That the initial anxiety she felt when she found out she was pregnant again would go away. But it doesn't. It grows as her belly does, taking up all of the space in her chest until she feels like she can't breathe.

“We should start telling people,” Aaron says, joining her on the couch. He puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side, and she lets him despite the fact she was always hot these days.

On the days when she was able to think ahead, not just day by day as she had found herself doing every since the test came back with two lines, she wondered how uncomfortable it would be towards the end of her pregnancy. She was due in the summer, something that her doctor had commented on immediately when she confirmed she was pregnant.

Aaron’s suggestion makes her tense, her whole body seizing with something she still doesn’t fully understand. Familiar anxiety crawling up her throat. She’d told JJ last time, she’d shared her joy before it was snatched away from her. It felt nothing short of reckless to do the same thing now, to share the news they had kept to themselves for weeks.

“I…” she swallows thickly, clearing her throat immediately after in an attempt to hide the shake in her voice from him, “I think maybe we should wait.”

He sighs as she replies in the exact way he knew she would. His hand still ached from how hard she’d held it during her appointment, his knuckles cracking together, her anxiety evident no matter how much she tried to hide it.

“Em, sweetheart,” he says, stepping towards her and placing his hand on her bump, “You’re halfway through, we said we’d start telling people after your 20-week scan,” he pushes some of her hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead, “Everything came back clear. The nurse said she’s perfect, remember?” She smiles properly at that, the real one he knows will ruin him forever if it's inherited by the baby beneath his palm, “And I don’t think you’ll be able to hide it much longer.”

She sighs, her hand pressing firmly into her bump, and she nods, “You’re right,” she swallows thickly and looks up at him, “I’m just…”

“Worried,” he finishes for her, kissing the side of her head, “I know you are,” he kisses her again before reaching for the ultrasound picture in her hand, smiling as he looks at it, “But look at her, Em. She’s-”

“Perfect,” she says, replaying the doctor's words in her head again and again, hoping that this might be the time they stick.

“She’s half you, of course she’s perfect.”

She shakes her head at him and turns just enough to press a kiss into his jaw, “You’re ridiculous,” she says, smiling when she feels his hummed response, vibrating through her as she kisses his jaw again, “We’ll tell the team. Dave is doing pasta night in a couple of days…it seems like the perfect opportunity.”

Aaron nods at her, leaning in to stamp a kiss to her lips, “Pasta night it is.”

___

He can feel the tension radiating off of her, the tension in her body palpable as they wait for Dave to answer his front door. Aaron squeezes her hand tightly and she looks up at him, a nervous smile on her face.

“I’m glad we’re telling them tonight,” he says, an encouraging smile spreading over his face.

“Why?” She asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Firstly, I think if I kept you away from crime scenes much longer without a good excuse they’d think I’m the worst husband/boss ever,” he replies, and she rolls her eyes at him, “Secondly, I have absolutely run out of ways to make your soda waters look like fancy cocktails.”

She laughs at him and shakes her head, “What a hard life you lead, Agent Hotchner.”

For a moment, it feels like them again. The version of them who hadn’t gone through the loss that had hit them both more than they thought it could. She was grateful that it had made them closer, stitched together with a shared grief that had made them stronger.

The moment is fleeting, and Dave’s door opens, a wide smile on his face as he greets them.

“I wondered when you two would get here, you’re the last ones,” he says, stepping aside so they can walk past him, “Aaron - beer for you? And I’m guessing you’ll want to make Emily her drink as usual.”

“Actually, Dave, we have something we want to tell everyone first,” Emily says, feeling a rush of courage that she knows will be fleeting. Dave raises an eyebrow at her but nods towards the living room where the rest of the team were already waiting.

“Are you sure you want to do this immediately?” Aaron asks quietly so only she can hear, and she nods, flashing him a look.

“Yes, I think it’s just best to do it,” she replies, squeezing his hand in hers, “Then Dave can fulfil his lifelong dream of pouring me a soda water himself.”

Aaron smiles at her, and he doesn’t miss the slight shake behind her smile, or the way her joke masks the anxiety she could no longer hide from him.

As they walk into the living room they are greeted by the rest of the team, all pleased to see them even though it had only been a few hours since they’d left work.

“Apparently,” Dave says, taking a seat as Emily and Aaron sit next to each other, pressed together on half of one of Dave’s couches, “These two have an announcement for us.”

Emily feels everyone’s gaze burning into her, curiosity painted across all of their faces as they look at her and Aaron, and suddenly her throat goes dry. Her mind overwhelmed with all of the reasons she had kept this a secret for so long. She squeezes Aaron’s hand, and he understands like he always did, and he takes over for her.

“Emily’s pregnant,” he says, with no small amount of joy in his voice as he finally says what he’s wanted to scream from the rooftop for months. He respected his wife’s choice, and her fears, but the relief at the news being out was palpable. There’s a brief moment of silence before the room erupts into cheers and overlapping questions, every member of their team delighted for them, like they both knew they always would have been.

“How far along are you?”

“When is the baby due?”

“Are we finally going to have a BAU girl?”

“I want to see pictures.”

“I knew it.”

Emily rolls her eyes at Dave but ignores him, and she smiles at her friends, feeling more relief than she thought she would after telling them.

“I’m 20 weeks pregnant,” she says, and she turns to Penelope, “And yes, the baby is a girl.”

“Wait, 20 weeks?” Derek asks, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, “Isn’t that halfway through?”

Emily clears her throat and nods, “Yes, it is.”

Her eyes flit over to JJ, and she sees the surprise that seems to paralyse her friend. JJ had been the only other person apart from Aaron who had known about her last pregnancy, but Emily had decided she didn’t even want to tell her this time around. The fallout from JJ’s words on a case still rippling outwards almost a year later.

“Why did you keep it a secret so long?” JJ asks, clearing her throat before she speaks.

“Never mind why,” Penelope says, leaning in closer, her eyes fixed on Emily’s stomach, “How did you keep it secret?”

Emily chuckles and presses her hand to her belly, “It’s amazing what you can do with an empire waistline and loose material, but really I’m still not showing all that much.”

It was yet another thing that had made her nervous at first, that she didn’t look pregnant for a long time unless you were looking for it. Only she and Aaron able to see the subtle differences that were taking place. It was something else her doctor had assured her was fine, that everyone carried pregnancies differently, and that because this was her first one past the point where she would start to show that she would be a little smaller at first.

“Which I guess brings us back to why,” Derek says, raising his eyebrow at the couple, curiosity more than anger colouring his expression.

Aaron decides to take over for her, aware that he had let her answer all of the questions so far. He’s about to say the asinine excuse he’d come up with since they’d decided they were telling people, a throwaway comment that they were both private people, that they wanted something for themselves, when Emily speaks again, her words unexpected to everyone in the room.

Even, he would bet, to her.

“I had a miscarriage last year,” she says, tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she says it out loud, “I just wanted to be sure…”

She drifts off, and the room falls into silence, her words in the air like a thick heavy blanket. She couldn’t explain why she’d told them, why she felt the need to say it after so long. Maybe it’s because the truth was easier. The kind of truth that didn’t lead to follow-up questions.

Maybe, it’s because now she wanted other people to know. Her loss somehow a tiny bit less heavy with each person who knew.

“Oh peaches,” Penelope says, reaching out to place her hand on her knee, “I had no idea.”

Emily’s eyes flash to JJ’s again, “No one did,” she swallows thickly and she stands, Penelope’s hand falling to the couch, “Excuse me for a minute.”

Aaron grasps her hand tighter, “Em-”

“I’m fine,” she says, smiling tightly at him, squeezing his hand in reassurance, “I just need a minute.”

He nods before he lets go of her hand and she walks away, the air in the room thick with silence she couldn’t bear. She walks to the kitchen and helps herself to a can of ginger ale from Dave's fridge, slowly sipping at it as she calms herself down.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed, how long she has been alone, when she hears her name being called from behind her.

“Emily?”

She sighs, wiping at her cheek and gives herself a second to gather herself before she turns, a fake smile fixed on her face as she looks at Spencer. His hands are in his pockets, his brow furrowed slightly as he looks her up and down, his eye lingering on her stomach. He’d stayed silent throughout the conversation in the living room, his curious eyes fixed on her.

“Spence, are you ok?”

He nods, walking towards her, briefly looking over his shoulder to see if he had been followed by one of the others.

“Have you ever heard of microchimerism?”

She blows out a breath, shaking her head, “Reid, I-”

“It’s relevant, I promise,” he says, sensing that her attempt to cut him off had been a request for him to stop. She simply nods, a silent ok for him to continue, and crosses her arms over her chest, “Microchimerism is the presence of cells from one individual in another genetically distinct individual. The most common cause is pregnancy, DNA from the fetus travels through the placenta into the mother’s bloodstream, and is still found present even decades later-”

“Spence, please get to the point,” she cuts over him, all too aware that he often got carried away, losing sight of his original point along the way.

“This happens even in pregnancies that aren’t carried to term,” he says, and she feels herself freeze, rooted to the spot as Spencer continues. He clears his throat, scratching at the back of his head as he avoids eye contact, “The baby you lost is still a part of you. It’s in your DNA. It’s likely it always will be.”

She stares at him, her mouth falling open slightly as she struggles to know how to respond. She huffs out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she wipes away a stray tear from her cheek. It was everything she hadn’t known she’d needed to hear, words of reassurance that she knew she would never get from anyone else. Spencer’s own unique way of comforting her.

“I..”

She starts to speak but her voice catches in her throat, and before she can try again Aaron walks into view, a concerned look on his face.

“Sweetheart, are you ok?” He asks, pressing his hand into her lower back, “I was giving you some space but you were gone a while.”

“I’m ok,” she says, nodding at him. She spots Spencer leaving out of the corner of her eye, and she turns to him, “Spence?” She waits until he’s looking at her, “Thank you.”

He nods, his smile a thin line across his face whilst he shrugs as if it was nothing before he walks away.

“What did he say to you?” Aaron asks, furrowing his brows, already in protective mode, “Do you need me to talk to him?”

She smiles and leans up to kiss him, her hands framing his face, “No, he was sweet,” she says, stamping another kiss against Aaron’s lips before she pulls back, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Ok,” he says, smiling curiously at her, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

___

Aaron smiles as he walks into their bedroom, watching his wife as she sits on their bed in nothing but a sports bra and a pair of pyjama shorts. She has her eyes closed and her hands on her bump. He can see her skin moving from where he’s standing, their daughter seemingly endlessly shifting around.

“This is a sight I could get used to,” he quips, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

“I’m 30 weeks pregnant and it’s summer, Aaron,” she says, opening her eyes to look at him, “If I don’t have to wear actual clothes I’m not going to.”

“No complaints from me,” he says as he sits next to her, leaning in to kiss her and then her stomach. “We could try and avoid summer next time if we have any other kids-”

“I don’t think I can do this again,” Emily says, the words escaping before she can stop them. She looks at her husband and sighs at the confused look on his face, the concern that makes his eyebrows knot together. “I’m not…enjoying being pregnant.”

“Em-” he says, reaching out for her and placing his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it as he prepares to comfort her. Words she knows will be empty even though he won’t mean them to be, so she cuts him off.

“And it’s not just the discomfort, or the heartburn or even the lack of sleep,” she explains, placing her hand on her bump, “I’m just so afraid all of the time that something is going to go wrong that I can’t enjoy it,” she lets out a shaky laugh and uses the heel of her hand to wipe away a stray tear, “Last time…last time I was pregnant for what? 8 weeks? And we only knew for two of them. And I was…so happy,” she looks up at him again and he uses his spare hand to wipe away more of her tears, cupping her cheek, “And I wish I could feel that this time but I can’t,” her lip trembles as she heaves in a breath, the sound catching in her chest, “Sometimes at night, when you’ve fallen asleep, I sit here and just feel the baby moving, and it feels like I am just waiting for something to happen.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping the back of her head and pulling her closer, her face buried in his neck. He kisses the side of her head, “I knew you were struggling but…why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

She pulls away to look at him, sorrow written all over her face, “Because I didn’t want you to think I don’t love her, Aaron. I do. So much.”

“Em, of course I know that,” he wipes away another tear from her cheek, “I would never think that you didn’t.” He pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her entirely, her stomach pressed between them, “You and Jack,” he says placing his hand on her bump, smiling as the baby kicks, “and her are the most important things in the world to me, ok? No matter what. And if this is what our family looks like for the rest of our lives, then I will be nothing except happy,” he kisses the side of her head, “Besides, she might end up with your attitude and we might decide one is enough.”

She pulls back to look at him, outrage across her face, and she narrows her eyes at him, “Jerk.”

“I’m kidding,” he says, kissing her forehead, “She’s going to be 100% you. And I can’t wait to meet her.”

She laughs through a sob and nods, placing her hand over his on her stomach, “I can’t wait either.”

___

Emily can’t stop staring at her little girl.

Aaron had told her how quickly they change when they are newborns, how he sometimes felt as if he’d turn away from Jack for a second and look back and something would be different.

She didn’t want to forget any of it. She just stares at her. At her dark mop of hair that was soft to the touch. At her tiny little lips, her nose. Her dark bleary eyes she’d occasionally open.

She was perfect.

Emily tilts her head to look at Aaron, smiling when she sees he’s doing exactly what she is. He’d been her anchor throughout her, long, labour. He had always been terrible at seeing her in pain, but he’d been exactly what she’d needed. Her foundation, sat behind her with his arms tight around her as she brought their daughter into the world. She looks back down at her little girl and smiles, her cheeks aching with a type of joy she didn’t know could exist.

“You know what I keep thinking?” She says quietly, looking up at her husband from their daughter and he shakes his head, his eyes so full of love for her, for them, it makes her heart clench in her chest, “That if I hadn’t had the miscarriage, she wouldn’t exist,” she says looking back down at the sleeping newborn, “And the thought of that is…” she shakes her head, not even able to consider it, her hold on the newborn tightening slightly, “But then we would have had a whole other kid we would love and couldn’t imagine our lives without. And they’d be what? 15 months old or so by now,” she chuckles humourlessly but it's wet, catching on a sob in her throat, “It’s so…”

“Complicated,” he finishes for her and she nods, removing one of her hands from underneath the baby to wipe a tear from her cheek.

“Yeah, it’s complicated,” she smiles sadly at him, “Did I ever tell you I thought it was a boy?” She asks, and he shakes his head again, a look she can’t quite place in his eyes, and she nods, “Yeah, I know it was way too early and that there was no way of knowing, but I thought it was a boy. I can’t explain why.”

“I did too,” he replies, shifting so he’s sitting on the bed with her, her eyes go wide in surprise and he chuckles, his focus on their daughter as he runs a knuckle down her soft cheek, “I didn’t want to upset you so I never told you.”

She smiles in response and looks down at her daughter, love and joy and everything she couldn’t name flooding through her again.

“I’m so glad she’s here,” Emily says, leaning back into Aaron as he positions himself behind her finding him infinitely more comfortable than the hospital bed, “We’ve waited so long for you, sweet girl.”

“We need a name for her,” Aaron says, kissing his wife’s temple, “None of the ones we picked-”

“Seem right,” she finishes for him, tilting her head back to look at him, “I thought the same thing.”

“What about Evangeline?” He asks, smiling as the baby grabs at his finger, her hand so small it doesn’t even go all the way around, her fingernails impossibly small.

“Evangeline,” Emily says, looking down at the newborn, “It’s pretty, I like it. Evangeline Hotchner,” she repeats, testing it out before she meets her husband’s eyes, “We’ll have to give her a short middle name or she’ll hate us her entire life when she’s filling out paperwork.”

He laughs, “She’d run out of boxes when applying for a passport,” he smiles at his wife and takes in a steady breath before he suggests the middle name that's been on his mind for weeks, “I’ve had an idea for a middle name too.”

“Oh,” she replies, shifting the baby in her hold so she was now laying on her chest, “Daddy is full of ideas today, huh?” She says, kissing the side of the newborn’s head before returning her attention to Aaron, “What did you come up with?”

“Emily.”

It takes a moment for it to register, her exhaustion from the day and emotional turbulence from giving birth and thinking about what she’s gained as well as what she’s lost leaving her slower than usual. She creases her brow slightly, tilting her head at him.

“Name her after me?” She asks, and he nods. She feels her throat go dry and tears press at the back of her eyes. She thinks she’s cried more in the last 9 months than she has in her entire life, and she’s sure that won’t be stopping any time soon. “Why?”

He kisses her cheek, tasting the salt from her tears, from the sweat that had glazed her skin as she gave birth to their daughter.

“It makes sense that she’s named after the person who loves her enough to go through 9 months of what you just did,” he explains, “I know how hard this all was on you,” he shifts to kiss her, his lips delicate against hers, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

She briefly rests her forehead against his, “I’m never going to stop crying if you carry on saying shit like that.”

“No cursing in front of Evangeline,” he quips, winking at her. She rolls her eyes at looks back at the baby fast asleep against her chest.

“She’s asleep, and 2 hours old, honey,” she replies, “I don’t think we have to worry about her repeating anything for a while.”

He hums in response, “I text the team, and reminded Garcia she has to wait until you are both home to come meet her,” he smiles, and she chuckles, “And Jess is bringing Jack first thing tomorrow.”

“Good,” she says, gently tracing her finger over the swirl of dark hair on the top of Evangeline’s head, “I think this has been the longest summer of my life.”

Aaron kisses her temple, “Worth it though?”

She nods, turning her head to look at him, to capture his lips with hers.

“Worth it.”

-x-

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years ago

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 22 | S.R.)

Summary: Things are changing for the better. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Difference, Sub Drop, vague mentions of trauma/dissociation, PTSD (mostly comfort) Word Count: 7.25k

MASTERLIST

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The dulcet, bustling sounds of the Dulles International Airport were more soothing than I expected. Normally, the massive crowds and constant barrage of information would make my brain go into overdrive, but there was something about Spencer being there that made it all turn to white noise. If I had to guess, I would say it was the feeling of trusting someone to take care of you.

I still hadn’t gotten used to it.

“Hey, I got you something.”

Even then, when he’d approached me from behind and gingerly placed the bag on my lap, I barely even flinched. I smelled the contents of the bag before I noticed the logo or managed to open it, but once I confirmed it was what I thought it was, my eyes immediately teared up.

“Oh my god,” I keened, pulling out the familiar blue cup holding a much too sweet, much too large cinnamon bun. Although my mind was running with a million things to say to express just how appreciative I was, I took a bite out of it before I said anything else.

“I love you so much,” I mumbled around a mouth full of pastry.

Spencer tried to respond, but after one glance at me, fingers and face already covered in frosting after only a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“You’re a complete mess,” he chastised, trying to cluck his tongue but failing in his laughter.

I just smiled back, not even bothering with the plastic utensils and enjoying the indulgence with absolutely childlike joy. It wasn’t even just the sugar or my fingers pressing into the warm, sticky dough that made the morning seem so much better; it was the way Spencer watched me.

With one arm leaned against the chair, his whole body was turned towards me. It was clear from the slightly glassy look in his exhausted eyes that he was also stuck trying to find the right words to say to express just how grateful he was that we could still have moments like that.

Those same eyes roamed over my figure with such an overtly intimate gleam that it almost made me blush. If he’d touched me, I definitely would have. But he kept his hands to himself, and eventually, buried them into his carry-on bag. I didn’t even look at what he was doing, too lost in the sweetness of being cared for.

That foolhardy trust was a mistake. Because, it turned out, Spencer Reid was a monster.

Without any warning at all, a cold wet wipe was dragged over my cheeks. I flinched back, only to find Spencer’s hand holding onto my head and stopping me from turning away. The madman even had the audacity to smile as he gingerly wiped the frosting from my cheeks and chin. Of course, considering the fact I was thrashing wildly away from him, it ended up mostly on my lips.

“Pfftbtb! Spencer!” I spit and whined, earning confused looks from basically everyone in the vicinity. What they would find when they looked over was him in a fit of laughter, continuing to try and clean my face, which was still covered in sugary frosting despite his best efforts to remove it.

“I thought you enjoyed the taste of alcohol,” he teased.

“First of all, no one does, and second—” I started, only to be cut off with a kiss over my much too clean mouth. I smiled, but only because it used to be my move. I wondered when exactly the tables had turned, and it became his job to shut me up with a kiss.

“I know,” he whispered, licking his lips just to cringe at the taste he’d forced on me, “I’m just joking.”

I decided then that the sight and shared disgust for ethyl alcohol were enough for me to forgive him for the time being. I let him clean the rest of the evidence of my greed from my face but decided to clean my fingers myself. I popped each one into my mouth in what I’d imagined was a very non-sexual manner, but Spencer still seemed to enjoy watching me as each digit was cleaned. Granted, he handed me another wipe seconds later. Damn germaphobe. Like he didn’t shove his tongue in my mouth on a daily basis.

The rest of the treat was shared between us, with utensils this time, in a relative quiet. Brief giggles or sighs were all there was to be said. Once there was nothing left to fixate on, I was left only with my thoughts and Spencer’s eyes that still watched me like a horribly affectionate hawk.

“I’m really sorry,” I mumbled without realizing. I’d almost hoped he wouldn’t even hear it, or let it go without a conversation, but of course, he couldn’t do that.

“For what?”

“For making you do all of this,” I explained with a heavy sigh, “I feel like a big baby.”

Spencer’s hands came to brush away the stray strands of hairs from my face. They weren’t actually in the way of anything; I think he just wanted to make a better view. That alone was enough to make me smile, but that only seemed to make him feel guilty.

“Don’t apologize for this. This is my fault,” he said just as quietly. I mirrored his motion, running my fingers through his hair and watching as his mouth dropped open in a pleased smile.

“No, it’s not. You’re wonderful,” I said through my own. It was only a little bit sadder than his, but wasn’t that usually the case? I could only imagine what would happen the day we were both overflowing with nothing but joy. Before, that thought might lead me back to the bank, the place that ended our last purely happy encounter, but…

I looked at Spencer, with his mouth still slightly open and his head lolling back and forth with the little weight of my hand, and I couldn’t bring myself to think of anything bad. So I just thought of the picnic, instead. I thought of him licking my hand as we rolled in grass, and of his own hands working through my hair to make it into something besides a mess on my head.

I looked at Spencer, and I saw beautiful things. And the longer I played with his hair, the more relaxed and content he became. Of course, I would never be satisfied. His smile was the most beautiful thing to see, and I needed it to deal with the guilt still sitting like rocks in my stomach.

“Besides, it’ll be so much easier putting down my work and actually getting sleep when you’re waiting for me,” Spencer slurred, his neck relaxing to drop the weight of his head against my palm.

“I hope not too easy. The world needs you, Dr. Reid,” I kindly reminded.

His eyes fluttered open, trapping me in dark honey irises filled with pure adoration. “You need me, too,” he whispered.

“Arrogant bastard.”

Naturally, he took it as a compliment, his smile growing into a smirk as he answered, “A little bit.”

He should have known better than to give me that look, though, because within seconds my hands fell from his hair. A small whimper came from the pitiful man at the loss. It was quickly followed by a sharp inhale when my hand grabbed his thigh.

“You think I’ll actually let you sleep?” I whispered.

Aside from the obviously tense quadriceps beneath my palms, Spencer showed very little response to my suggestion. Well, rather, he showed little arousal to it. There was a reaction— just not the one I expected.

He looked... nervous.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that...”

“What?” I shot back immediately, my hands withdrawing and tugging on my shirt while I instinctively tried to hide from him. I was trying to look less guilty, but I was acutely aware that my actions screamed the opposite. So, I tried to combat my obvious anxiety with a voice that was far louder than it needed to be. “I swear I’m on all my medications. I haven’t missed a single therapy appointment, either!”

Spencer’s hands were gentle and cautious when they came to my wrists, gently pulling them away from my chest. “I know. I trust you,” he said with a sad but still genuine smile, “I just wanted to ask you how you wanted to handle this.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine.” The words tumbled out of me in the least convincing manner. Spencer was too smart to fall for them, although I could see a playfulness bloom through his features.

“No offense, but you just cried over a cinnamon bun,” he said, unable to stop a few chuckles from mixing with the words.

“It was just really good, okay?” I scoffed, tearing my hands away from him and feigning offense despite his little disclaimer. From there, I sank down in the shitty airport chair and refused to look up at him. I could still feel his cheeky, arrogant little grin watching me.

Eventually, after I thought we’d suffered enough and I could already feel my legs going numb, I weakly conceded, “Fine. What are my options?”

“Well, basically anything. But the main thing to consider is...”

He paused. It was one of the sure signs that he was taking the situation very seriously. Usually, he would just spout out whatever came to mind and sort out the details later. But this time, he spoke slowly and purposefully. “Majority of our relationship has been based on physicality. Whether it was sex or healing or hurting and I... I want to give you the option to not do that. At least, not for a little while.”

A feeling of dread filled my blood that I could suddenly hear rushing through my ears. I didn’t tell my heart to beat faster, but it did. My hands that had once again crossed over my chest suddenly itched to hold him.

“Why would I not want to?” I asked, fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and occasionally glancing up at him only to realize that he wasn’t looking at me, either. I tried not to read into it. After all, he was the profiler— not me.

“It’s not a matter of avoiding it. I just need you to know it’s not expected of you.”

Without shifting my body at all, my eyes were glued to him. The strain of the angle and the sound of those words caused them to burn, but I refused to let tears fall again. He wasn’t rejecting me, right? He was telling me that he loved me. There was no reason to be scared.

I wasn’t used to that yet, either. But I wanted to be. And judging by the way his hand cupped my face and guided it back to his, I think Spencer felt those anxieties. He tried to will them away by pressing his forehead against mine and letting his thumb ghost over flushed cheeks.

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to know that we don’t have to have sex for you to be worth my time and attention.”

The tears grew bigger under his scrutiny, but they didn’t fall until he closed his eyes. I think that was why he did.

“I love you,” he assured me with a whisper, “I’m not going to deny you affection or intimacy if that’s what you want. I just need you to know that it is always an option.”

Normally when Spencer pulled away, the air felt cold in his absence. For so long, my body had felt lonelier and less than without him. But in that busy, bustling airport, I felt just as loved even when his hands fell away and he sat back up in his chair.

For those who might’ve been watching, they would just see two lovesick idiots whispering sweet nothings in a flagrantly public display of affection. They wouldn’t have heard the weight of the words or felt the way my perception of the whole world shifted from them.

Spencer smiled again, still nervous, but also clear and authentic.

“I’m sorry,” he told me with his eyes fixated on my hands in my lap. He made no move to hold it, although I could tell he wanted to. I suspect he wanted me to focus on the words, so I tried my hardest. I almost asked him what he was sorry for, but he answered first, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

A lump quickly formed in my throat that I tried to swallow. When that failed, and I felt the telltale signs of tears filling the sides of my eyes, I did the only thing I could think of to hide. I threw my arms around the only thing that never failed to make them better. I buried my face in Spencer’s neck and laughed along with him as my eyelashes and breath tickled the soft skin.

After a brief second of listening to our hearts settle into a matching rhythm and letting our body heat sink into the clothes between us, Spencer groaned, “How are you still sticky?”

—————————————————

A couple weeks prior, the thought of being alone in a hotel room waiting on Spencer to finish work for the day would have instilled the fear of God in me. I would have done just about anything to avoid the exact situation I found myself in now.

But honestly? It wasn’t all that bad. It was the perfect opportunity for me to force myself to slow down. Granted, that mostly just meant that I would watch bad TV in a bathrobe with overpriced food, but... like they say, change is as good as a rest.

The hardest part about it was actually just convincing myself that I deserved the rest. While I was taking naps and trying to do anything to unwind, I knew what Spencer was doing.

Well, I had some idea of what he was doing. Reality was probably worse than my imagination— it usually was with his job. At first, I had let that guilt get in the way, but at some point over the nine hours, I realized that I would have to find a way to cheer myself up. Because as soon as I heard that small beep of the keycard, I would have to find a way to remind him of all the beautiful things in the world.

No pressure, right?

The sun had already started to set, and I hadn’t heard from him in hours. We’d started the day out with a constant line of contact, but over time he became too busy. Which, again, just meant that I would have to work even harder when he finally arrived.

Luckily for me, by the time Spencer had arrived, there was no need for a pep talk or acting of any kind. My heart immediately started to race the second I heard his voice down the hall. I had already bolted from the bed and positioned myself just far enough from the door that I could jump forward the second it opened far enough to fit me.

And when it did, I pounced.

“Spencer!” I cheered, throwing myself into his arms that had fully been expecting me. Still, the two of us crashed back against the frame and I heard the breath be knocked out of him from the impact.

“Hey, little girl,” he managed to laugh with empty lungs that made it impossible to forget how tired he was. His arm eventually settled at my lower back, lifting me slightly so he could move us from the door’s path. But when we were out of harm’s way and the latch clicked softly in place, Spencer didn’t let me go. In fact, he tossed his bag into the chair at the desk and wrapped his other arm around me, too.

“How was work?” I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

“You know...” he muttered with a crackling voice, “awful.”

If that hadn’t given it away, the way he buried his face in my neck certainly did. His hands were even more insistent, pressing into my back as he led us both to the bed.

I had to laugh, though, as the realization dawned on him that he’d have to let go of me if he didn’t want to track filthy shoes in our bed. A heavy sigh fell from his lips when he finally released me, practically throwing me onto the terrible mattress before taking his seat next to me.

“I missed you,” I announced in the ambient noise of the cheapest hotel that the government could justify using.

Spencer looked up at me, but the words took a little longer to register. I could only imagine how busy his mind must’ve been, and the guilt quickly came creeping back.

“I missed you, too,” he returned, albeit with a tint of sadness in his tone. But the longer we stayed there, the calmer he seemed. It was such a powerful effect of our proximity that by the time he did lay down next to me, he seemed like the man that had wiped frosting from my face in the middle of a busy airport.

Spencer must have noticed the shift, too, because no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he had flipped over, throwing his leg over me to pin me down against the bed.

My initial reaction was to keep laughing, but the noises were muffled by the persistent kisses he gave. They started at my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose but landed on my lips. I felt the tension leave his shoulders as he lowered more of his body weight against me, and I reveled in the feeling of his presence.

“God, I needed this,” he growled just before his tongue slipped into my mouth.

Everything we’d talked about at the airport felt a lifetime away, and as soon as I felt his erection pressing hard against my thigh, I only had one goal in mind. I forced my hands between us, trying to remove his tie with the hope that it would shed some of the thoughts he’d brought back from work.

But then it all stopped. Spencer had pulled away, grabbing onto my wrist and pinning it to the bed beside me once more.

“No, we don’t need to do that. I just wanted to kiss you,” he panted through heavy breath and swollen lips. I couldn’t stop staring at them long enough to answer, but it was clear from the look on his face that any plea I gave would be for naught, anyway. “I’m honestly way too exhausted to give you the attention you deserve.”

I believed him. Even when he hadn’t slept for nearly two days, he still looked livelier then. I had a sneaking suspicion that it had less to do with sleep and more to do with emotions. I wanted to help him with that, too, like he did for me, but I didn’t know how. So, I did the only thing I did know how to do well, which was to place a soft peck against his lips until they turned up into another smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” I murmured, “I’ll be here to kiss again when you wake up.”

“Let me hold you,” he answered immediately, nuzzling his face against my neck like a puppy seeking any shred of attention. I couldn’t tell if I was laughing because of the way his hair tickled or because it was so strange to see him so vulnerable while still in dominant, albeit disheveled, work clothes.

“Fine. Only because you asked nicely.”

Continuing the trend of being remarkably adorable, Spencer giggled as he rolled onto his side. I was almost tempted to turn towards him, but he had already wrapped his arms around me before I could decide. He pulled me as close as he could before his lips once again settled against the column of my throat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he stated absently. It was so quiet that I’m not sure he’d actually planned on me hearing it. But when I reached a hand up to run through his hair, he spoke with a shaky, relieved whine, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

A gentle, warm exhale breezed over my skin as he continued, “I love you so much.”

From that point, any words he might’ve whispered were muffled through sloppy, sleepy kisses over my neck and shoulder. His hands, though slow, were still rough and purposeful as they pawed at me in a way that was only vaguely sexual. It was more like he was trying to prove to himself that he was actually here with me, and my breasts just happened to be the first thing he could grab.

That still didn’t stop my mind from running wild. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention as I focused on the way his breath felt against areas still wet from his kisses. And when I arched my back, I felt his hips press harder.

Eventually, when I could trust myself to speak without whimpering, I asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to...”

I peeked back at him before continuing, having noticed a lull in his kisses. Sure enough, Spencer was fast asleep, his lips still attached to my shoulder. I had to chuckle at the sight, but my heart did hurt for him. I couldn’t imagine how tired he must have been to fall asleep then, and still in his clothes, much less.

The guilt over being the main cause of his tiredness was enough to keep me still for at least two hours. I spent that time slowly inching to a more comfortable position, only to be squished seconds later by Spencer. Even in his sleep, it seemed he was terrified of the prospect of me slipping from his arms. He was just being dramatic, though. It’s not like I had anywhere to go.

Wait, that sounded wrong. Truthfully, there were many places I could go, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with Spencer, tangled in his long limbs and tickled by his hair that had grown long enough to gracelessly flop onto my face regardless of position.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to leave at all.

But I did. Inch by inch, I carefully slipped from Spencer’s arms. Against all odds, I managed to maneuver through the death grip he had on me and plop down on the ground beside the bed. My mind found that to be the perfect time to recall the lecture he’d given me about how suitcases, and more specifically, their wheels, were the most dangerous bacteria-laden aspects of traveling, but I dismissed the thought shortly after I stood again.

I didn’t want to leave Spencer’s embrace. I’m not really sure why I did. There wasn’t even really a particularly angsty reasoning for it. I just had this feeling, this tingling on my skin and a weight in my stomach that told me I was meant to be doing something different.

The only problem was that I had literally no idea what the fuck that something different was.

So, naturally, I did what every young child does when their parents had grown tired of their restless children jumping on the hotel bed. I grabbed the keycard and the ice bucket and set out on a very thrilling journey to find the vending room. The first part was the hardest. It was shutting the door to return the room to darkness, knowing that Spencer was alone in bed.

It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. I slipped from the room into the horrible yellow lighting of the halls with the dizzying wallpaper and patterned carpet without another thought. I’d hoped that the walk might bring me answers to the mood I was currently wrestling with, but I was wrong. Because it basically only took me three doors to find the room that I was looking for.

Great.

I threw the door open haphazardly, actually contemplating grabbing the ice and returning to bed no wiser than I had left it. But when the door swung shut behind me, the humming from the machines bled into my brain and started to cover all the other thoughts. It was warmer than my room, as well as smaller and quieter. Of course, it was also remarkably less private, but it was also like 2am. If someone came in to find a strange girl sitting on the floor next to the ice machine, that was their own fault.

In a strange way, it was the most peaceful I’d been in a long time. As much as I loved being with Spencer, these circumstances made it hard for me to not feel like I didn’t belong. Probably because I didn’t. He was here on work, a life that he’d tried very hard to keep away from me. I didn’t blame him for that, either. I was sure he’d gotten a number of questions from Morgan and Garcia about my presence, but he hadn’t shared them with me. I’d even asked him, just so I could concoct my own retaliatory questions for the nosiest of them, but he just laughed the question away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just the realization that Spencer had a life of his own and I was just starting to see it for the first time. I was learning so much about him and honestly… None of it was bad. Most of it was just downright silly. Things like prank wars and physics magic and careful, chemistry-based improvements to shitty coffee. I was just too busy realizing that I was falling even more in love with Spencer to notice anything else.

Including, apparently, the sound of the door to the room opening. Trust me when I say that was saying a lot; the presence of Aaron Hotchner was not easy to miss.

“Can I join you?” His voice filled the room despite its low volume, and I followed the sound with a small smile that grew at the sight of him in casual clothing. It wasn’t something that happened often, but it sure did make him less intimidating than our previous encounters.

“Sure,” I said as I pulled the still-empty ice bucket into my lap. Once he took his seat beside me, I rolled my head toward him to try and figure out what exactly he had planned. But after another few seconds of silence, I realized that he was doing the same thing I was.

Improvising.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, insistent that it wasn’t my job in this scenario to come up with the advice.

Hotch seemed equally lost, and with a slight shake of his head, he explained, “I only heard the door open once. Figured it was worth a trip to get some ice to check.”

He held up his matching ice bucket, to which I lifted mine to knock together like the worst kind of toast. It at least succeeded in making him laugh, although the sound was short-lived. We both recognized the shoddy attempt at humor was just masking the things I didn’t want to talk about.

“Why can’t you sleep?”

He had never really been a beat-around-the-bush sort of guy.

“Freakin’ profilers,” I affectionately muttered back, which only earned me a playful warning glance that I, for once, didn’t choose to ignore. “I don’t know. I’m guessing it’s probably the 3-hour nap I took when we got here.”

Then, deciding that still didn’t describe the situation well enough, I tagged on, “You know, while you all were working and saving the world and what not.”

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of the BAU: Do not ever speak poorly about yourself. Not even an implication.

“Rest is important. No reason for you to suffer for us,” he returned without pause.

“You sound like Spencer,” I said through a half-hearted laugh.

Hotch shared my laughter, causing them both to grow in volume as he snarkily replied, “And who do you think taught him?”

“Right. Sorry.” I held my hands up in surrender, but we both knew it would be harder than that.

But that was okay. He came prepared.

“So, what else is wrong?”

“So persistent, you lot,” I chuckled. I half expected him to let it go, but he just turned to stare at me with that usually stoic face contorted with an obvious reprimand. I swear, I didn’t even realize his eyebrows could move that far. But there were, raised up his forehead as his cheeks dimpled from his little, knowing smirk.

“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Just thinking about things and I was scared I would wake up Spencer. Like he would feel my anxiety in his sleep.”

“What’s making you anxious?”

I paused. For a moment, I thought about lying. Not the kind of transparent lie that you do when you say that everything is fine. The kind of lie that also contained the truth. There were many things that had happened lately that would explain my anxiety, and they would be believable enough because I did still feel them.

“Everything. You know. The usual,” I said softly, attempting to stall.

Because that wasn’t what the problem was that day. The problems that day were… complicated in a different way than the usual angst. So, I let the thoughts marinate for a moment, considering the different outcomes and deciding which I really wanted.

I hadn’t let myself want things in a while. Maybe that realization was why I decided to just tell him the truth, despite how embarrassing it felt.

“It’s not bad anxiety, necessarily. It’s just this realization that… I don’t know.”

“Take a guess,” he pressed, feeling the hesitance as I stood at the brink of what I really wanted to say. The real answer to why I was sitting on the floor of an ice machine vending room with my boyfriend’s boss, who also happened to be our shared adoptive father figure.

I took a deep breath, clutching onto the ice bucket so tightly that my knuckles blanched and the edges imprinted on my hand until I blurted out, “That I think I’m ready for something else. Something more.”

We both stopped then, enjoying the noises of machinery and the barely-there echo of my words.

“Something more, huh?” he repeated more clearly.

I didn’t appreciate the way the words were practically sung through a clever grin, and before he could take that train of thought any further, I stopped him with an answer too loud to not be deemed defensive.

“Not like that! Not like, let’s run off and elope and have lots of babies tomorrow!“ He didn’t look convinced, so I continued with a much more believable promise. “Don’t worry, I’m not sniping your genius.”

“Thank goodness,” he replied sarcastically. I appreciated his ability to keep things lighthearted, and for a second I did have to laugh at the fact he was such a different person when he wasn’t at work. He must’ve taught Spencer more than I realized. And, in turn, Spencer was teaching me. I just wasn’t sure when the lesson would be over, or if it had already ended.

“I’ve just held onto my independence and this… heavy bullshit for so long, and I’m a little worried about what that means,” I thought aloud.

Again, Hotch had read my mind, or at least, my body language, and demanded the answer he saw written across my features. “What do you think it means?”

“Do you always give fatherly advice like this to whiny girls in ice machine rooms?” I shot back with my first attempt at a glare. It only lasted until he flashed me a toothy smile and his own clever retort.

“No. Now answer the question.”

“I had to try,” I grumbled, only to be shut down again in an instant.

“I’ll forgive you when you answer.”

With a begrudging sigh, I tried to do what he asked. But I only barely got through one word before they turned to a lump in my throat. I choked on the words strongly enough that tears I hadn’t anticipated began pooling on my eyelashes. The power of a profiler, I guess, to know I was on the verge of an emotional catharsis before I did.

“I know we all change. I know that no one stays the same. We all go through things and they change who we are. And that can be good, right? But…”

Once the words started, they wouldn’t stop, turning and tumbling from clumsy lips still chapped from incessant biting. But teeth and willpower couldn’t stop the feelings that caused them, and if Spencer had taught me anything, he’d taught me that speaking a feeling into existence was half of the battle to let it go.

“But sometimes it’s gotta just be bad, right? Like, we’ve got to acknowledge that sometimes we change in an irreparable way that’s just bad for no reason.”

“Right,” he very eloquently returned. Normally, I would have bullied him for giving such a simple response to such a complex question, but at that moment I was just grateful that I could continue. Heaven knows Spencer wouldn’t have let me.

“So, what if that happened to me? What if one day I wake up and finally find out the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself?”

When I turned to the man then, I saw a genuine confusion for the first time that night. I couldn’t tell you where I’d lost him, but it was clear that he heard something in me that alerted him that some deeper rooted issues were just now finding the light of day.

Of course, in this situation, it was really just a flickering fluorescent bulb.

“What question is that?” he whispered, like his voice would intrude in the thoughts.

But the truth was they didn’t feel like they belonged to me, either. That was the problem. I’d spent so long with memories that felt like a dream. I saw them playback when I closed my eyes, just to open them and find the same images reflecting in Spencer’s. I knew they were real because they were written into my skin, yet my mind rioted against them so hard that instead, I just started to think that this body wasn’t mine, either.

“How much of me died that day?”

The question sat with us, taking form in the reflection on the metallic surface that hummed a somehow somber tune. And even though I knew I was looking at myself, it didn’t feel that way. When I saw Hotch move in the background, I turned to him just in time to feel his hand resting over mine on the metal pail in my hands.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

I felt the warmth flow through him, bringing life back into a hand that suddenly started to feel like me again. His voice shared the same rejuvenating quality as he quietly but confidently answered, “I think… it’s much less than you think.”

As tears slid down my face, they felt less like the beginning of a downpour and more like the drizzle that follows the storm. I let them fall without wiping them away, hoping that as they fell away, they would take the fear with them.

After they did drip from my jaw, I laughed. I couldn’t hold it in because it seemed so silly how much lighter I felt after losing just a few droplets of saline. But, realistically, I knew it had more to do with his hand still holding mine.

I dropped my head to his shoulder, selfishly stealing his body warmth as I croaked, “Thanks for talking to me. I know I must sound like a stupid kid to you sometimes.”

“Not at all,” he said with that tone that was difficult to discount, “You sound just like you should.”

“Can I tell you something now?” I asked between sniffles.

“I’d like that,” he mirrored.

“You’re like… a really good dad.”

It was his turn to shed tears, then, which he did. They were much manlier and less silly than mine, but they were there. I almost accused him of creating them just to make me feel less embarrassed, but before I could, he’d enveloped me in a hug that was way too genuine to question it.

As I hugged him back, I realized just how badly I’d missed moments like this. I’d fooled myself into really believing that loneliness and independence were the same things for so long that when I was granted the support all human beings need, I didn’t know how to respond.

But that was the beauty of family, right? You don’t have to try to earn their love. They already thought you were worthy.

So I hugged him harder, ignoring the clanking of the machines and the sounds of crowds of people stumbling back from bars in the hall that could walk in any moment. I wasn’t embarrassed to be sad anymore. I was just a person. It happens sometimes.

“Speaking of, it’s well past your bedtime,” Hotch said finally, gracelessly shattering the moment in a very dad-like fashion.

“I walked into that one.”

Following that trend, he continued with a gentle bump of his shoulder against me, “If you don’t want to go yet, you can talk to me about that something more.”

I practically shoved him off me, huffing between chuckles and shaking my head in the hope that he wouldn’t notice how it flushed.

“Please. Spencer talks about that stuff, but he’s all talk.”

At first, Hotch just nodded. But after a few wayward glances, he confessed, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

That time the warmth I felt came from within, carried by butterflies that had burst in my stomach at the thought. I almost asked him what he meant, but then felt the familiar, creeping embarrassment that came along with loving someone a little too much.

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.

I knew he was reading my expressions, but I couldn’t hide the smile, no matter how hard I tried. He still had the decency to ignore my blatant displays of excitement, instead asking the question we both knew the answer to already.

“Is that something you’d want?”

“I…” Such a simple syllable still seemed like too much, and I stuttered it a few more times before I landed on an answer that wasn’t too humiliating. “I guess he’ll have to ask and find out.”

“I hope it turns out well when he does,” he said, pausing to correct with a sarcastic, “Sorry. If he does.”

“Yeah, me too,” I sighed heavily. It was a last ditch effort to hide the way my cheeks were still stuck in a full-faced smile. I turned to see him with a very similar expression.

I knew just how to change that. When he stood up and offered me a hand, I took it and let him do half the work for me. But once we were on equal footing, I placed my hand on his shoulder with a complacent pat.

“You know, if it doesn’t turn out well, you’ll have to figure out how to comfort the both of us.”

“The horror,” he jokingly cringed with a shake of his head.

I almost left then, but thankfully he’d remembered the actual purpose for the room we’d had our impromptu surrogate-father-daughter moment in. He grabbed my ice pail from my hand and dropped it under the dispenser without saying anything else, letting the chaotic crunching signal the real end of the moment.

Once it was over, I looked down at the now freezing bucket in my hands that suddenly felt warm. Then I looked back up at him and saw a pride that I wasn’t expecting.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” I said as the last remaining bit of tension fell from my shoulders.

“Goodnight,” he answered, opening the door and watching as I padded down the hall. He waited until I slipped back into my room before his door clicked shut, and mine quickly followed.

That tiny sound was just enough to wake the man in the bed, and when I turned to him, the sight took my breath away. Because there was Spencer, the man I loved, reaching his arms out into the darkness and grabbing the empty air as he whined, begging me to come to him faster.

And I did. Tossing the bucket onto the table, I rushed over to him and threw myself into the bed beside him without any grace. With a similar restlessness, Spencer wound his arms around me as soon as I was within his reach, pulling me as close as he could without sacrificing all the air in my lungs.

“I missed you,” he mumbled against my hair.

“Don’t worry. I’m back,” I whispered back. The words were lost in his shirt, but he somehow heard them well enough to ask, “Where did you go?”

I didn’t know how exactly to describe what had happened, so I told one of those lies I’d contemplated earlier. “To get ice,” I said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was just a very inefficient summary.

Spencer didn’t care, either. In fact, he giggled at the thought, nuzzling his face down into my neck and tickling me with his lips as he mumbled, “Let me warm you up.”

It did succeed in warming me up, but only because it turned into a fit of giggles and more intense tickling. His fingers danced along my sides and his whispers turned back to the same kisses that we’d started the night with.

But it couldn’t last forever. The poor guy still had only had a couple hours of sleep, and I felt the excitement wear off all at once, leaving him only half-awake on the pillow beside me. He still found the energy to look at me like there were stars in my eyes.

“Where did you really go?” he asked again, dragging his hand over my cheek like he could see the tears I’d shed just a few moments before.

“Just ice. I promise,” I answered, ending the thought with a quick kiss on his palm. When I could tell that he didn’t believe that, I brought my hands up to his face as I snickered, “See? Cold hands.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he just leaned forward, letting our noses touch and pulling me in to him again. His eyes fluttered shut, and I could almost see the way his body started to return to sleep as he barely muttered, “No cold feet, though?”

It took me a moment to register the words, and once I did, I still couldn’t believe them.

“Cold feet for what?” I whispered back.

Spencer’s answer only came in the form of a dreamy laugh. He didn’t open his eyes again, instead choosing to drop his face back into my shoulder just like he had before. This time there were even fewer kisses against my neck before he went still again.

Once again, I was left with my thoughts. Only this time they weren’t scary. Because marrying Spencer Reid was not the worst thing to imagine by far. In fact, there were very few things I’d ever wanted more.

—————————————————

| Part 23 |

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markstanton89 · 3 years ago

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I haven’t had a social hangout since March 2020. A woman I’d been dating was the last person I saw in a social capacity. When lockdown started in late March, she said she didn’t know how she’d be able to go a few months not seeing me. She started a relationship (Facebook officially) with a guy in June 2020. They’ve just had their 2nd anniversary. She didn’t actually tell me she was seeing him until September 2020. In the last two years, the closest I’ve gotten to a social hang out was waking up early to take a friend to a tattoo appointment, which I offered to take her too because getting to interact with a friend in person for once was worth being tired for. This week, I offered a friend a ride, but she chose to wait for the bus. I got home to a message that the bus wasn’t coming, so I instantly got back in my car to get her. I also dropped off a birthday card for her earlier in the year, and had a 10 minute chat. Hardly what I’d call “Social hang outs”. Every other attempt I’ve made at seeing anyone has fallen through. People who initiated making plans with me have ghosted me on the day. cancelled on the day, or otherwise had the plans fall through. I’ve been blocked out of the blue randomly by several people despite conversation leading up to it being perfectly normal day to day chatter. People who’ve I’ve talked to daily for years through DMs, have borderline avoided seeing me at all in person. A woman I’ve been interested in, who says it’s “Their loss” when people wont spend time with me... also wont spend time with me. This week she got into a relationship with a guy who’s “maybe too nice. Great guy, bought her gifts, and “Made so much effort”.... all things I’ve been to her. And I know feelings are uncontrollable, and no one can be made to like someone, but it’s heart wrenching to hear someone I truly feel it could work with, describe the guy she’s just gotten with as being an almost carbon copy of things she’s said about me. And when she gets with him 2 days after he got a tinder notification during a date... claimed he “Forgot to take it off” his phone, on a phone she knows he bought recently while they’ve been dating... and they STILL make the relationship official. What the fuck do I have to do when someone like that is a better choice than me? I know it’s defeatist, but I’ve honestly accepted dying alone as an inevitability. And then to be told I “Haven’t met the right woman yet”, is endlessly soul crushing. How can I expect to find “The one”, when people wont spend time with me socially, nevermind romantically? How can I hope to find someone, when the people I like end up dating people with incredibly similar traits to me, but mess them around? People are baffled by the fact I always do things on my own, like karting, like bowling, like archery, like going on vacation alone... but considering my first actual, planned social hang out since March 2020 requires me to fly nearly 4,800 miles away to a different continent, how can I feel ok in myself? As much as I’ll be stubbonly Myself as much as possible, and be true to myself, and not put on masks with people to pretend I’m someone I’m not... it’s an incredibly hard pill to swallow when being “Myself”, naturally means being alone for the vast majority of my life. Most people don’t know what to say when I share this stuff. Some attempt to use cookie cutter comforting with templated, cliché lines that I stopped believing decades ago. I don’t need comforting. I don’t need reassurances. I don’t need empty words and gestures. I need a world that’s locked off to me. A world that, for whatever reason that’s unknown to me, seems to try its damnedest to block me out. A world that’s making sure I stay in my lane, alone. I’m not ok. And despite the fact I fly to Austin in 7 days from now, until I’m on that plane I have zero confidence that I’ll ACTUALLY be going. I have this sense of dread that something is going to block me from going, and will keep me locked up in my solitary life that for a portion of 2020 and 2021 many referred to as “Quarantine“.

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pretoriafics · 4 years ago

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Therapy Sessions with the Devil - Part II

You guys requested me about this one so much! I'm glad all of you liked part one. Now, prepare yourself for your worst nightmare being Homelander's therapist.

Word count: 1.683 Contain: Therapist!Reader x Homelander Warnings: Mental disorders, sexual harassment, stalking and regurgitation. +16 only Versão em português aqui PART 1 THE BOYS MASTERLIST

If hell really exists, for you, it sure would be Friday mornings. Of course, that was a very contradictory thought for most people. Friday was usually associated with a fun day where, after work, you could go out with your friends in the evening and return home whenever you wanted. That was the advantage of Fridays: The fact that you know you don't have to wake up early the next day to go to work. Knowing that the week was coming to an end was like a cool breeze, as well as knowing that the next day would be pure rest. That didn't exactly apply to you. Okay, it was great to know that you wouldn't have to work the other day. That was the only good point on Fridays for you because on that specific day of the week you have Homelander as a patient. Your attempt to get rid of him on leaving Vought had been successfully thwarted because you were apparently a good professional. And you've never hated yourself so much for being good at what you did as a job. It turns out that, lately, things had started to get a little strange in the consultations with him. Homelander always mentioned a girl, whom he said he was starting to see differently. He filled her with compliments when he spoke of her, always reinforcing how much he loved the color of her eyes, her calm voice, and the way her hair moved with her graceful walk. Of course, according to him, if she were a Supe she would be perfect. But that's okay because he said he really accepted her "with that imperfection". You started to suspect that he was talking about you but avoided thinking about it. It not only made you sick with dread, but it completely perturbs you. A Homelander in love with you would be a great way to make it even worse than it was going. That morning on a Friday the 13th, when you arrived at the office, you saw that on your table was a sumptuous bouquet with the most beautiful reddish roses you had seen. Despite the beauty of those flowers, you took that as confirmation of your worst nightmare. Terrified, you let your bag hit the floor and ran to the bathroom. There, you knelt in front of the toilet and put all your breakfast out. Tears were wetting your face, your hands were shaking in pure fear. And then, you felt a hand touch your shoulder. “Yes, put everything out. Everything will be fine, it will be over… ” It was him. Homelander's voice flooded your ears, and you had to take a deep breath to try to take some control over yourself. “Okay, I'm already better. It must have been something I ate for breakfast. Can you excuse me and wait for me on the couch, please? ” He nodded, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Sure." As soon as he left, you closed the door. You took the toothbrush and the paste you kept there, brushed your teeth, and wiped away your tears. Then, you left the bathroom ready to get it over with. So, you sat in your chair while Homelander directed his worried blue eyes to you. You have started the query. "Well, let's get started then." “Don't feel pressured to make our session today. We can do it tomorrow, you are not feeling well. ” You forced a slight smile. “I'm better, thanks. And I don't work on weekends. ” Not least because you weren't willing to let Homelander ruin your Saturday. "I bought these flowers for you when I was coming here." He got up from the couch and took the bouquet from the table, handing it to you with a tender look. Homelander was beaming and even looked so anxious as a teenager in front of their crush. You, however, froze. You clenched your jaw and forced another smile, holding the flowers. “I appreciate it, John. I'm flattered, but I need you to know that we need to keep our relationship strictly professional and impersonal. I can have my therapist register canceled with this type of relationship with a patient because it is unethical, and I don't want to end up harming myself. ” Those words made you realize how brave you were. You had fought an internal battle to say that. "But I will put the flowers in a vase after the consultation." His expression became austere and you froze with it. Homelander nodded and lay down on the couch while you put the flowers back on your table. Fortunately, at that meeting, he hadn't mentioned you or anything you might suspect was about you. The subjects of that consultation were merely concerned with the Seven, about their suspicions about Starlight, and how angry he was with the team. You were with your head on the clouds. You couldn't stop thinking about what you would do now that your worst nightmare had become real. You were so disturbed, you didn't even see that appointment go by. It seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, unlike the others that seemed to be an eternity. And then you were finally able to rest. Being Homelander's therapist also brought other burdens: No therapist could maintain consultations with you, because it was too heavy for anyone to hear you talk about Homelander. Until then, you hadn't been able to find anyone who could help you support the weight you carried on your shoulders. You even thought of writing everything you felt in a diary as a way to try to get out and put out what you felt. However, the fear that Homelander might read outweighed everything. That was another point: You felt, at times, that you were being followed and observed. The curtains in your house always remained closed, although you knew that if Homelander was really stalking you, curtains would not help. That was enough for you to start developing a little paranoia. But that Saturday had been unlike anything. As usual, you woke up with the feeling of being watched. However, it looked different that time. It was almost as if you were feeling that Homelander was also on the sumptuous penthouse where you lived. Knowing that hiding in any room in the house could be worse, you simply chose to go out with a friend. Your circle of friends didn't recognize you anymore, and they even seemed to be concerned about you. While you and your friend were walking through Central Park, while she was telling some random gossip from someone in your social circle, you couldn't stop looking around. Homelander was there, somewhere, watching you. You were quite sure of that! Night soon came, and that feeling of being watched did not go away. You had the impression that Homelander, when he came to watch you, never stayed that long. His maximum was three hours. But on that Saturday, he seemed to be on your heels all day. You chose to wear your worst pajamas that night, the one that best hid your body, since you never had the feeling of being watched at that time. You were certain that you would not be able to sleep, and you could already feel that your emotions were extremely drained. Trying to act as naturally as you could, you lay down in your King Size bed. You covered yourself with the blankets and turned off the lights. You were lying in a sideways so that you could see the door that went into your corridor. It was like you were waiting to hear Homelander's footsteps there. But then you saw, through the reflection of the mirror, the door to your closet - the only door you were facing away from. You saw the reason for all your dread. The mirror reflected the image of a Homelander with slightly red eyes, watching you through the crack in the door. His uniform pants were slumped under his feet, and despite the low light, you could see what he was doing - explained mainly by the movement of one of his arms. His eyes were on you as he touched himself, and that seemed to be the main reason he didn't notice that you saw him. Your heart sped up, and you had to contain a weeping of fear and the nausea you felt when you noticed that grotesque scene. Tears flooded your face so that your vision was completely blurred, and panic made your entire body stop functioning. Homelander was completely obsessed with you, and that would bring you to complete ruin. You didn't sleep the rest of the night - even when you noticed that Homelander was no longer in the apartment. Still, on Sunday morning, you only managed to get out of bed at seven. You had been crying all night, completely stunned by the surreal situation that had happened. Apathetic, there were no more tears, no energy to cry or be afraid. You were just an empty shell, an inanimate object - the Homelander's favorite one. So you walked slowly to the closet to change clothes. And there was proof that what had happened last night was real. It was everywhere. The pearly liquid present on the door, on the floor, and at some points on the wall proved that he had not touched himself just once that night. You staggered backward, feeling that sudden wave of nausea again. That scene was enough for you to stride to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet while your body tried to expel something through your mouth, without success. Suddenly, you felt your heart racing. Panic enveloped you, and you leaned against the bathroom wall, your breathing as fast as your heart. Sweeping heat shot through your body, and you started to feel sweaty. The air seemed to start to drain from your lungs and you thought you were about to die. And if your time to die had indeed come, fine. Homelander would no longer torment you anymore.

#The boys x Reader #the boys x you #the boys x y/n #the boys imagine #the boys imagines #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #homelander x reader #homelander imagine #homelander imagines

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iliveiloveiwrite · 5 years ago

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Champion

Request: omg i saw that u opened requests again and i’m in love w ur writing 🥺 so can i request a fluffy cedric diggory imagine where he wins the triwizard tournament and finally ends up confessing that he loves you bc he thought he was gonna die? tysm!! (i can’t handle his death so this is my way of coping).

A/N: Same nonnie, same. My first Cedric request!! I loved writing it and I can only hope I got his characterisation right! There’s a ton of fluff but a little bit of angst as well because I had to, sorry! I hope you enjoy and I hope I’ve done your request justice! Enjoy reading, love to you all!

Warnings: some swearing, some angst, some fluff!

Word count: 2.5k

“Cedric, are you sure you want to enter? You know what this competition holds.”

“I have to try, (Y/N). Others from Hogwarts are entering; it probably won’t even be my name they pull from the Goblet.”

You nod, his words reassuring you slightly. However, the worry and panic still eat away at your gut as he places the piece of parchment with his name written in his best handwriting into the Goblet.

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Cedric keeps an arm around your shoulder at the choosing ceremony. Your legs bounces to the rhythm of your heart; nerves beginning to get the better of you.

“Calm down, you’re jostling the table.” Cedric whispers into your ear.

You calm the bouncing of your leg, replying, “I can’t help it if I’m nervous.”

“It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”

You flash him a small smile, pretending that his words have reassured you but as you watch the flame of the Goblet of Fire flicker, dread pools low in your gut.

The little pieces of parchment are spat out of the Goblet one by one. Each name announced by Dumbledore as the newly appointed champions make their way to a side room to await further instruction.

Victor Krum; champion for Durmstrang.

Fleur Delacour; champion for Beauxbatons.

Dumbledore’s hand snatches the final piece of parchment spat out from the Goblet of Fire.

His voice rings loud and clear through the Great Hall, “The Hogwarts’ champion: Mr. Cedric Diggory.”

Cheers ring out from the Hogwarts’ student body, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. You force a smile across your face as Cedric hand squeezes your shoulder before he heads to the front of the hall to take his piece of parchment from Dumbledore. You watch him walk through a side door

It’s as if the rug has been pulled out from under you; leaving you gasping for breath and grabbing for help.

You lose focus; you don’t hear the Goblet of Fire give one more name, and you don’t hear Harry Potter’s name read out to the questioning mutters of the crowd.

You simply watch the door upon which Cedric had walked through as if your gaze was powerful enough to bring him back.

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You wait for him in the common room.

He’s greeted with cheers and shouts of congratulations, but he only has eyes for you. You’re already watching him as his eyes find yours.

Cedric takes a seat next you; he doesn’t speak immediately, already knowing that you’re finding what you want to say to him.

“I’m scared for you.” You whisper, eyes focused on the fire.

He pulls you into his side, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “I know you are.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I’m going to win.”

You drop your head into your hands, “Cedric, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you…”

“Nothing will.”

“You sound so sure of it.”

“I can’t promise everything will be okay because this is a dangerous competition, but what I do know is that with you by my side helping me, not a lot can go wrong.”

You slump back into the couch, “Cedric Diggory, I did not expect our friendship to make me prematurely grey.”

He laughs, “So you’ll help me then? With preparing for the trials?”

“I’ll always help you.”

His arm is back around your shoulder; you lean into his side. A friendship that had been so precious to you for two years now but had always teetered on the edge of something more. As you both lose yourself in your thoughts, you both wonder what the outcome of this tournament could be.

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“Cedric Diggory! Are you making it your life’s mission to give me high blood pressure? If so, you’re doing a fine job of it.”

Cedric looks at you wide-eyed. You’re stood at the bottom of his hospital bed with your hands on your hips, ready to duel the entire Ministry of Magic if it meant it would get him out of this shitshow of a tournament.

“(Y/N), it’s okay,” He reassures, “I’m okay. Look – everything’s working just fine.” He stands from the bed to pull you into a hug. You hide your face in his chest, listening to the solid thump of his heart.

“Cedric, half of your face is burnt. From a dragon, might I add.”

“But Madame Pomfrey has already healed it because she’s a miracle worker.”

“You scared me half to death. They wouldn’t let me in until everyone had caught their egg.”

His arms tighten around you, “It’s okay. I can do this.”

“I know you can, I have every faith in you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be scared for you. If anything was to happen to you, I don’t know what I’d do.” Repeating your words from the common room conversation a month ago has this all settling into place for you; if anything were to happen to him you would never be able to tell him how you feel.

“Nothing is going to happen to me… well, nothing major at least.”

You sigh through your nose, “Cedric, you really are doing an awful job at reassuring me.”

He laughs, “How should I do it instead?”

You bite your lip, “Just keep hugging me. I know you’re still in one piece that way.”

Cedric’s hand rubs calming circles into your back, “I can do that.”

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You don’t remember anything before breaking the surface. You don’t remember anything until Cedric is helping you swim towards the stands where warm towels and blankets are waiting for you both.

Your teeth chatter as you ask, “What happened?”

Cedric is wrapping blanket after blanket around your shoulders, ignoring the fact that his lips are turning blue. “(Y/N), are you okay? Are you warming up? I should have known they’d use you when I couldn’t find you this morning. What do you remember before leaving the lake?”

You grab his hand, “Cedric, calm down. Take a blanket, you’re panicking me. I’m warming up just fine. The last thing I remember was being asked to go see Professor Sprout in the Headmaster’s office to discuss becoming a prefect.”

He slumps down next to you on stand; finally accepting a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders.

Teeth still chattering, your eyes narrow at the teachers watching the scene, “I better get Prefect for this, Professor Sprout.” You call.

The only indication she gives that she’s heard you is a loud chuckle. Your eyes narrow even further, but they’re directed at Cedric, “Why was I down there?”

“It was part of the mermaid’s riddle. They took something I cared about so I would bring it back.”

You shiver, “Oh?”

Cedric nods, not ready to have this conversation yet so instead focuses on your shivering, “Are you okay? Are you sure you’re warm enough?” He shuffles closer to you; sharing his blanket with you.

“I’m fine, Ced. I just don’t think I’ll be going swimming for a while.”

Despite it all, Cedric laughs. You follow; gasping for air in no time because what else is there to do when you’ve been involved in a competition that holds possible to risk to life?

You are both still laughing as Dumbledore’s voice announces the winner. “For his unique use of the Bubble Head Charm, we award First Place to Cedric Diggory!”

Fellow Hufflepuff’s begin to chant Cedric’s name; all trying to pat his shoulder. You sober up; eyes wide as you turn to look at Cedric.

You throw your arms around him, “Cedric! First place! You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.”

His arms wrap around you, whispering in your ear, “Thank you, (Y/N). I think you might be my good luck charm.”

“Oh hush. It’s all you and you know that.”

Cedric opens his mouth to say something but quickly closes it. He knew what he wanted to say but wanted a better setting. He wanted to confess; wanted to tell you how he felt about you, but he decides against it at the last moment.

I’ll tell her if I win, he thinks.

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Cedric’s eyes seek yours before he enters the maze; knowing that your face would calm his heartrate in no time and help him think logically before completing the final task.

He finds your face in no time and already feels his heart calm down. You’re sat at the end of the row; ready to run to him should anything go wrong. His love for you surges through his body and he suddenly wishes he had told you he was in love with you before all of this.

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Time drags as each champion makes their way into the maze. Worry had settled in your gut like a lead balloon as Cedric was the first to enter. He caught your eyes before he entered, flashing you a small smile that had your heart racing. As you waited for him to return, you found yourself regretting the fact that you had never told him how you felt before the tournament even started.

You’ve bitten your nails down to the bed in worry. Your gaze does not leave the very entrance to the maze that Cedric had walked through just over an hour ago.

Nothing happens; then everything happens at once.

Two bodies land in the arena. Neither moving.

Dumbledore begins to shout for Madame Pomphrey as he races to the bodies. You finally recognise the Hufflepuff yellow of his jersey.

Your heart falls to the floor. You don’t recognise your own voice as you scream his name over and over again. Trying to get through the crowd forming; elbowing your way to him.

You are caught by Professor Sprout who holds you to her; whispering that he’s alive but he needs to be healed.

He’s alive.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

You sag in her arms; the fight leaving you in a single second. You let Professor Sprout lead you away from the arena. The words continue to circle in your mind; he’s alive, he’s breathing, he’s still here.

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It feels like days before you can enter the hospital wing, but it’s only hours. You refuse to leave the area; sitting outside the hospital wing, back straight against the wall, keeping your eyes on the door.

Cedric’s mother and father both leave the hospital wing and catch sight of you slumped against the wall.

You open your mouth to say something, but Cedric’s father beats you too it.

“He’s awake, and he’s asking for you.” His father says.

You sit up straighter, “Would you mind if I go see him?”

He nods, “That’s fine. Would you keep him company as we go find something to eat?”

You stand up, brushing yourself down in an effort to look presentable, “Of course. Thank you for letting me see him.”

Cedric’s mother smiles at you, “It’s no problem, dear. We’ll be back soon.”

They walk away, hand in hand, needing the physical support of their partner right now. You watch them for a single instant, then you push your way into the hospital wing.

You stare at Harry Potter for a moment; arm bandaged, asleep. You had heard his screams before they gave him a sleeping potion. Mrs. Weasley smiles at you as you pass their bed, pointing to the bed where Cedric lays. You reply with what you hope is a grateful smile before turning to Cedric’s bed.

His grey eyes take you in as you approach the bed; the crumpled clothes, the puffy cheeks and red eyes. He knows instantly that you’ve stayed outside the hospital wing for him and that you’ve cried for him.

Him whispering your name is all it takes for you to begin crying again.

“Sweetheart, no. I’m okay, I need you to look at me.” His first thought is to reassure you; to stop you crying. The pet name falling from his lips without a second thought.

You do; you take in the bandages covering his body as well as what looks to be fresh scar on his left arm. There are shadows under his eyes that no amount of sleep could cure, but he’s smiling at you. Despite it all, he’s smiling at you.

You sob. “Cedric, I was petrified.”

He reaches for your hand; you’re by his side immediately, wrapping it in your own. “I’m here, (Y/N). Did Professor Sprout explain what happened?”

You nod; your tears beginning to dry, “There was nothing, and then there you both were.” You close your eyes, reliving the moment of seeing him lying in the arena, lifeless, “And you weren’t moving. It was like I was in a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up.”

He frowns; despising himself for the pain he had put you through. “In the graveyard… when I was facing him with Harry, would you like to know what my only thought was?”

“What?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Cedric nods, “If I was going to die, I wanted my last thought to be of you.”

The tears start anew, “Cedric…”

“I can’t keep it hidden anymore, not after that. I love you. I’ve loved you since Second Year and you dropped ink all over my notes and in guilt, you made sure your notes were copied neatly so I could have a copy. I would have said something sooner, but I was worried that it would ruin our friendship. I’m not worried anymore.”

You sniffle, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt. The last thing you cared about right now was your appearance, “Cedric, I love you too.”

“You do?”

You nod, “I do. I have since that very same day. When you entered the maze, I had this overwhelming sense of regret that I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’m happy that it’s out there now.”

He smiles at you, “When I’m out of here, I’m taking you on a date.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we’re going to do this properly. I want to do this properly.”

You nod, “Okay. A date sounds good, but only after you’re entirely healed.”

He nods, agreeing with you, settling his head further into the pillow, closing his eyes. You go to pull your hand away, but his eyes fly open, hand gripping yours tighter.

“Where are you going?”

“I was going to let you get some peace and sleep.”

“Stay with me?”

“Your parents will be back soon.”

“I know, but I want you to stay with me. I don’t want to let you out of my sight just yet.”

You relax at his words, “Of course. I’ll duel anyone if they try to make me leave.” Then the realisation hits, delayed after the drama of the night, “Cedric, you won. You won the tournament. You’re the Triwizard Champion!”

He nods, grinning, “And you’re in love with him.”

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The formal ceremony takes place once Cedric is released from hospital. He’s handed the cup in front of the whole school and Hufflepuff cheer the loudest upon the announcement of Triwizard Champion.

He accepts the win graciously; offering to share the money with Harry, but Harry declines. Cedric won it fair and square; Harry was just happy that Cedric had his back in the graveyard.

As grateful as he is to be named Triwizard Champion, he’s won something better.

You.

*****

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti

#cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric diggory fanfic #cedric diggory fluff #cedric fluff #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #My writing #fluff #the lightning era #cedric diggory angst #cedric angst #angst #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hp fanfiction #hp series #HP

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gyllousos · 4 years ago

Text

Warnings: Depression, masochists, language.

Dedicated to @the-grimm-writer

_________________________________________

Hannya despised hospitals. She hated the smell of disinfectant, the plain white walls decorated with awareness for the human body, as well as the chairs in the waiting room. Not that the one she was sitting in was uncomfortable, yet her ass felt like a pin cushion since she'd been in the thing for well over an hour and counting. Just ten minutes ago she had gone to the vending machine for a soda, downing the Sprite in one gulp.

She was still staring into the empty soda can as though it would refill with more of the carbonated beverage. Her thumb pressed into the side, crinkling the corner. Above her a TV played an old show, something about two children using their imagination to escape into a new world.

One where they forgot about all the bad stuff, even for a moment, a paradise for two. A haven. Thinking about that made a lump swell in Hannya's throat. She set her can onto a nearby table, curling her hands into her lap. A nail dug into the fabric of her leggings, she winced at the bruise there. It was still throbbing a week later, still sore. Her back arched from the cut diagonal cut, also a week old, but it didn't pulse like the thigh bruise did.

Her old cuts and bruises hurt most days, even though half of them were healed for weeks, despite their ugliness in the beginnings. She used to never recognize herself in the mirror after they fucked. Not screwed, but fucked until she lay beneath him unable to move, a quivering mess of orgasm.

God. She was truly sick.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. Hannya refused to cry in this place. One of the nurses had been looking at her so often, a pitying look in her eyes. Hannya avoided eye contact.

She knew that nurse too well, she'd nearly made a home here. But that was long ago. And the nurse, a petite brunette with gentle doe eyes was always so kind to her.

Vague flashes of Hannya in a room where she was monitored, wearing a gown, and counting the hours on the clock to her meds. No, she wasn't going down memory lane again.

What if she broke again? But not because of him.

Dabi.

ㅤHe twisted the fabric of her shirt, bunching tightly. There were tearing sounds. Fraying sounds. Dragging her to within inches of his leering, predatory smile.

ㅤHer shirt came away in a ribbon, leaving her in unkempt, scant rags. He sneered, pinching a nipple as her pert little breasts jiggled free. Dabi tweaked the nipple, and swatted her breast with an open-palmed slap.

Hannya let out a cry between a gasp and a moan.

Dabi clenched his fist around her throat, thrust his arm so she was pinned to the wall behind her. One hand constricted the air from her lungs, while the other twisted cruelly on the same nipple from before.

"Scared yet?"

"No."

ㅤㅤ"No need to lie."

ㅤHis other hand slipped low, her breast freed from his cruel touch only for his hot breath to caress it. Dabi sank teeth into her its supple flesh, snakelike tongue uncoiled to writhe slick against the nipple. His loose fingers delved between her thighs, groping a handful of her warm, tender sex.

ㅤHe didn’t need her to black out from the choking, but it was designed so that every throb of pleasure he squeezed into her body lightened her head. A cruel, sadistic practice to strangle every last drop of ecstasy, to send her spirit into heaven but her body to hell.

Dabi's fingers were long and defined, two sunken deep into the supple heat of her cunt. His pace, merciless. The villain ground the heel of his wrist firmly against her clit, assaulting every inch. He worked in and out of her with aggressive vigor, stirring up loud, sloppy noises from her.

She felt him adjust, she bit her lip from the harsh penetration when he slammed himself into her, those haunting blue eyes never leaving her face.

"You're mine, Hannya."

"I'm yours."

"If another man looks at you the way I look at you, or even thinks about fucking you, I'll split his goddamn skull."

Hannya snapped back to reality at the alert of her name being called. She remembered now that she had been called into the exam room for tests. The gown felt paper thin on her, exposing her to the nurse who held her clipboard in hand.

She hadn't commented on the palm bruise on her thigh or the cut on her back. Hannya was almost relieved her skin was back to semi-normal. It had been a long time since she last been here. How long ago?

Three years since her last attempt.

"You're doing well Hannya, much better since your last visit with us. You've been keeping up with all of your appointments, last time you were hear you had bad anemia and an infection. You bounced back like a champ. "

Hannya smiled faintly. The plump old woman reminded her of a doting grandma.

"Your appetite back to normal?"

"Yes ma'm. Everything is good."

She tried best to hide the clip in her speech.

"Now that we're following up, I'd like to wait for the rest of your test results to come in."

Hannya hid her impatience, wishing time would go forward, she could grab her things and leave. Back to her home where she could close off the world. Block everyone out. Would Dabi be waiting for her? For once, she didn't want to see him. As much as their sadistic games were fun time both of them, she just didn't have the desire. No other man could get her off the way Dabi did.

Lately, she dreaded seeing him propped in her couch, or getting a text from him. She could damn near feel him without him being near. A moment later, when the same woman poked her head in, Hannya actually beamed.

The door closed behind her.

That's when Hannya left the hospital in a daze, barely clutching her phone and purse, she didn't even know she drove home until she parked in the driveway. Turning off the engine, she sat in stunned silence, her knuckles tight onto the steering wheel.

God, she just wanted to turn back time to the last month, the last year, erase everything. She was numb enough as is and she hoped Dabi wasn't waiting on her. She just couldn't take it right now.

“No,” she said, barely audible. The nurse's words echoing in her ears once more.

A sob escaped her. She dragged herself out of her vehicle, barely registering her feet moving towards her home, inside of her apartment. She locked the door behind her. And didn't have to look around to see a tall man with spiked dark hair and a smile that gave her goosebumps.

"Dabi..."

"Miss me?"

Her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was being so fast she feared it rip itself through her chest. Hannya's knees shook, and her heart hammered in my chest. She felt like she was already walled in, and she didn’t even know it.

“I wish I’d never met you,” she said, almost whispering.

He stopped, his boots creaking the wooden floor under him. “Believe me, girl, the feeling is fucking mutual.”

No arguments, no shouting, no cursing even though she wanted to spew a blue streak at him. Eventually she fell onto her knees, the metallic clink of a belt and a zipper being pulled down; she parted her lips for Dabi's cock already slick with precum. She swallowed him into the back of her throat.

"Good girl," he praised her, stroking the back of her head.

___________________________________________

Hannya hadn't seen Dabi since that day, what felt like over a month had turned into sixteen months. As much as she didn't care, she ached for him, and not in the sexual sense. She truly yearned for his company if she could actually believe it. Just what happened to him after that?

No texts, no calls. No sudden appearing without warning. Poof! He never told her he was leaving. Then again he never told her a lot of anything. Hannya often dreamt of him, as the little boy named Touya. The same boy who came crying to her in the catacombs and she to him. Two kids yearning for a place in the world.

She hadn't given up hope she'd see him again, if ever. Hannya swiped her fingers across her phone screen, tucking her device back into her pocket, her blue eyes swiveled up the moon, an ache swelling in her chest.

"I'm losing it..." She mumbled, proceeding to walk. She was patting her pockets for her car keys when a hand snaked its way around her forearm, dragging her into a brick corner, pinning her against a wall.

She couldn't scream because of the stranger's hand covering her mouth. Her eyes doubled in size, his sinister smirk making her skin flush.

Touya!

"Dabi." It came out as a muffle.

"Like you've seen a ghost," he sneered, letting her go.

"For a minute I thought I did..." She whispered.

His eyes raked over her outfit, eyes narrowing in on her chest. He sure knew how to make her vulnerable, naked without undressing her. So he hadn't left after all. Was he hiding from her?

He was never far to begin with. Something told her this wasn't a social visit, she needed to get home before she did something like kiss him. He'd take her right here in public. Wouldn't be the first time.

"I was looking for you, " she said.

"Is that a fact?" His voice was utterly emotionless. Not the least bit of warmth.

"I suppose I was looking for you, too. You made a big mistake Hannya."

The way he said it made Hannya scoot an inch from him.

"What are you talking about?" Hannya remained composed, furrowing her dark brows. Dabi only advanced.

"Telling lies, keeping secrets. It was all gonna come out eventually, you just should have been more careful."

"Dabi..." He chuckled, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket.

"I...I meant to find you...I was looking for my family."

Dabi almost laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You were looking for a family, huh? One could argue it's my family you’re looking for right? How are my baby boy and girl by the way? Got my eyes don't they?"

All the color drained from Hannya's face.

A glimpse into memory had her back in the exam room months ago.

"We ran more tests Hannya. Your bloodwork shows you’re also pregnant, a little over eight weeks along. Congratulations.”

Why couldn't the Earth just swallow her whole now? There's no way he could have known. No she wouldn't have told him right away, if at all. He wouldn't have been a great father. When she was told she was pregnant Hannya wanted to cry, scream, break something or even someone. The last thing she had ever wanted inflicted on her had happened, she was in such hysterics she nearly fainted.

Why couldn't it have been anyone but him? The raw cry she let out. She imagined life with two tiny humans, ones she could give unconditional love to. Innocent souls. Her twins. She knew she was going to keep them, her darling babies. How she tried to keep them from Dabi and now...

"You knew...how long..."

"Does it matter? You honestly didn't think you could hide them from me forever Hannya. You should know better than that." His voice was almost a taunt.

"Try keeping them away from me, if you so much as leave with them I'll burn everything down in my path, everyone, to get what I want."

It was like a slap in the face. He wouldn't? Right? No, he had no rights towards their children. Her children. As far as Hannya knew Dabi was just the sperm donor.

Hannya scowled.

Dabi smirked.

He was right, the twins got his eyes alright.

Still advancing, Dabi pinned Hannya to the rough brick wall, his nose level with hers. He didn't want to admit he missed his little devil. He had to resist the urge to to tear off her clothing and fuck her until she was begging him to stop. God, her scent. She couldn't have been more beautiful, plump lips, inviting breasts, fair skin he wanted to mark again.

"I'll be watching you and our children, doll. Who would have thought..."

He gripped her oncoming wrist from slapping him. Should he break it? No. Some other time. He released her, backing up to give her space, almost yearning for the closeness again. No more talk, he left quietly as he came. He heard the faint falling of Hannya on her knees, cursing him to hell and back.

#yandere dabi x oc #yandere bnha x oc #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #my hero academia fan fiction #yandere bnha #dabi x oc #bnha dabi #mha yandere #yandere dabi #my hero acadamia #by gyllousos all rights reserved 2021 #copyright all rights reserved #dabi smut #mha dabi #mha fanfiction #mha oc #mha smut #yandere

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p-artsypants · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this.

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation.

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror.

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot.

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!”

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see.

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.”

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!”

Gasps, all around.

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!”

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.”

Nino snorted.

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!”

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.”

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies.

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?”

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least.

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.”

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.”

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to—what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...”

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged.

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body.

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way.

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur.

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?”

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.”

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out.

Only to find out he was already let go.

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife.

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought.

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague.

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm?

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests.

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was.

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!”

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?”

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.”

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...”

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class.

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught.

Poetry in motion.

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.”

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!”

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.”

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!”

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it.

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead.

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar.

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused.

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.”

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?”

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.”

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.”

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?”

“Oh heck yes!”

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet.

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock.

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious.

Finally, she reached her apartment.

“Home mom!” She called.

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air.

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked.

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.”

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!”

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!”

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?”

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning.

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?”

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!”

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.”

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!”

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...”

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again.

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg.

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.”

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.”

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.”

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?”

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.”

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door.

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang.

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had.

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague.

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.”

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose.

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.”

“Who’s side are you taking?”

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.”

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now.

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.”

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson.

Then Plagg raised his hand.

“Yes Adrien?”

“Before we start class, I want to say something.”

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.”

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?”

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists.

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.”

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms.

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!”

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up.

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort.

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back.

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.”

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now.

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now).

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…”

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien and plagg #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #identity reveal #chat noir #ladybug #fanfiction #I'll Handle This

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rhysismydaddy · 5 years ago

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We’re Fighting (Nessian fluff)

Ik I said I was coming out with Malorian, but when do I ever do anything I say? Anyway, here’s some wrote-in-five-minutes, total fluff/humor for Nessian.

I’ve been releasing a lot of little blurbs recently, so a multi-chapter fic is coming next!

______________________________________________________________

Nesta was on her side, glaring at the wall, when she felt a very heavy, very familiar weight settle into the mattress behind her. The frigidity of her glare increased.

“Why are you in my bed?”

She heard that soft, sensuous chuckle she’d always loved a little too much. “Nesta baby, you’re a fucking nutcase. We live together.”

Rolling her eyes, she bit back, “We’re fighting. Sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, little lady,” he laughed, somehow sensing what she’d done. “And we aren’t fighting. You are pissed off, and won’t tell me what I did. I’m innocent.”

That got her attention.

“Innocent?” she yelled, whirling around and smacking his shoulder. “Innocent!”

Cassian smiled up at her, always happy to ruffle her feathers, and gripped his shoulder in mock pain. “Naughty, naughty.”

She ignored her body’s response to that and hit him again. He grinned.

“Innocent as freaking Mary.”

“Sleep on the couch.”

Her boyfriend of over four years scoffed at that idea. “Absolutely not. You bought that thing, which means it’s meant for fucking midgets. I can hardly fit a single butt cheek on it.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but she snuffed it out. “That sounds like a you problem, Cassian.”

“Actually, it sounds like a you problem, because I’m not leaving.” He reinforced his decision by closing his eyes and letting out a loud, obnoxious snore.

Despite herself, she laughed a bit. “If you think that’s going to annoy me, you should really hear yourself when you’re actually asleep. It’s even worse. You sound like a dying moose.”

His golden eyes opened again, bright with humor. “I don’t snore.”

“Yes, you do. Every single night. But it won’t bother me tonight, because you’re going to the couch!”

“I don’t think I am.”

She cursed him soundly, flopping back down to her pillow. He smiled, closing his eyes again, sure he’d won the argument. An idea formed, and she didn’t even caution herself before leaning over and squeezing his nostrils together tightly.

His eyes flew open, and he flicked her wrist until she let go. “What are you doing?”

“If you stay in the bed, you’re not going to get an ounce of sleep,” she told him, dead serious. She’d stay up all night if she had to.

He rolled his eyes, but instead of retorting, just looked at her, eyes drilling holes into her soul. “Why are you mad? Why is what I said at dinner such a big deal?”

Her anger and annoyance threatened to retreat at how soft his voice was. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Big enough for you to try and boot me out of the bed,” he commented.

Nesta rolled her eyes in deflection, turning on her back and looking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal.

At least it shouldn’t have been.

He hadn’t done anything different or unusual. Someone in their friend group had joked about how long they’d been together, and he’d given the company line they’d both said numerous times: “Least we’re not married.”

It was kind of a joke between them.

When they’d first met six years ago, they’d both decided against getting married. Cassian thought it was pointless, and Nesta had seen firsthand what a bad marriage could do to someone’s spirit.

Her sisters had even resigned themselves to never being bridesmaids. Everyone had accepted it.

But for some reason, when he’d said it earlier that night, something in her chest had crumpled. Especially since it was true.

They’d been together for so long, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. But she still called him her boyfriend. Not her husband, not her partner.

Boyfriend.

Which, given what she’d learned earlier this week, made it sound like they were in fucking high school.

“I’m waiting,” he reminded her, poking her in the arm.

“Just go to sleep, Cas.”

He did no such thing. Propping himself up on an elbow, her boyfriend looked down at her with questioning eyes. He was always so understanding with her, even when she acted insane. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing; you were right. I’m so happy, I’m shooting daisies out of my ass. Goodnight.”

Cassian laughed a little, but didn’t give up the chase.

“Have you changed your mind about getting married?” he asked, way too good at reading her face and emotions. “You’re upset that we’re not married?”

His gaze on her was too much, so she pressed her eyes shut and blocked it out. Despite not being able to see him, she knew he was still right there, waiting. And that he’d continue to wait until she gave in. So she sighed and let the words she’d been holding in loose.

“I’m eight weeks pregnant,” she whispered, ears going into overdrive to pick up his response.

They were met with nothing but silence.

For once in his lifetime, Cassian was silent.

She wanted to see him, wanted to know his every expression, but was too scared what it might be.

Curiosity won out in the end, and she peeked her eyes open, only to be stunned by what she saw.

Instead of nervousness or anger or dread, he was smiling from ear to ear, a look she’d never seen in his eyes. “You’re pregnant?”

Nesta nodded, confused.

They’d talked about having kids, but they always agreed to wait a few years before even seriously discussing it. But he looked... he looked thrilled.

Before she could ask, his head came towards hers, and he kissed her softly, then quickly ducked down to rest his head against her chest. She could feel his smile against her skin as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to him.

Then his hands snuck down to her still-flat belly, and he murmured, “I’m going to be a dad.”

She nodded.

“We’re getting married.”

That was a change in topic.

“What?”

He glanced up at her, eyes still full of so much joy it took her breath away. “You clearly don’t like the idea of being a mom with a boyfriend, so you can have a husband instead.”

The stupid organ in her chest swelled so quickly she thought she might pass out, but she still muttered, “Great. Now all I have to do is find one.”

“You’re so very funny,” he said back, flicking her nose.

His hands were still on her belly. “So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He looked at her like she was crazy. “First of all, it takes two to make a baby, so I could never be mad at you. Second, I’ve always wanted to be a dad. And to see you barefoot and pregnant, yelling at me over something stupid.”

She didn’t have time to respond to how true that was likely going to become before he scooted down the bed and began to press kisses all over her stomach and abdomen.

“You’re giving me the greatest gift possible, Nesta,” he murmured in between kisses, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so fucking excited.”

“Me, too,” she whispered back, finally admitting it to herself.

Because she was excited. He’d make a great dad, and she couldn’t wait to see the child they’d created.

His cheek against her stomach, Cassian asked, “City hall tomorrow, or a big, fancy wedding with you in a tulle gown and me with my hair slicked back?”

Nesta flicked the top of his head, even though she couldn’t stop smiling. “City hall tomorrow. It has to be in the afternoon, because I have a doctors appointment in the morning.”

“A baby-related doctors appointment?” he asked, coming back up to hover above her with a small smile on his lips. When she nodded, he said immediately, “I’m coming.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I’m coming to all of them.”

Something about that statement, and the fact that he was willing to marry her whenever and wherever she wanted, made another tear escape. He brushed it away with his thumb, looking a little concerned.

“I love you, Cassian.”

The concern vanished, replaced by nothing short of admiration and love and happiness. “I love you, too. I’ve wanted to marry your stubborn ass since the day I met you. I’ve just been waiting for you to realize you wanted it, too.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, a huge smile on her face. He knew her better than she knew herself sometimes.

He kissed her softly, both of them grinning like idiots. “Can I sleep in the bed, then?”

She nodded and laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and vowing to never let go.

______________________________________________________________

This made me so happy to write. I’m such a sucker for cheesy fluff. Thanks for reading. Drop prompts/asks in the box :)

@maastrash @sjm-things @bamchickawowow @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acowar fanfiction #acofas #acofas fanfiction #a court of frost and starlight

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darker-soft-starker · 5 years ago

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Starker High School AU, Pt. 4 (Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.5)

---

The last bell of the day sounds and Peter doesn’t know if he’s thankful or reproachful.

On one hand, no more classes.

On the other: giving up an afternoon of Robotics to spend time with the modern embodiment of the antichrist.

To add insult to injury, it had been one of those long, arduous days that never seemed to end. The hours stretched themselves into impossibly bloated milliseconds as he watched the clock - and it still wasn’t over.

Dread filled him in anticipation of the afternoon and before first period he accidentally smacked himself in the forehead trying to get his locker open. It hurt and he was sure it would bruise. But if he was looking for sympathy, there was none to be found. Bucky and Nat weren’t speaking and in result their friends seemed wary and divided amongst themselves.

It made for a rather awkward day.

His efforts to be neutral ground and to bridge the gap were met with vexation and were brushed off, so he ate lunch alone again in the library Bucky and Nat were fiery and fiercely independent, so not unexpected, but it was in his nature to want to mend the rift.

Ben used to tell him not everything was up to Peter to fix.

Easy for him to say.

Nonetheless he does his best to keep that notion in mind as he goes through the day, but everything seems off kilter. No one is talking to each other, he was so busy and caught up with all of the internal discord and schoolwork that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

And May was acting super weird this morning.

Worry gnawed at him in a way that had him forgetting about eating, whether it was about May and Thursday’s match, about the giant pimple that bloomed on his chin overnight -- or whatever inevitable torment that Stark had cooked up for them this afternoon.

It’s still a few minutes before they’re due to meet but Peter isn’t dragging his feet.

He isn’t.

Sure, the hallways are vacant of any other students.

And maybe he is feeling just a little petty for the time Tony kept him waiting despite his own plea not to -- besides, he still has a couple of minutes before he’s due, he’s not going to turn up early for goodness sake, as much as the part of him that says if you’re not early you’re late begs him to quicken his footsteps.

Maybe he does stretch it to the last minute just to see Tony looking frustrated by his vintage ‘69 Mustang, the line of his mouth unmistakably displeased as the cars in the lot around him gradually disperse.

He knows the moment that Tony notices him, leant against his car, sunglasses slipping down his nose to properly glower at him.

“This is why you’re an asshole,” Tony points a finger at him as he arrives. “I should leave you here.”

“Sorry,” Peter apologises airily, “I was trying to be anywhere but here. I’m not late though, so?”

Tony rounds the car to the drivers side, still pointing at Peter. “Don’t push your luck, Parker. Get in.”

Snickering quietly to himself, Peter heads to the other side.

The engine growls loudly, a deep rumbling that goes through Peter’s entire body. Buckling himself in quickly, he peers around curiously while Tony reverses out of the lot. He’s reluctantly surprised. For an old car that belongs to a teenager behind at least two school fires it’s in impeccable condition.

“Nice car,” he says quietly, mostly to himself as his gaze roams the interior with interest.

It’s difficult to associate Tony Stark with the words nice or neat even, but that’s exactly what the car is. The interior is unscuffed, squeaky clean, the leather seats are comfortable, not a sprinkle of cigarette ash to be seen.

It really is spectacular - when the engine roars and the seats vibrate under him, Peter gets a sense of wonder and curiosity, like that one time he fell in love with DeLoreans after watching Back To The Future with Ben.

Curious, he opens the glove compartment and finds a generous stash of snacks and chocolate bars inside.

“Don’t touch anything,” Tony scowls, smacking Peter’s hands from the dash. “That’s rule number one. The interior is original and my girl is sensitive to your residue.”

Residue, he scoffs, tempted to reach out and touch more just to be contrarian.

“You got a sweet tooth or somethin’?” Peter asks instead, gesturing to the glove compartment.

“No.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna say anything else to me on this trip?”

“No,” Tony smiles sardonically, turning up the radio louder until the riffs of Queen’s Somebody To Love drown them both out.

True to his word, Tony remains silent over the course of the drive. It suits Peter fine, it’s not a quiet that is uncomfortable or awkward, not with the radio playing loudly from an oldies station, the wind whistling through the windows and the echoes of traffic around them.

He thought it might be a stiff and uncomfortable drive, however the longer nothing goes unsaid between them, the more Peter feels himself relax in his chair, warmed by the heater and his limbs loosening until they feel boneless after the day he’s had.

And to his credit, Tony doesn’t appear overly tense or uneasy in having Peter in his space - in fact, he looks as chilled out as Peter has ever seen him.

The perpetual strain around his jaw and shoulders seems eased, his posture open and casual as he drives with one hand, shifting gears with the other, sometimes tapping out a tune on the steering wheel. And whenever a song he particularly likes comes on the radio he turns up the volume, and if Peter looks over at the right moment he sees him smile privately to himself, a pleased little quirk of his lips.

Sometimes Tony speeds and puts his fingers out the window to card them through the wind, and his smile grows.

Although the amicable vibe has little to do with him, it’s probably the first time that they’ve spent more than five minutes together without hurling insults at each other.

It’s weird.

Too wary of shattering the peace, Peter doesn’t mention it.

By the time they’re on the Queensboro Bridge the Eurythmics are playing one of May’s favorite songs. Without realising he’s doing it, he’s bobbing his head along to the tune, whispering the words under his breath, suddenly reminded of dancing in the kitchen with her and Ben, nine years old, using wooden spoons as microphones.

He’s smiling before he can stop himself, head tilted back against the seat, eyes unfocused on the skyline. It smells like Tony’s cologne and engine oil, like being enveloped in an old memory. He can see Tony looking at him from the corner of his eye but neither of them say anything.

The volume is turned up.

---

They arrive at the realtor with just minutes to spare before their appointment is due to commence.

The traffic had built incrementally during the drive to Long Island City, the roads becoming more congested as they went. The tension in Tony’s shoulders returned as the minutes ticked closer to four-thirty, his tapping on the steering wheel out of impatience rather than good-cheer.

Peter actually does feel a little bad now.

Not that the five minutes he could’ve spared would have made much of a difference, but still, guilt whispers vehemently.

It’s for that reason that he politely doesn’t say anything that could be perceived as inflammatory when Tony pockets his sunglasses and buttons up his dress shirt, checking his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Even if he’s dying to tell him that he looks like a damn nerd.

Not that he can talk.

Heeding Tony’s words, he’d dressed similarly in his okay-est pair of jeans, a clean shirt and a cardigan. In class, MJ laughed and told him he looked like Napoleon Dynamite.

They head in, a bell above the door signalling their arrival. It’s a chain realtor, not the one they rent their apartment through, but Peter thinks there is an office right near his building. Inside, a middle-aged woman at the front desk greets them.

“Uh... we have an appointment with Kate Price” Tony gestures between them. “Appointment for Tony Stark?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman apologises in a heavily Welsh accent, “you should have gotten a notification, she’s unwell and taken the day off.”

“Oh, um --”

“That’s okay though, I’m free, I can help you if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” Peter queries, sharing a look with Tony who appears just as uncertain. “We’d really appreciate it.”

“Absolutely. It’s quiet anyhow. Come,” she beckons them down a narrow hallway to a set of cubicles and L-shaped desks. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else in the office, he notes, as the two are directed to sit before a desk while the woman types away at a computer.

“I’m Miranda,” she introduces herself, holding out her hand for both of them to shake. “The appointment notes say you’re after a nearby rental?”

“Sort of, we’re just looking at some pricing. Nothing serious, we just need to take some notes, get a feel for it.”

Miranda’s glasses slide down her nose as she observes them.

“You’re a wee bit young to be moving out of home, aren’t you?”

“Oh! No,” Peter stutters, waving his hands, “we’re not actually --”

Miranda waves at him dismissively.

“Not that I can judge. My husband and I were living together and married by nineteen, ‘course he’s dead now. We had a good run though. Anyway, good for you. Young love, it’s so sweet.”

“Young what,” Peter says.

Miranda, typing away cheerily at her computer, clearly didn’t get the memo about the school project like Kate must have.

Peter turns to Tony, who is just as wide-eyed as he is.

What the fuck, he mouths, slinking down in his chair.

I don’t know, Tony mouths back, stupefied.

“So, what are we thinking - a studio if it’s just the two of you? Something cozy?”

“Uh, well, we’re looking to grow,” Tony says, hand slapped over his mouth. He shares a bewildered, wide-eyed stare with Peter.

“Right, well, nothing wrong with knowing what you want. What’s the budget? Let me see what I can find for you.”

“Ah,” Peter shifts in his seat, trying to communicate wordlessly with Tony as their research angle quickly becomes derailed.

He tries to communicate the need for an urgent exit in a stare that he hopes is prolonged and meaningful, but is only met with equally panicked blinking from the other boy. There’s a moment spent blinking undecipherable messages at each other and before he knows it the silence has stretched on far too long.

“Well, we were thinking sixteen-hundred a month. Right... Tony?”

“Right,” he nods slowly, eyes darting between the two. “Single income, see. Parker - uh, Peter is still in school.”

“Oh, bless,” she says spiritedly, typing away at her keyboard. “It’s not easy, I know, been there. What do you do for work, young man?”

“Me?” Tony asks, gesturing to himself, shooting Peter a desperate look. “I’m... a mechanic...apprentice.”

Peter has to disguise his snort with a cough, the horse so far out of the gate there is no catching up to it.

“Good for you, darling,” she says distractedly as she busies herself with the monitor, missing the heated glare Tony sends him. “Let’s see, might be tight, but we may have something for you. One bed, one bath, a living room that can be converted to a second bedroom.”

“Great,” Peter nods hesitantly. “Where?”

“Across the street, actually,” she swivels the monitor on its stand to show them a set of blurry photos of a small apartment. “And it’s currently vacant - we can do an inspection right now, if you’d like?”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“One moment,” Tony smiles at her, holding up a finger.

There’s a screech as Tony pulls Peter’s chair across the linoleum with a single hand.

“This is getting out of hand,” Peter whisper-hisses, ducking his head.

“I know, I know, I know,” Tony squeezes his eyes shut, making placating motions with his hands that do little to appease Peter’s rising apprehension. “It’s alright, it’s under control. Listen, hear me out, we go to the inspection, have a look at the place --”

“You can’t be serious, dude, we’re sixteen.”

“We’re not going to actually fill out an application, numbnuts, listen; we go, we take some pictures, get some details about the property, add it to our report and bam, who needs a reference? Think about it! Who else is going to have this level of detail in their report?”

“I’m not exactly sure this is what Miss Ahn meant by field research.”

Tony pokes him in the forehead.

“Think outside the box, precious. Rise above the urge to do the bare minimum and we might just get a good grade.”

Peter sneaks a glance at Miranda. “Fine,” he pokes Tony back in the chest. “But you do all the talking, smartass.”

“Fine with me.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Tony turns back to Miranda and offers her a charming smile.

“We’d love to. Lead the way.”

---

They door sticks when Miranda turns the key into the dead-lock.

She struggles with it momentarily, smiling assuredly at the two boys as she twists the doorknob back and forth, pressing her shoulder against the peeling wood, forcing it open with a bang.

“Here we are,” Miranda announces brightly.

The two follow her inside, sharing a reluctant look with each other as she leads them into what must be a living room, the click-clack of her heels echoing off the scuffed floorboards and bare walls.

The first thing that Peter notices is that the room, while void of furniture, seems impossibly small, even by New York standards.

With the three of them spread thinly throughout it, there are but a few inches of space between them. Barely any room for a couple of armchairs, let alone a full sofa or a coffee table.

At a glance, he takes stock of the cracks in the ceiling, the discoloured patches in the plaster and the splintered wood of the front door frame where it appears it has been forced open from the outside. The chain-lock is broken.

Tony is over by the far corner, wiping a finger through a layer of dust on the window sill.

There’s a loud bang from upstairs.

“So, this is the living area,” Miranda says with a flourish of her wrists. “And if you follow me, this down here,” she leads them around the corner, “is the kitchen.”

The kitchen is comprised of a small formica bench, a stained backsplash and several cupboards missing their handles.

While Miranda continues to point out and inform them all of the ‘cosy’ and ‘quaint’ features, Tony slips his phone from his pocket and with a nod of acceptance, lingers back a few steps to take photographs of the apartment.

While he’s doing so, Peter busies himself by inspecting the kitchen, toying with the dials of the oven and the two-burner stove top, testing the swing of the cupboard doors.

Inside one of them is a dirty tea-cup and a dead cockroach.

“-- and as you can see, plenty of room for a dining table, maybe you might like to have friends over --”

He follows them into the bathroom, which is just as compact as the rest of the apartment. He tests the faucet, noting that the tiles are cracked, as is the bathtub.

Most worryingly are the speckled spots of black spores along the higher walls and the ceiling.

“-- it’s a big old tub, plenty of room,” she pats Tony on the stomach, “could fit two in a squeeze if you suck it in, aye? Now, this way please boys, let me show you the pièce de résistance --”

Tony guards his stomach with his hands, pouting as Miranda leads them to the adjacent room.

“This is the main bedroom,” she beams, flicking on the light. “Perfect, isn’t it?”

The two young men stall in the doorway, peering inside.

The space, probably equipped to handle a solitary king-single and a drawer at best, isn’t particularly generous by any means. The flickering bright yellow globe seems to only highlight the blistering wallpaper and the suspiciously stained carpet.

It smells like weed and cat pee.

“So as you can see, plenty of privacy for you two, the living room can be converted into a second bedroom if need be -- or if one of you needs to sleep on the couch,” she winks at them.

“Right,” Tony says slowly, nudging the other with his elbow. “What do you think...honey?”

“I don’t know, dear,” Peter says, elbowing him back. “What do you think?”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“Bless,” Miranda cuts in, leaning on the doorframe while she observes them. “You’re just adorable, you must be high-school sweethearts.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“...Y-Yes,” Tony says after a moment, voice croaky. His hand snakes out to awkwardly pat Peter on the shoulder. “...we are.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About him?” Tony points to Peter.

“About the apartment,” she laughs. “What do you think, do you like it?”

“Oh, um, I have a few questions actually,” Peter mentions, following them back into the kitchen area, ignoring the odd look that Tony sends him. “If that’s okay?”

What are you doing, Tony mouths, back turned to the realtor as he clears his throat.

Peter holds a finger up to request a minute. There’s a struggle to each convey their message silently, however, Tony reluctantly concedes, spreading his hands wide in a theatrical approval to proceed.

He paces the room, shuffling at the bubbling linoleum that he’d narrowly tripped on coming in, bending down to inspect it.

“Do you know how long the apartment’s been vacant?” He directs his question to the realtor.

“Oh, not long,” she replies vaguely, flipping through her file. “Couple of days or weeks, I think. I’d have to check.”

Peter nods, glancing between the three, standing.

“Umm, I noticed that the oven doesn’t heat up. I thought that maybe the gas was turned off but the stove works? Also, um, in the living room there’s a section of floorboard that’s rotting with because there’s a water leak from the ceiling?”

Miranda’s smile freezes. “Oh, is there? That must be new.”

Peter wrings his hands together, glancing at Tony, stomach swooping at his own boldness. “And, uh, I noticed that the windows stick; the water pressure is funny, too?”

“I can get that checked --”

“There’s black mold in some of the rooms. I think because there isn’t temperature control, the windows are west-facing, so it must get pretty humid in the summer.”

Peter looks to the other boy in what he hopes seems heartfelt. “I don’t mind, I only mention it because Tony’s... well, he’s got asthma.”

Tony coughs, catching on.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Miranda’s posture crumples at that, her professional veneer instantly wiped from her face.

“You’re right, this place is a dump,” she admits, kicking at the floor, spreading her arms out wide. “Look at it, it’s vile. I wouldn’t let my wretched old mother-in-law live here, the old bag. I’m sorry, boys.”

“Well, actually,” Peter says, gesturing between himself and Tony, stepping closer to him. “We’d be happy to do all the repairs and look the other way about the safety violations if there’s any wriggle room on the rent?”

Miranda flicks through the papers she’s holding, adjusting her glasses as she reads through it. The adjacent neighbors can be heard yelling through the thin walls.

“We do have a margin to drop it from sixteen-fifty to... fifteen-hundred a month for the right tenants. Not going to lie, the landlord is pretty desperate. Would you like an application?”

Tony clamps his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it. “We’ll think about it. Could we get all of those terms in writing, pretty please?”

Peter grins.

---

“I can’t tell if that was genius or crazy,” Tony says after they’ve departed ways with Miranda, headed back towards the Mustang on the other side of the road. “Seriously can’t say I expected that.”

The pair jog across the road once there is a gap in traffic.

After Ben passed, Peter and May moved twice. As a young child Peter saw another apartment as just that - another place to set down his duffle of second-hand clothes and thrift store toys. But May was smart. Savvy. She calls it the Parker Discount.

Peter shrugs when they reach the car.

“Well, just because our report is meant to focus on budget against costs, doesn’t mean we can’t find ways to save money and maximise it. Not when you consider insurance, bills, food. It all adds up.”

“I’m still trying to pick my jaw up from the floor. Didn’t know you had that in you, Parker.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know anything about me,” Peter says to the ground, kicking at the pavement, “so.”

He tries not to squirm under the weight of Tony’s considering gaze, like a vice tight on the back of his neck. He feels the moment something shifts, as if a pin pricks the wall between them, easier to breathe.

“Look, whatever you think about me, I don’t care, but you probably couldn’t find a better partner for this project. I know more about this than you do.”

“Alright, no need to crow about it, I just said I was impressed. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Peter’s stomach growls loudly over the evening traffic before he can respond.

“Sorry,” he says, cursing the timing of his body, “haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

Tony nods to a diner across the road.

“You wanna?”

“Oh,” he objects, worried about his bone-dry bank balance, “I’m not --”

“C’mon, dickweed, my treat. Don’t leave a guy hanging, it’s not polite.”

Tony waits patiently, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s sure it’s a look that many have fallen for. A crooked, wry smile and a self-confident air that one might confuse between charm and indolence.

He feels out of his depth for once, and isn’t sure if he likes it. But his stomach growls again and he’s got nothing to lose except for his appetite.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Sure.”

---

It’s the most surreal experience he’s ever had.

He pinches himself to believe that it’s real, that he’s dining out on a Tuesday evening in the boroughs with Tony Stark. The same guy he thought might murder him just last week.

He’s still not so sure that’s out of the question, to be honest. It would be the most normal thing about this entire day.

The silence is definitely awkward this time, sat at a table outside under a weather-protective canvass while they wait for their meal. A woman with a large doberman sits nearby, giving them odd looks every so often as she speaks loudly on her phone.

Peter’s nursing a giant glass of cola. The only sounds between them since they ordered have been the clinking of ice cubes from his glass and the sound of bubbles as he blew through the straw for a lack of better things to do.

From the daggers he’s getting from Tony, he’d wage that he’s annoying him - hence the probable murder - but he’s spared by their waitress returning with their meals.

A truly monstrous pile of fries is placed before Tony, along with a burger, a sundae and a milkshake. He takes off his dress shirt to reveal a black undershirt, as if in preparation to sweat through the meal.

Big meal for a big mouth, Peter thinks, as his own BLT is set before him.

It’s weird.

Tony is weird.

This whole damn thing is weird.

“Don’t you think this is weird?” he asks, idly picking a seed from his crust and nibbling on it.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.

“I don’t like it.”

“Me neither. What was I thinking?”

“Dunno,” Peter says.

It’s quiet again after that. And it’s weird. Sitting down with over a civil meal with Stark or any of his cohorts wasn’t particularly on his bucket list for junior year, but here he was, picking at his crusts, dying to pee.

Tony takes three fries from the pile and dips them into his sundae, then the milkshake before eating them.

“Dude, gross.”

Tony looks at him oddly. “Uh, no it’s not. Have you never dipped your fries in ice cream before?”

“Is that a metaphor for sex?”

“What? No, you weirdo,” Tony shakes his head. “Are you serious? You’ve never -- god, that explains everything,” he slides his fries across the table a few inches. “Though it truly nauseates me to share with you, I can’t let this stand. Try it.”

“Ew, not after you’ve touched them --”

Tony slides his milkshake closer.

“Try it, butthole. You won’t totally hate it, promise. Well, you might, but if you do it’s just gonna confirm that your taste is garbage, which is what I already think about you. Anyway. C’mon, try it.”

Peter, while staring at Tony, begrudgingly accepting a fry from the peak of the pile and scooping it in ice cream from Tony’s sundae.

He waits for the moment the combination of textures will make his stomach turn while he hesitantly chews, but instead is pleasantly surprised that the sweet salty flavours compliment one another so well.

“Not the worst, is it?” Tony grins knowingly, placing another fry in his mouth in the same manner. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s good. Say it. I’m right.”

“It’s alright,” Peter says, stealing another fry to make sure. “Don’t let it go to your already inflated cranium.”

The self-satisfied smirk on Tony’s lips tells him it already has.

Quiet fills the space between them again, more charged than before in a manner that Peter can’t really describe. Like as if there was a soft buzz in the air, like he would get be struck with static electricity were he to touch it.

Not keen on getting stung, he continues eating his sandwich.

Tony on the other hand, has other ideas.

“So, Peter Parker, now that I know you’re not a total dumbass, tell me this,” he takes a deep breath, his expression grim, “ -- do you wear glasses for the aesthetic or what?”

Peter stares at him.

“C’mon. Are you aiming for nerd chic? You shouldn’t, it’s very 2012.”

“Dude, no. I know glasses are like a thing or whatever but I actually do need them to see. I’m like, blind as fuck.”

“How blind is blind as fuck?”

“Pretty blind.”

He takes off his glasses and twirls a finger in the direction the smudge of colour that he assumes is Tony.

“Can’t see you, like at all,” he squints. “You’re just a blur. Which is the best you’ve ever looked.”

Tony takes the glasses from his outstretched hand, and he has a hysterical moment where he thinks that Tony might go so low as to steal them, but is quickly realizes he’s just trying them on. He whistles before handing them back to Peter.

“Yup, those are prescription alright. The fuck? Why don’t you wear contacts?”

Peter shrugs, slipping his glasses back on. Stark comes back in perfect clarity.

“They’re super expensive,” he’s alright with admitting to Tony at this point. “I have some I use for matches, or for special occasions, but I dunno, I’m used to glasses.”

“Do you have to clean them all the time?”

“Yes.”

In fact, there’s smudge from where Tony has inadvertently touched the lens.

“Have you ever stepped on your glasses accidentally?”

“Yep.”

He’s done it more than once but he’ll never forget the first time, how upset he was in the moment or how he fruitlessly tried to hide his face from Ben and May so they wouldn’t see the cracks in the lenses. He cried when they found out.

That first time was just weeks after his parents had died, and he’d already been laden with thoughts of being a bother and a financial burden on the couple. They never stopped trying to prove that he wasn’t a hardship to care for. Sometimes, on mornings like the one he had, he still can’t help but wonder how much better off they might have been without him.

They eat in contemplative silence afterwards. While he finishes his sandwich he watches as Tony surreptitiously feeds his fries to the doberman under the table, unbeknownst to the owner. He has to eat quickly to conceal the smile taking over his lips when the dog slowly shuffles closer to their table with purpose, looking at Tony with big, soulful eyes.

Once he’s finished eating and there’s nothing left to hide his amusement, he resumes their conversation.

Clearing his throat, he points towards the Mustang once he has Tony’s attention. “Okay, your turn. What’s with the deal with the old girl?”

"My car?”

"Yeah. Explain the whole greaser vibe.”

The other boy is quiet for a moment, his gaze searching Petter contemplatively, a napkin being twisted between his hands.

“She was a hunk’a junk when I bought her, mostly scrap metal. I bought all the spare parts and got her up to scratch. I dunno, I just like cars, tinkering with them or whatever.”

“You restored her by yourself?” Peter asks, reluctantly impressed.

He looks at the car again, trying to picture it.

It wasn’t hard to imagine Tony Stark getting his hands dirty, being the prized pig that he was, but having the wherewithal and competence to rebuild a vintage vehicle at sixteen? It would explain the whole Danny Zuko, T-Bird look, but with his bank balance, he could have easily bought a Mustang in mint condition without having to lift a finger. It would explain the streaks of oil from the other day.

Tony shrugs, twisting a napkin between his hands.

“Sorta. Anyway, quit your judging, four-eyes.”

“Not judging,” Peter holds his hands up in innocence. “I just didn’t expect that about you.”

“Yeah, well. I’m exceptional, I know.”

"That’s not the word I would use,” Peter allows. “But you’re not the worst.”

A flash of surprise briefly crosses the other boys face before it disappears.

“High praise,” he says wryly, resting his chin on his hand. He looks Peter up and down slowly, his big, curious eyes made warm by the dying sunlight.

“I’m as shocked as you are.”

“...You’re not the worst either, I guess,” Tony sighs like it pains him to admit it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we could never be friends -”

“Definitely not -”

“ - but you’re not completely intolerable. God, never thought I’d say that. Maybe I’m growing as a person.”

“Am I still a neanderthal?”

Sipping his milkshake through the straw, Tony raises his shoulders half-heartedly.

Peter kicks his foot from under the table, unwilling to take that for an answer, even if Tony kicks him back, his eyes flicking upwards briefly, his smile almost bashful. In the dying light of the sunset he almost looks soft; approachable.

“Probably shouldn’t have called you that, huh.”

“Probably not. Is that an apology?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t push it, Parker. I’m just saying you’re not completely abhorrent. Who knew.”

“I knew. I just don’t know why you’ve always hated me so much.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out small and quiet, but he can’t take it back once the words have left his mouth.

It starts to rain.

“Sorry,” Peter says, louder to be heard over the droplets hitting the overhead umbrella heavily, immediately feeling stupid. “I shouldn’t have -- it’s not a big deal. I mean, I really don’t like you either.”

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

Both boys turn towards the waitress who’s approached their table, lined-lips smiling down at them, a notepad in her hand.

Tony throws a fifty down on the table and stands and Peter follows suit.

“Nah,” he says, cocking his head to the door. “We’re good.”

---

“See you back at school?” Peter yells to be heard over the rain, back on the sidewalk.

“I’ll drive you back,” Tony yells back, wet hair clinging to his face.

“What?” Peter cups a hand over his ear.

“What?” Tony does the same. “I said I’ll give you a lift!”

“The station isn’t far,” he points. “I can walk!”

“Don’t make me look like an asshole! Get in, princess!”

With the rain pelting his thin shirt and thunder cracking angrily from above, he doesn’t spend his energy arguing. He gets in.

---

The short drive back is amicable, music muted, the pitter-patter of the easing rain filling the ever-growing comfortable silence between them.

With the heater going it doesn’t take long to dry off and restore the feeling back to his fingers. Heat beats from the vents beating pleasantly and along with being sated from the meal, Peter feels like he could nod off at any moment. He has to keep snapping his eyes open, although it’s difficult to adjust his focus as the sunset bleeds into a ruddy orange on the wet windshield, the lights from the cars blurring into bright long streaks of colour.

"You’re not a total lost cause, Tony admits, slowing as they near his apartment block. It’s the first time either of them has spoken since starting the drive back. “Look, maybe it’s the fact that your face looks like a puckered asshole when you speak, I don’t know. There’s just something about you that really rubs me the wrong way."

Peter cringes as they come to a stop outside his building.

"I don't want to rub you in any way."

"And yep, here comes the mental image,” Tony’s nose scrunches, like an infant that just ate something sour. “Gross. Thanks, Parker.”

“Welcome.”

He unbuckles himself and opens the door, hesitating for a second while the moment settles between them.

“Thanks for the grub and the ride, I guess. Text me when you get the paperwork from Miranda?”

“Aye, aye,” Tony mock salutes him. “Now get out of my car.”

Peter complies, giving him the finger by way of goodbye.

Once the car merges and disappears into the traffic, he grins down at his hands, cheeks going warm.

It’s the thrall of finally feeling on equal-footing, he reasons, as he takes the step back up to his apartment. That’s what it is. His stomach is inexplicably still squirming as he enters ascends the floors, going over the day in his head until he arrives at his door.

It smells like tikka masala and too much ginger when he enters. He sets his backpack by the door, placing his keys on a nearby hook.

May greets him with a sway of her spatula, sauce hitting the splashback with the motion.

“Hey bubby,” she says, gripping his shoulder as he nears and kissing his cheek.

Upon closer inspection, he finds that the kitchen is sparking clean. The floors have been mopped, the grout between the tiling is without a speck of dirt and there are faint notes of harsh disinfectant below the smell of spices.

“Oh wow,” Peter says, looking down at the chicken and bean assortment. The rice on the burner looks soggy and overcooked. “That looks great. How was work?”

She gestures vaguely but doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You hungry?”

It’s the same weird behaviour from this morning and he doesn’t have the heart to say that he’s already eaten.

Instead, he collects the cutlery and napkins, takes a stack of bowls and helps her plate up.

“Dancing With The Stars?” he asks, tilting his head towards the living room. He hip-checks her when she doesn’t reply. “C’mon, you’re not going to let me eat all alone, are ya? Tony says ‘hi’, by the way.”

He doesn’t know why he adds that last part, recalling the exchange rom the other day, but it’s worth it to see her smile.

“Alright,” she nods, scooping rice into the bowls. “How is Tony?”

Everything that happened that day bleeds away, unimportant, insignificant.

“He’s alright, I guess.”

---

May falls asleep on the sofa hours later.

He doesn’t want to move her, as exhausted as she is, so he covers her with an old blanket and removes the glasses from her face, placing them on the coffee table. He cleans up as quietly as he can and places her phone on charge in the living room.

On his way to bed he checks his phone for the time. Both Bucky and Tony have sent him text messages, the latter with the awaited paperwork.

Ben would be proud of him, he thinks, smiling as he reads through some of it, saving the rest of it until he’s more alert.

Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible end to the day after all.

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar

#starker #starker fic #tony stark x peter parker #high school au #enemies to lovers

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years ago

Text

Simply, yours (13)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU, PhD AU

Word count: 4.3K

Warnings: language, description of injury, birth-giving (stuff around it)

A/N: First of all, I apologise it took me over a month to update this story that is so close to my ❤. Hope this update was worth the wait. We have two chapters left! Second of all, this is a tiny roller-coaster haha. Enjoy! Also huge apologies if I left someone out from the tags!!

tags: @milky-baek @itsbaekhyunsbutt @luvhtears @shesdreaminginoverdose @cynthbee @jummyjammy @junmyeonnoona @littleflowercrown13 @sebootyforlife (if you want to be tagged/untagged please let me know!)

MASTERLIST

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13

Winter left Korea completely, and warm spring slowly welcomed itself, together with it your due date as well.

Cherry blossoms were about to be in full bloom and you asked Sukyeong to join you on a weekend stroll while Baekhyun was away on a hapkido competition with the university team. You hated staying alone and he probably hated it even more, given your blood-pressure that still didn’t stabilize itself as it should have, though it never became as severe as before. He even made Sukyeong promise to stay the night at yours so that you could have a “girls night”. When you asked why so suddenly given you barely ever did those before, he just shrugged and said: “Once you give birth you won’t be able to enjoy her company.” And he was right. Both of your lives were about to undergo huge changes, so you supported Baekhyun in doing whatever he wanted and needed to do and the same went for you. The idea that your carefree, independent lifestyle was about to be changed scared you.

“Are you sure you’re fine with walking so much?” asked Sukyeong carefully as you slowly made your way around Socho lake, the highest building of Seoul, Lotte tower, hanging above you, throwing a humongous shade over one side of the lake.

You ran your hand over the huge bump as you smiled. “Yes, don’t worry so much. It’s not like I will give birth right now.”

“You know I’m pretty sure everyone here thinks exactly that.” She looked around, noticing few people giving you a look-over. “Do you always get this many stares?”

You shrugged and took a deep breath of air. The pollution was not bad that day and the sun rays warmed up your skin in a pleasant manner. “Yeah, I do. But what can I do.”

“When is the due date again?”

“Mid-May,” you replied, the mention of the big day dampening your mood for a moment, “but that is if the pregnancy goes as planned. Apparently it’s more than likely I will go into labor earlier.”

Sukyeong tried not to pale at that, instead cleared her throat and pointed to a nearby bench. “Let’s sit. Your feet are terribly swollen,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted.

Not wanting to sound stubborn, you followed her even though you wanted to enjoy walking a bit more. It would be a mistake and you knew it, so you sighed big time once finally sitting down, the pressure in your legs easing up a bit.

“Why does Baekhyun still leave when he knows you can go to labor anytime soon?”

“I didn’t say any time soon,” you retorted, giggling at her overprotectiveness. “And I managed to persuade him to do the competitions while he can. If anything the birth might come early May. Which is Baekhyun’s birthday,” you said smiling. “If that wouldn’t be the coolest gift I could give him, whew. Three kids,” you chuckled and Sukyeong followed.

“Well, just make sure you’re healthy. You come first no matter what.”

Her words reminded you of your boss and his daughter-in-law; how she passed away while giving birth. Trying not to let it influence your mood too much, you looked up at the cherry trees through which sunlight was making its way.

“It’s not like I can affect the outcome,” you finally replied, “but I will try my best.”

“You better,” she almost whimpered and you looked at her, just to see her eyes bulged in fear.

“Worst case scenario they will have to open me. Even worse? They might first let my vagina tear up before deciding the rest of the kids need to come out through c-section.”

You giggled when Sukyeong gasped in pure terror at what you just said. It was obvious she didn’t know all the things that could go wrong while giving birth and you weren’t about to spill all the secrets despite you wanting to vent about it because you were scared. So scared. Terrified.

“Can you still have sex after it... happens?” she asked warily.

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I can. But let’s not talk about it, it’s giving me stress.”

She was fast to massage your shoulders. “Yeah, let’s not stress you out. Baekhyun will kill me if he finds out I have as much as made you frown.”

Finally, the days that you would have to wait in the waiting room of your doctor in the clinic were lessening. Bearing three babies, it meant appointment visits every second week. Surely, you would get tired of the place and dread coming every time. Especially when every second week you would be bigger and heavier than the previous one, making it more tiring to come and spend a couple of hours outside of the house.

You looked up with worried eyes at your boyfriend who was reading a leaflet about breastfeeding, which immediately put a gentle smile on your face. The idea of Baekhyun not being scared or deterred of these topics was incredible for you. He was a special man, indeed.

When sensing your stare, he looked up with big puppy eyes, his lower lip caged between his teeth. “Huh? You said something?”

You giggled quietly as to not to disturb other ladies in the waiting room and shuffled a bit closer on the seat to press against his side. “You seem to be way too immersed in that woman's breast, honey.” You flickered your gaze downwards on the leaflet; the smiling lady holding a baby to her breast with an alarmingly slim body, yet obviously very pregnant stomach, sitting uncomfortably with you. They photoshopped everything these days.

Baekhyun gave you a confused look, blinking twice before snapping out of his weird reverie. “Oh, this- no, no,” he shook his head, smiling abashedly which you found absolutely adorable. “I was just thinking that we should talk about your plan about breastfeeding with the doctor. Do you think you can breastfeed three kids?” he asked thoughtfully, waving the leaflet in front of your face while his other hand rested on your thigh, squeezing it so that you would pay attention.

You sighed quietly, already tired at the idea of having to go through that process. It made you feel guilty, but if you were honest with yourself, you were scared and tired and achy and the last thing you wanted to think through was how your breasts would become the main food source for three tiny lives. You quickly rested your head on Baekhyun's shoulder so that he wouldn't see your fading smile. “I haven't thought about that, honey. But you're right. Let's discuss that. Maybe she can give me some life hacks.”

He chuckled softly and you instantly felt better, the sound lifting your spirits. He knocked your knee with his playfully before he settled lower on the chair so that you would be more comfortable.

As your eyes wandered around the room, you noticed several stares of the ladies who were waiting in the room, their gazes lingering on the two of you, some more on Baekhyun and some more on your huge stomach. You swore one of the young ones sighed while eyeing Baekhyun up, and you held back a scoff, feeling sudden pride that he was yours and the kids you were bearing were his.

“Your husband is so caring,” smiled the nurse that was at the reception desk, looking at you. “You both sure will be good parents.”

You pressed your lips together in a shy smile, not telling her that Baekhyun wasn't your husband. Baekhyun didn't say anything, either. The nurse continued anyway, saving you from replying: “You may enter now, the doctor is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” smiled Baekhyun handsomely at her as he swiftly stood up, holding your hand in his gingerly, both of you making your way into the well-known office.

Once settled inside, you faced the ever-so positive doctor of yours. It seemed she was more excited about your pregnancy than you were.

“So, the typical question,” she smiled widely, connecting her long, elegant fingers in front of her face, “any difficulties? Problems? Dizziness caused by blood pressure?”

“No, thankfully none of that.”

“Great,” she winked at you, “the date is fast approaching,” she chirped as she went through your records, “but as I said last time, it is very likely you will go into early labour. There is no need to panic, though, dear,” she told you kindly. “I suppose you know all of this information by now, but just to tell you once again: the best is to go to the hospital once the water broke. Unfortunately, the likeliness of them sending you home only due to slight contractions in state-owned hospitals is very high,” she shrugged, obviously annoyed at the fact. “Therefore, the best is to stay calm, wait until it becomes too much and the water breaks. Until it did, it is only the small prelude to what is about to come.”

Baekhyun was listening carefully despite knowing most of the information already, while you dreaded the entire talk about the moment everything would start happening. You kept imagining the whole process in your head, one imagination worse than the other. It was difficult to point out what exactly was it that scared you so much, but the entire idea of having to go through terrible pain, your body failing, or babies' lives failing was enough to send you into a severe panic attack.

“I can see you are worried,” said the doctor to you. “But it will be alright. Keep it up just like until now. You know, for the fact that you are expecting three, you both seem way too calm and zen about it,” she tried to joke, laughing.

Baekhyun giggled while you gave her a weak smile. “I guess we are trying to preserve the calm atmosphere before the arrival of the three babies,” replied Baekhyun lightheartedly.

You nodded. “But doc, you will be there, right?” you asked in a small tone. “I mean, in the hospital, when it happens.”

She smiled, her features softening. “I am not letting the chance to bring three babies to this world slip away, sweetie. I'll be there, and we will get through it together.”

Gracing her with a gracious smile, you nodded in acknowledgement before Baekhyun brought up the topic about breast-feeding.

“Oh, yes, very good question,” she gave him a huge smile. “You have a couple of options here. Obviously, you may breastfeed and you can also pump. Pumping is the best when having multiples, of course, but it is up to the mother what would work the best for her. Three babies can be quite the handful to breastfeed, but let's not forget that it is the best way to be close to your little ones. Mother's arms are the safest they will ever be.”

Baekhyun smiled down at you affectionately before turning to the doctor. “Yeah, we should still consider pumping-”

“Once the babies are born, we will figure out what works the best,” you chimed in gently, looking at your boyfriend who turned to look at you. You smiled at him. “We still don't know what will happen after the birth, but knowing that pumping is an option is certainly good.”

You knew well what went through Baekhyun's mind at that moment. He didn't like it when you conspired around what would happen after birth, because whenever you did, it almost always led you to two conclusions: either one of the babies would be dead or you would be dead. As much you both fought around it, you couldn't help yourself, and he tried to understand your train of thoughts, just to ease you up, but he would still voice out the hatred around the idea of him losing you.

That was why once you left the clinic, he stopped you on the street, his gaze heavy and serious. “Listen, I just want you to know that-” he took a deep breath, ignoring your eyes looking at him warily, “-whatever the hell happens during birth, you come first. I love our children already, and I couldn't be a more excited father-to-be, but-” he exhaled sharply and held your cheeks in his warm palms, his eyes glistening, “you come first to me. Always. I can't go on without you and if it ever, godforbid, comes to the decision to choose,” he shook his head, already trying to rid his mind of the terrible images, “I am choosing you over...over… the babies,” he whispered eventually, obviously pained.

You could barely make out the gentle features of your obviously scared boyfriend, because of the emotional tears that welled up in your eyes. You crashed into his chest, pushing yourself as far into him as you could, your hand having a death grip on his long-sleeved shirt. His words moved something inside of you, something much deeper than just a simple word of love and adoration. He really could get under your skin and make you feel special even through uttered words. Baekhyun was something so rare and so precious, it made you weep in gratitude. Because he was yours.

“You won't be going to training this evening?” you asked, emerging from the bedroom after your small afternoon nap you grew to be needing so much.

Baekhyun was crafting up some food in the kitchen and it actually made your stomach grumble in hunger. He looked behind his shoulder. “You're up, babe? Yeah, no training tonight for me. Jiyoung can lead the training by herself. I trust her on that.”

You nodded, coming to stand close to him, reaching up with your hand, drawing circles over his back between his prominent shoulder blades. “I'm glad you will be staying.”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged, still a little sleepy. “Alright, no pains so far.”

He smiled at you, nudging his chin towards the empty counter next to him. “Give me company?”

You nodded eagerly and he was fast to bring a chair to help you sit up on the counter before moving the chair out of the way. You leaned back on the cabinets while resting your hands on your belly. “What is daddy making, hm?”

“Something very delicious and packed with all the vitamins mummy needs,” he replied nonchalantly as he was chopping up vegetables.

Humming in satisfaction, you watched Baekhyun do his magic around the kitchen.

“Nothing gives you a tummy ache?” he double-checked again when he took out spam from the fridge.

At the sight of spam, you grew even more excited. “Nope! I already can't wait to try the food,” you wiggled your legs in the air and he laughed.

You chatted away the time he was moving around the kitchen, cooking and preparing plates. He was talking about the competitions and how well they had been doing in the ranks which made you proud, because of course Baekhyun would do well. He always did.

Baekhyun cleaned up the kitchen before serving the food on the plates and he walked to stand in front of you with a gorgeous smile. You returned it, opening your legs so he could stand a little closer, which he did. Leaning in and kissing you gently, he hugged you to him, hiding his face in your neck while one of his hands reached for the hem of your shirt, bunching it up to reveal your stomach. He wordlessly caressed it with gentleness before pulling away to give you another kiss on your lips.

“Love you,” he whispered into your lips, pecking you again.

You giggled and he moved his head to your tummy.

“And I also love each and every one of you, my loves,” he mumbled to the bump and pressed three kisses. Just then, you gasped, feeling the discomfort of the well-known action by now. Couple of tiny feet could be seen on your skin covering your stomach, and both you and Baekhyun laughed affectionately when you saw Baekhyun incredibly happy that the babies were so responsive to his honey-like voice. It had been happening for a few weeks now where he would kiss them goodnight or goodmorning and he would receive a kick in greetings.

Your heart swelled with love and warmth, and for a moment you became eager to see him with the babies and how he would play with them and treat them. He would look so lovely, you thought while watching your boyfriend giggle and caress you a bit more before bringing you into a happy kiss.

“I love you, too,” you mumbled in between and he gave you a curious gaze. You smiled. “I didn't say it back just now.” And then you pressed his cheeks together with your hands. “Aaah, what to do with you, you're so cute! Your cheeks!” you screeched in a coo-voice that made him frown at you which only made him look funnier to you. “Wah, but really, Baekhyunnie, what the hell? It isn't fair for you to be so dangerously hot and then suddenly cute like a puppy!”

“Yah, yah, enough,” he muffled through his squeezed lips, “the food will get cold.”

“But you are soooo cuuuteeee!”

“Enou-”

“Who are you this cute for?” you rambled on, giggling happily and finally let go of the poor man.

Baekhyun leaned away, still in shock at your antiques, though you could see amusement glistening in his eyes. “I suggest not to do this to our babies. It's a traumatic experience.”

You burst out laughing and he followed too,when he suddenly became serious and leaned in closer, his breath fanning your ear which sent shivers down your spine, halting your laughing fit. “You're so lucky I can't do anything to you right now, sweetheart. But just know that I am keeping a punishment list for you once you give birth, mummy.” You felt his hands squeezing the outer side of your thighs, his fingers sliding down and under your knees.

You swallowed harshly and looked at him when he turned to look at you. “That was hot.”

He smirked. “So I'm not so cute anymore, huh?”

It has been a day now that you started to feel slight pains just like on the days when you had a strong, painful menstruation. When the first wave hit, you started to get a feeling of what was about to happen. You just didn’t expect it to start happening so... soon. There were still a few weeks left. Were you even ready for what was about to go down very soon? You had to be even if you weren’t.

The next day you went to bed in peace, Baekhyun bringing your body closer to his even when he knew you would grow very warm over the night and shift away. He caressed your bump before he lifted the blanket and your shirt, and moved to kiss the skin tenderly.

“Goodnight, my loves,” he pressed three kisses and kept looking a little longer in hopes to see a kick back in reply. Few days ago one of the babies kept kicking like crazy and Baekhyun concluded it was the hapkido baby. You giggled, already imagining Baekhyun teaching your kids hapkido, them in their little uniforms and having little, clumsy moves.

“No activity today,” he rasped with an amused smile as he lied down next to you properly but you stopped him with a guilty smile. “Huh, what is it?”

“I really need to pee. Can you come with me to the toilet? Pleaseee,” you wailed, trying not to wiggle too much because you were growing uncomfortable with the slow start of contractions and the pee pressing down on your uterus.

Baekhyun smiled and nodded. “Let’s go.” He took your hand and helped you up.

Quickly tiptoeing to the bathroom, once finally inside, he leaned against the sink while you sat down on the toilet, looking up at him with big eyes.

He chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest, the shirt tightening around his pecks.

You felt a stronger wave of pain in your lower tummy and you groaned gently as your pee seemed to become endless. Baekhyun noticed too.

“Wow, when was the last time you went to the toilet? That’s a lot of pee there, mummy,” he joked, mistaking your groaning for relief but you didn’t feel the relief peeing was supposed to give you anymore.

You raised your butt lightly and looked between your legs (or wherever you could look due to the big tummy) at the water-like liquid streaming strongly down your thighs.

“You okay?” asked Baekhyun, frowning when he saw you looking longer than it was normal.

Another small, but stronger wave of pain washed over your insides and you felt like crying as you looked up at your concerned boyfriend. It was about to start.

“Baekhyun. My water broke.”

“I'm so scared, Baekhyun,” you whimpered when you were in the hospital room, both of you left alone until the contractions would get intense enough to go into labour. “I'm so scared.”

Finally, you could let your guard down. You were heaving, your body already reacting to the pains, growing more and more frequent and painful. Sitting on a huge, pink pilates ball, you tried to sway your body on it while your arm was connected to an IV drip, but there were tears streaming down your face..

“Shh, shh, it's alright, you're alright, baby,” he cooed gently as he sat behind you on a chair to hold you up. “You're doing great.”

You pressed your lips together to prevent an ugly sob. “But what if-”

“No what ifs,” he replied calmly from behind, sweeping your hair back and tying it into a messy ponytail so it wouldn't be in the way. “Everything is going as planned, honey.”

You were quiet for a minute, fighting the bulge in your throat. Your legs were wobbly and it seemed like you were heading straight into a panic attack, which was anything but good.

Baekhyun, sensing your stiff composure, stood up and right in front of you, helping you up on your legs. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled lovingly, searching your gaze. You focused your eyes on him. “I've got you. I'm here and we will get through this together.” He held you close, eventually deciding to hug you. “If you need to cry, do it. Don't hold back.” Lazily, he drew circles over your lower back that he knew was the most painful part of your back. It brought instant relaxation, though you still hissed at another wave of contractions that made your knees weak.

Baekhyun supported you, holding you up as you groaned, hiding your face in his neck. “It hurts,” you whimpered weakly and let out another groan when a strong pull rushed through your lower abdomen. Your breathing grew frantic, sweat breaking around your hairline.

“I think-” you paused, squeezing your eyes shut as the contraction wouldn't go away.

“Let's call the nurse,” suggested Baekhyun before quickly helping you sit down.

You would have called after him to stop him from going away from you, but you lied back down, pushing your legs together, the pain growing almost unbearable.

Nurse arrived quickly followed by your boyfriend who tried his best not to look too shocked. After a quick check-up, the nurse smiled. “We are ready!”

Three babies being born (two girls, one boy) too early, you were separated from them right after squeezing them out. Not having time to even properly hold them, you only got to see the nurses placing them in the blanket before rushing them out of the room while their cries were piercing through your ears. You were swimming between complete exhaustion and overdrive as you cried from pain that came from your body as a woman who just gave birth and at the same time as a mother who couldn't even hold her babies in her arms after finally helping them out and into the world.

Baekhyun was completely helpless, standing next to you and trying to get a glimpse of the little ones, but he wouldn't let go of your hand. You were desperately holding onto him for dear life.

Feeling his own tears roll down his cheeks at what just happened, Baekhyun quickly brought your head to him, hugging it to his chest while you cried, your voice already hoarse from screaming before.

Nurses were roaming around you and it was just a matter of seconds as you heard them telling you they had to stitch you up and your doctor, the ever-so-kind doctor, appeared in front of you. “Give her anesthesia.” She looked at you and Baekhyun, who wouldn't let go of you. “The babies will be alright, but they need to be in the incubator for the time being because of the early birth, sweetie. Please calm down. Right now we have to stitch you up.”

“S-stitch me up?” you stuttered.

She had an apologetic smile and she shot a glance at Baekhyun, who straightened up. “You are severely torn up. So let's quickly tend to the open wound.”

You grew almost sick at the idea and you were sure Baekhyun was completely frozen, though he snapped out of it pretty quickly as you whimpered again in fear. Exhaustion was taking over you quickly.

“You're doing phenomenally, my superwoman,” Baekhyun whispered into your ear as he caressed your hair, pressing multiple kisses there. He was completely shaken up by what he had just witnessed in the past hours, but he had to stay strong for you just a little longer.

You sighed once more before you saw the doctor ducking between your legs again and starting another small intervention.

You closed your eyes and focused on Baekhyun's powerful presence.

You were left without your three babies.

You were left torn open.

But you were alive.

You all were alive.

#baekhyun fanfiction #exo fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun romance #baekhyun domestic au #baekhyun pregnancy au #exo fluff #exo romance #baekhyun smut #exo smut #mywritings

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laketaj24 · 5 years ago

Text

The Rules IV: Triggered

Author’s Note: Thank you all soo much for your input!!! It helped me out more than you know! This was fun as hell to write and I hope you’re down for a ride! It’s about to go down. There are two songs that really hit the nail on the head for this part, they are linked below! Happy Reading my people!

Pairing: CEO!Henry Cavill X Reader

Warning: Angst. SMUT. DRAMA.

Want to catch up! Click HERE

Song Inspirations: Jhene Aiko: Triggered (First Part) Jhene Aiko: P*SSY Fairy

If your heart slowed anymore, you’d collapse. But it wasn’t just the lethargic beat of your heart that slowed down. The kiss. The fucking kiss was being replayed in your head over and over, the way she cupped him, the way his lips touched hers and he deepened it. You feel the bile rise at the helm of your throat and you step back.

“Excuse me.” You whispered to a bewildered Alex, “I need to leave.”

He noticed. You could tell by the way he looked back to Henry and then you. His tall frame went from relaxed to apathetic. “Is it him?” He gave a wave in Henry’s direction and then stepped closer to you. “Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” You attempted to push your way through the crowd and caught an opening into the gala hall. Alex was on your feet, his long strides made it easy for him to catch you. “Hey, I can’t talk about it right now.”

Your mind raced, he took a month away from you, was it because the entire time he had her? Were you some fucking mistress, side-chick, side bitch… Homewrecker? Inwardly you taunted yourself with the unceasing line of insults to yourself. Fuck! Fuck.

“Look.” Alex cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. His presence kept you from bolting into the nearest room and destroying everything in it. You were grateful for that, maybe. “He is not worth you not enjoying this night. Do you know how beautiful you are right now? Every eye in the building was with you when we arrived. Make him mad, but don’t let him win. He did nothing to deserve a win apparently.”

The pep talk worked and more and more you were starting to understand why Alex was a friend you didn't want to lose regardless of what happened. The first dance is casual, you fight tears watching the woman touch his hand, laid her hand on his chest and laugh like he was a comedian. He wasn't that damn funny. You stay for an hour, it was required to stay an hour, you have done only what was expected of you and nothing more. Alex took you home, the car ride is silent besides the occasional murmur of a curse word under your breath.

Home is what you craved more than anything, once the door was closed and Alex's driver left you released a scream that scared you, followed by a sob as you felt your heart literally break. What a fucking feeling? Grief for someone who didn't deserve it. You didn't drink to solve your problems, so alcohol was a no. Sleep was the obvious answer. The dress felt like it burned your skin, you were certain it didn't, but the fact that it came from him made it poison. He was poison, that you willingly chugged down like a vintage wine and now the repercussions had finally made their grand entrance. And fuck them.

Why were you looking them up, they were a known couple, known to everyone but you? You typed in his name and nothing but her appeared Billionaire Henry Cavill and Olivia Tate grace the Emmy's with their presence. Will this playboy finally settle down? Olivia Tate has HC's heart around her finger. You were sick again. You throw the phone on the couch and screenshot the picture of him kissing her. Is this the future Mrs. Cavill?

You changed clothes, slipping the crop top and leggings on. You knew it wasn't the end of the night. And you were right, sleep does not come. He sends you seven messages, each of which you stared at trying to formulate a response, but they didn't merit one, until the last one.

Henry: I've been looking for you for an hour. Where are you?

Henry: You left without a word? Are you mad or something?

Henry: A response would be nice.

Henry: Y/N

Henry: Y/N. I'll find you later.

Henry: Be there in ten.

Y/N: Drive safe. Are you bringing the wife with you?

You hit send of the picture you'd saved.

Henry: Wow.

The wait for him to arrive only infuriates you more, your mother had always said your temper was like a wildfire, once it sparked it would consume everything to the ground. You knew she was right; Henry even knew your temper needed to be managed, but no one fucking managed you. This included Henry. He didn't knock. He never did really, he entered with his perfectly tailored suit and an eye roll. And the lamp crashed behind him. He ducks, but his face is shocked.

"What the fuck was that?" he hissed.

"My fucking two-hundred-dollar lamp." You picked up the shoes and hurled them across the room next and he ducked as if he knew they were coming and charged towards you. You moved from his grasp. "You have been with her for a year!" It roared out of you and then the tears followed. "Why did you even come over here? Did you think I would be okay with it? Do you think I want to be your whore? Come when you say, fuck when you say and then you go home to her. Don't touch me!!"

"You're not going to let me explain, are you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Explain Henry, tell me what lie did you conjure up, while headed here. She's just a friend. I wasn't with her." you shake your head and Henry folds his arms across his chest. "Is she the reason you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Are you finishing acting like-."

"Say it!" You cut him off and step closer to him. You wanted to hit something, but his face was too pretty for that shit, and despite your anger, your mother raised you better than that, "Like what Henry? Get out."

"Y/N."

"I said get the fuck out!"

His jaw clenched and he pushed his hands through his thick mane of brown curls, ending the polished look he had earlier. "I'll call you later."

"Oh, no the fuck you won't." You opened the door to Alex standing there with his eyes on Henry. Why was he back? "He was just leaving." You explained to Alex. "Bye."

Alex stepped aside and held up the brown bag, you could smell the Chinese and noticed the wine bottle. "We didn't get to eat." He explained. The smug grin on his face sealed the night, he was a good guy.

You smiled and watched Henry stare at him before looking back at you. He shook his head, "Goodnight."

"Fuck you." You whispered.

In the past hearing, people say they were numb sounded foolish, of course, they felt. A human cannot simply shut it all off, but you were wrong. So wrong, it was easier to go numb than to feel. It started with work, your time invested in the company allotted you vacation three fucking weeks, paid and free.

The first week you spent with Alex, not fucking his brains out like a part of you wanted to but being a friend. He allowed you to talk, you told him everything and he listened with no judgment and that made it easier. Tia was around too, she spent the night with you when she could, in between hair appointments and makeup slots. Her career was changing fast, you were happy for her even if you barely showed it at times.

The second week you shut them both out. You told them you were out of town, but you were in your apartment with food and tear-soaked pillows. His phone calls had stopped, but you feared it was only because you changed the number. Work could contact you via email if they needed to, but no one even called you during the first two weeks. The marketing strategy you left would do well, you knew it. And besides your certainty in your program, you didn’t care what Cavill Industries did at the moment.

The third week, everything went numb, there were no more tears to cry. Every inkling of him that existed was gone, including the $6000 dollar dress. You burned it and at that final act, the night was gone from your mind. He’d broken the rules. You’d both set them and when he kissed her, he disqualified himself.

The first day back to work your anxiety had you in its grip. Every phone call and opening of your door you dreaded. But he didn’t come. He wasn’t even in the building, according to your boss and that eased everything. You could work with him not being anywhere near you, and that made you apply to the other firms that had once been interested in you. You got two calls immediately. Matheus Corporate wanted to hire you without an interview and after the offer they sent, you were taking it. You typed out your resignation letter and turned it into HR. It was the right choice.

It was a month before you saw him again, and the Cavill you saw briefly in the lobby looked nothing like the one you had grown accustomed to. His hair was wild, and he had a beard, an actual beard. His slate-blue eyes were tired as were his movements. Just seeing him triggered you, the horrid memories of that night flooded your head and the pain resurfaced. Being numb would not be possible around him. You knew it. You hid in the stairwell like an idiot and avoided him. Nine more days of work here and you would be clear.

“Look, the way I see it, we are friends now.” Alex kicked his feet up on your desk and looked to you for affirmation.

You gave it to him nodding your head and chugging down your third bottle of water. “Yes, we’re friends. So, when I call you up at midnight and you’re with your little girlfriend cuddling and things you still have to make an appearance.”

“Girlfriend?” He scoffed.

“You heard me.” You pointed at him.

“I’m hoping one day the little girlfriend, I am cuddling will be you.” He smiled. “There is no rush and no expectation for it. But I didn’t want you to leave this place, oblivious to the fact that I really like you.”

Your heart warmed and you smiled. “Nine days to go and your boldness is out the bag.”

He shrugged. “Did I get brownie points?”

“A whole cake.” You said. You were back to work an hour later, singing under your breath when the door opened.

“I told him to wait outside.” Your assistant said, trying to beat Henry in the office. She turned to you. “Ms. YLN, Mr. Cavill is here to see you.” But he was already in front of your desk.

“Get out.” He said to her.

“Whatever you have to say to me, she can hear.” For some reason, you knew if the door closed you would succumb to him, “Speak.”

“You are not leaving.” His voice was not composed, just wavering and near weak. “Y/N.”

“Gianna, you can go.” You exhaled. What the hell had happened to him? She left the room and the space that once seemed huge started to shrink. Henry walked towards you and you held your hand up when he reached your desk. “What?”

“You changed your number.”

“What did you expect?”

“For you to give me a chance to explain,” His eyes plead with yours for the opportunity. “Can I have that please?”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, I was never yours, right?”

“You’re still mine.” The slight possessiveness came back to his voice.

It made you weak for a moment, your hitched breath took over the silence. “Hurry up, Henry.”

“She is my girlfriend.” He said.

The words punch at a wound you were certain was nearly healed. You hoped he was going to say that he left her, the pathetically infatuated part of you wanted him to say, she dumped him. But he just reaffirmed what you already knew. Olivia Tate was the official girlfriend of Henry Cavill. “Thanks?” You swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t want her to be, I want you.”

“You are making no sense and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to throw things at you here. I just wanted to leave all this in the past. Go be with her.”

“Y/N.” He said your name as if he was fighting for breath. “There are some things you do not understand about me. Things I would rather not talk about, but I don’t want her.”

“Then leave her! Damn it.” You bit out. “You are a grown man. You can make decisions on your own. If you didn’t want her then end it. End it now.”

“I can’t talk here.”

“Where else are you gonna talk?” You laughed. “My place? Hell no.”

“Mine.” He shook his head. “I’ll send a car for you after work. Don’t make them work Y/N. Just come.” He looked at you. “Please.”

“Fine.”

You didn’t fight his orders on meeting him, curiosity reared its ugly head and you were gone. His home was at the edge of town, the driveway curved up a hill and lead to the glass estate. It was incredible. Had you been here on better circumstances, you would have enjoyed the view. You stepped out and the door opened. Henry had shed the suit for a black shirt and black sweats that hung at his waist somehow accenting his frame. Fuck. Were you even going to be strong enough to say no to this god? One last fuck? Just to say goodbye fuck, it wouldn’t be frowned upon.

You argued with yourself and walked into the home, the décor was much like his office dark brown woods with a modern sense. You stood in the foyer and looked at him. The closer to the door you were, the more likely you were to say no to him without hesitation.

“I can’t shut you out of my mind.” He confessed. He had shaved, but his hair was still tucked behind his ears, longer than normal.

“Just tell me.”

“I met Olivia in college.” He sighed. “We used to date off and on, but it was never more than sex. Never.”

“That’s all it is with us.” You interrupted. “Hence the reason I don’t need this talk.”

“Then why’d you come?” Henry stared. “I have been infatuated with you for months and when I finally got the opportunity to be with you, I jumped at it.”

“Don’t feed me bullshit.” You held your hand up.

“Who do you think hired you?”

“Why can’t you just leave her?” You asked.

“She knows things about me that can ruin me.” he stopped talking. “Liv is talented at getting the things she wants. If I leave her, she’ll spill it.”

“Oh, get the fuck out of here!” You laugh. “You expect me to believe this Lifetime movie shit? You got a girlfriend and you want me too. Admit it.”

“I don’t want her.” He shook his head. “I want you.”

“You can say it until you’re blue in the face. If you don’t show me, how in the fuck am I supposed to believe that this… isn’t just a way for you to get what you want.”

Henry sunk to his knees. “I’ll beg you.”

“Dogs beg.” You spat.

“Anything.” He rasped.

“Do you know how bad I hurt? I didn’t work for weeks. I didn’t care for weeks. We’ve been together a month. Do you think my behavior was normal? Do you think yours is normal? No. We are bad for one another and I just…”

How did he get up so fast? You moved back and he was on you, his steps heavy and determined. He caged you against the wall and then you realized, his face was wet with tears.

“You have to believe me.” He whispered and the fear clawed through him. “Please.”

There was an urge pushing you to leave this place, nothing good can come from him. But his face was pained, you’d never seen this part of him. You cupped his face affectionately and your lips graze his cheek. It feels as if he shutters and then you just do it. You hesitantly kiss him. Your lips touch his and the energy that passes through you ignites a groan.

“Please.” The plea is accompanied by him responding to the kiss, tenderly. He leaned into you, his body blanketing to you and taking whatever breath you thought you had left. But you were sure that he took your breath away without a kiss. His brow furrowed as he deepened it pushing your head against the door. He wrapped his arms around you, swaddling you in his muscles while somehow it wasn’t the muscles that you felt. For the first time, he was being himself with you. He allowed you to feel what you didn’t even know was there.

He pulled back from you and he moved as if he was dizzy. The breath he had stolen from you had made it's way back to you and you inhaled. There was more than a desire that flickered between the two of you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

His eyes flashed with a little hope. “Same.” Henry didn’t wait for permission he just scooped you up from the floor and kissed you again, this time it hurt. The hurt is so fucking good.

“I want,” the words were caught in your throat. Was this right or were you spiraling? “I want you, here. Right here.” He lowered you both down on the steps so that you were straddling him, you didn’t care for his comfort. You wanted him to feel you. “You remember the rules?” You whispered. Your tongue licks his lips and then dives in and he’s taken back, gripping your ass that is winding on his dick. You can feel him through the sweats. “Hmm…”

“I could never forget.”

“Don’t cum unless I say.” You smiled before kissing him again. You bucked your hips on and his eyes widened the lust pushing through. “You hear me, sir?” Your voice was low and filled with lust. “I want to fuck you right here.” He grew harder, flinching against you. “I want you to moan my name when you cum…”

Henry’s hands were in your hair, pulling you back so he could see your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want me to, just fuck me.” He begged.

“Did you miss me?”

“Always.” He groaned lowering his head to your breast. He sprung the from the blouse and ripped it in two. “Always.”

You wanted to believe him, but the lingering hurt from the past month. “If you lie to me again,” You unsheathed him from his sweats and stroked your hand down the length of his cock. You swiped the precum that oozed from the tip down and pumped again. “Missing me is all you’ll know how to do, sir.”

“Fuck,” He jumped in your hand and sucked air in through his teeth.

“Understand?”

“I-,” He moaned when you increased your speed. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” You were so turned on by the way you were making him feel. You now understood why he wanted to be in control of everything in the bed. It was sexy as fuck to watch what you could do to someone. You could watch them unravel, put them back together and do it again.

Henry pushed the pen skirt up and easily ripped the panties. He tossed them behind you and his fingers were in you. Prodding and working, you fucking missed him, even though you shouldn’t have. “Y/N.” He moaned. “I’m almost there.” He panted.

You stopped stroking him and began to ride his fingers, lifting yourself from them and then back on until the next time Henry pushed his cock in. He was fighting every urge he had to allow you some control in this thing. He threw his head back when he was fully inside of you and stilled.

But you wanted to fuck him. You wanted to ride him slow and draw out every fucking moment you could with him. So, if you regretted being here in the morning, the walk of shame wouldn’t have too much shame. Your walls sealed around him and he gripped your hips trying to stop you from fucking him, but you continued. Your rhythm was wild, you used his shoulders like an anchor and smiled down at him. His face was red and misted with sweat. His curls were soaked, and he was mesmerized. Your tits bounced in front of him and your eyes were rolling. “Y/N.” He warned and you felt his cock grow harder and then he growled, shuddering in your breast as if he had waited forever to cum inside of you.

“Seems you broke a rule.” You laughed and continued to fuck him. He made sounds that only made you wetter for him and the man was part machine. He had to be as his cock grew back rigid and he was still shuttering from coming the time before.

Henry licked his fingers and slapped them onto your clit before he pulled you towards him. His fingers knew how to work your pussy. Moving in circles and then another slap before he started back again, and you were about to cum. You didn’t want to. You shook your head and Henry looked up at you, “I won’t last another time. I ca-,” Your pussy shook around his and your thighs locked down as the pleasure surged through your body. “Shit!” He yelled before slamming into you and spilling his cum again. “Y/N.” He rasped.

The floor wasn’t a bad place to lay for the time being. Henry was wrapped around your naked body and there was no need for cover. He kept you warm enough.

“Was she the reason you didn’t kiss me?”

He exhaled. “She,” he paused. “I never know when she will decide to come back into my life.” He admits. “And up until you, it was easier not kissing, that way when it ended… there were no emotions in it. It was just fucking. I can’t do that with you, okay? A single glance from you could make my heart stop, a kiss would have shattered me.” Henry admitted.

It was quiet for a while. Just deep breaths and kisses all down your body. “Let’s go to bed.” You said finally. “My boss would be mad as hell if I missed tomorrow.”

“I’m throwing you resignation away, and if you’re having problems out of Mike… I’ll fire his ass.” He stood up and reached his hand out to you. “Come on, the bed is the proper place to make sure you’re so tired work isn’t an option.”

His bed was comfortable, the sheets were so soft you were tempted to ask where he got them. You slept peacefully entangled in the muscled mass that is Henry. But it was not a complaint to make, being without him for so long made you grateful you could listen to him breathe and feel his heart against your back.

“Thank God.” The unfamiliar voice came from the bottom of the bed.

Your eyes narrowed as the bright sun made its way through the windows. The blonde hair was the first take away, it was Olivia. You scrambled from under Henry’s body. “Henry!” If she wanted a fight, you were ready to fight her, you’d just prefer to not be naked while doing it.

Henry groaned and once he caught sight of her he jolted up from the bed. “Olivia. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t be rude. I was just saying thank God.” Olivia leaned over his legs and looked at you. “I hated watching him mope around here. He looked like a puppy, sad because his bitch went away.”

“Bitch? I beg your pardon, Henry if you don’t get this woman.” Henry gave an admonished look to Olivia and gripped your hand. It didn’t comfort you. It just pissed you off. You snatched your hand away from him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” One more foul word from her and you’d fight naked.

“Excuse my manners, darling. I’m Olivia and I am so glad you are here. It seems we have some rules to introduce.” She pushed up from the bed and left the room. “Chop, chop Henry, dear. Bring your bitch, I have a plane to catch.”

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill fandom #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #laketa j writes

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asthmark · 5 years ago

Text

❝ not alone ❞, l.ty

synopsis → “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

word count → 2.5k

warnings → angsty!!! the plot may not make sense since it’s literally 1 in the morning oops

a/n → i hope this concept makes sense and it isn’t too confusing or messy!! if it is just shoot me an ask i would be more than happy to clarify :] anyway i actually like the outcome of this but i am too tired to go back and reread it all for any mistakes so i just hope google docs has my back lol gn everyone

7:00 A.M.

the alarm you set for every year at the exact hour goes off at its appointed time, much to your dismay. the mere sound of your phone beeping has a knot forming in your stomach. you wished it would stop, that everything would just stop but that was beyond unrealistic. in fact, you felt foolish for even letting yourself think like that. no matter how badly you wanted things to change, they never would. you would have to endure the same things every year.

you had struggled to fall asleep the night before, that exact thought on your mind and the dread of facing the following day eating away at you. you had only managed to get some rest because of taeyong, who held onto you tightly and caressed your hair as he whispered sweet words to ease you into much needed sleep.

but the day was here now and there was no amount of romantic words or tender touches that would change that. there was absolutely nothing either of you could do about it.

you lean over towards your nightstand to turn off the alarm and taeyong stirs when he feels you begin to shift around in his arms. you lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling as he slowly begins to wake up. he yawns and stretches his limbs out on the mattress which was routinely for him. this would usually be followed by him trying to give you a smooch only for you to squirm away, giggling as you complained about his morning breath.

it is not one of those mornings.

8:09 A.M.

you end up having cereal for breakfast, another big switch up from your routine. normally, you two would browse the internet in search of a recipe that looked promising and try your best to recreate it. you would end up with flour, sugar and dirty dishes all over the place but you never cared. then you would sit at the couch, happily enjoying the finished product and chatting with the tv playing softly in the background.

that morning you sit at the dinner table silently, the cereal in your bowls going soggy before either of you had made a dent in it. you had lost any appetite and from the looks of it so has taeyong.

“you should eat.”

you glance up at your boyfriend. he isn’t eating either, instead he focuses on dipping his spoon into his cereal, bringing it above the bowl only to let it fall back in again. you put your silverware down. “i don’t think i can.”

he hums softly, agreeing with you. “are you nervous?”

it went without saying that you were both terrified. but you know he’s just trying to make conversation. you just nod your head anyway.

10:31 A.M.

you and taeyong move to sit on the couch, turning on the tv so you don’t have to bear anymore uncomfortable silences.

even the newscaster looks down in the dumps, as expected. her voice lacks emotion as she speaks about the forecast, knowing nobody would be taking genuine interest unless it was to get their mind off of the current situation.

what did she expect? the world was restarting, people weren’t going to care about the weather.

“now, for the ongoing events,” says another news anchor. “as we are all well aware of, today is the annual reset. businesses worldwide have closed, most people opting to spend the day with their friends and family and we advise any viewers to do the same. talk to your loved ones about the memories you’ve made in the past year and write down the things and people you do not want to forget.”

you turn to taeyong only to find his gaze is already focused on you. you don’t hesitate to grab the hand that rests in his lap and intertwined his fingers with yours. neither of you say a word as you go back to watching the television, taeyong giving your hand a reassuring squeeze every so often.

12:46 P.M.

by noon, you and taeyong had begun cleaning your apartment, making sure it was well organized so that the next day you could focus only on getting settled in to your, essentially, new lives. you do the standard dusting and vacuuming along with similar around-the-house chores. while going through the closet, taeyong finds a shoe box full of polaroids you two had taken throughout the years. there are dates and other additional notes scribbled in sharpie on every single picture so your post-reset selves could read about the details of each photo since you would not be able to remember it. he calls out your name, smiling brightly when he sees your face light up as you fondly look over your shared moments.

“i’m so glad we got that camera,” you say, shifting through a stack of the photographs.

he nods. “probably your best idea yet.”

you find a picture of him giving you a piggyback ride and coo. it’s quite blurry but you can clearly see the huge grins on your faces. “look at us.” you hand him the photo. “we look so happy.”

he makes a noise of agreement, staring lovingly at the image. “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

“quit it.” you shove his shoulder, smiling sadly as you attempt to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. “i don’t want to cry right now, there’s still so much work to do.”

“it can wait.” he opens his arms and that’s all it takes for you to break. you crawl into his embrace, sobbing softly into his chest. it tugs at his heart strings. he tucks his chin above your head but you still notice how his shoulders shake and quiet hiccups escape his lips.

3:28 P.M.

once you and taeyong get tired of being confined to your apartment, you decide to go out for a breath of fresh air. you walk around aimlessly and your final destination turns out to be olympic park. as expected, it’s quite empty since as you had heard on the news, everyone was spending their last couple hours with those they loved in private.

you take in the beautiful scenery and if either you catch sight of a pretty rock or blooming flower, you will stop to pick it up and carefully place it in your pockets for safe keeping. you had found that they served as good reminders of all the time you spent together. in fact, there are many more of these mini souvenirs in your home, decorating your shelves.

“hold up,” says taeyong suddenly.

when you look at him his eyes have zeroed in on something on the ground. he kneels down and picks up a smooth rock. you can’t help but notice the familiarity of it’s color.

“pretty, right?” he says, dropping the item in the palm of your hand. “it matches your eyes.”

you smile at him, finding his attention to detail incredibly endearing. you hold on to the rock, feeling its curves with your fingers until a cluster of chrysanthemums catches your attention and you have to free up your hands to pick one. you decide on a yellow one and present it to your boyfriend.

“here,” you say. “for you.”

“hey, aren’t i supposed to be the one giving you flowers?” taeyong asks but he takes it from you anyway.

“you’re supposed to give flowers to people you like,” you say. “and i like you.”

“you like me?” he asks, gasping softly. “how embarrassing.”

you go along with his joke. “don’t you like me too?”

he shakes his head and makes a face. “no way... i love you.”

you shove his shoulder. “so cheesy.”

he can’t argue with that so he just nods and chuckles as he tucks the chrysanthemum into his dark locks of hair. at seeing this, you raise the polaroid camera round your neck toward taeyong and he, already used to it, automatically poses for you. he puts his arms over his head, curving them into a kind of crooked heart. he gives an open mouthed smile only resuming to his normal position when he hears the click of the camera. you and him share a laugh once the polaroid picture develops completely.

“oh god, i look ridiculous,” he comments. “please get rid of that.”

you only give him a sarcastic, “yeah sure” and continue walking.

you two never got rid of pictures, no matter how ridiculous or unflattering they were. you agreed that every moment you shared counted and deserved to be remembered.

although, they never would be.

5:45 P.M.

you chew on the cap of your pen, massaging your aching hand. you had been writing for almost an hour and you had your cramping fingers to prove it. despite the discomfort, you aren’t one to break tradition. the ‘things i love about you’ list was an ongoing thing you and taeyong had been doing for... ever. they definitely came in handy if either if you wanted to read about what the other was like in past years.

“everything good over there?” taeyong asks, from the other side of the couch.

you shake your head. “this is too hard. i have no idea how i’ve kept this up for four years.”

he puts a hand over his heart. “wow, i’m that hard to love, huh?”

“you know that’s not what i meant,” you say, glaring. “i just have so much stuff to say about you, so much stuff i want future me to know.”

he nods, solemnly. “i get it. i don’t want to leave out a thing but it’s kinda hard to fit a year’s worth of feelings and emotions into a couple pages.”

your let your head fall onto the couch. “why do you have to be so lovable?”

taeyong points an accusing finger at you. “i could ask you the same thing! you’re the most wonderful human being on the planet, if i try to write everything i love about you my hand will fall off!”

you sit up to stare at him. he looks genuinely offended by your ‘wonderfulness’. you pick up your pen and paper.

adorably dramatic, you write.

he scoots closer to you, exclaiming, “hey, what did you just put!”

you hug your notepad tightly to your chest. “no peeking!”

7:12 P.M.

your boyfriend hands you his letter with hopeful eyes. unlike the lists that had been made hours earlier, these writings had been in the works for quite some time. there are letters you and taeyong had written for each other dated all the way from 2016. that was also the year the first polaroids you owned were from so you both assumed it was when you had begun dating. if you ever want to have a good cry, all you have to do is find those letters.

in them, there are heartfelt words for the other person’s eyes only describing how they felt around them, why they were so special, among other sentiments. most importantly, though, you always included why you would never forget the other person. of course, one could say how ironic this was considering that forgetting was what the reset was all about but nevertheless, it was reassuring to read. it made your love seem unbreakable; something so strong it defied the impossible.

you give taeyong your letter, feeling somewhat nervous. he doesn’t hesitate to open the envelope carefully. he slowly removes your letter from inside and you mirror his delicacy. the pair of you sit in absolute silence as you read the words off the pages.

my y/n,

what an amazing year it’s been with you. i know i say that in every letter i write but it’s really true. i never wrote things like this before you came along. only the basics—my name, who my parents were, my birthday, etc. you know, things like that. frankly, i had nothing else worth remembering. but now i do. you’re my whole world, the only thing i truly know and i am convinced i could not be any happier or luckier.

i don’t know what a life without you is like literally but i wouldn’t have it any other way. the situation the world faces with this whole reset mess isn’t ideal and i’ll oftentimes think of what a normal life would be like. even then, in this perfect universe, you’re still by my side.

i still wake up next to you.

i still spend every waking moment with you.

i still fall asleep with you in my arms.

you are still my everything. i am convinced you always will be.

many people avoid love or close relationships nowadays knowing that at the end of the year it’ll all be erased no matter what. how dumb is that? they don’t know what they’re missing out on. having a partner is nothing short of a blessing and you’ve taught me that by being with me every step of the way. sure, forgetting our past together doesn’t get any easier and neither does writing these letters but i’d write a million of them if that’s what it took to have you by my side.

i can only hope you’ll continue being there for me and give me something worth remembering in future years.

you are the light of my life and i can’t wait to fall in love with you again.

yours truly,

taeyong

the tears stroll down your cheeks and drip down on to the paper in your shaky hands. you use your sleeve to try and wipe them away to the best of your ability without smudging the ink. taeyong finishes reading your letter moments later, placing on the coffee table and only staring at you with a distant look in his eyes.

your voice comes out in a whisper. “are you okay?”

he nods, sniffling but his shiny eyes say otherwise. “can you maybe just... hold me?” his voice cracks along with your heart.

he ends up with his head in your lap, your fingers pulling and tugging at his soft hair. you have a couple hours left but you wouldn’t be opposed to leaving the year in this exact position.

11:59 P.M.

taeyong has made it clear he wants you to be the first thing he sees when you enter the new year. so, you spend your last minute getting into a position that will allow that.

you end up sitting sit cross-legged across from him. he’s in the same position and in the small distance between you, your fingers meet. the hold he has on your hands is so tight his knuckles have turned white. his eyes bore into yours and although he doesn’t say a word, his hazel orbs let you know it’s all going to be okay. you repeat those words to yourself.

it’s going to be okay.

“i love you,” you blurt.

he only has a couple seconds to respond.

“i love you, too. if you’re going to remember one thing, let it be that.”

277 notes · View notes

petrichxxr · 4 years ago

Text

fateful coincidence [2] | l.jh

A/N: here I am yet again wondering if people still read the things I write... I started this series a year ago (I think) and finally have gotten around to updating it...

Word Count: 12,552

Genre: chaebol/heir!au, supernatural elements/deal with the devil, slice of life, romance (slow burn/soulmates)

Warnings: reader (fem) x lee jooheon (monsta x) pairing, mature/suggestive themes, language

Summary: Lee Jooheon is a well-known heir to a global hotel conglomerate, and is next in line to take over the family business. You’re a journalist, aspiring for more, but barely managing to pay your own bills at the end of the month. The two of you are from entirely different worlds, yet fate somehow tangles your threads, and Jooheon seems to know an intriguing amount more about you than he lets on.

You’re forgetting things.

Like pockets of memory, it starts off small. Miniscule things throughout the day that slowly progress into more important issues. There are holes, you reach in and grasp for something that you know should be there, but nothing comes out. It’s an irritating feeling—to know that something is misplaced, forgotten, but to be unable to identify what it is. It feels as if it’s only gotten worse since the night of the hotel opening, but a part of you is suddenly aware that it’s been going on for much longer than that.

It’s only after the event, waking up the next day with the taste of alcohol lingering, that you wonder how serious your memory displacement might be—because you realize, waking up, that it’s not even the alcohol that’s making you forget. Yet despite that, you still push everything down. You lock it and the dashing Lee Jooheon away in the depths of your mind, forcefully making yourself forget this one thing. You didn’t have the time to keep constantly turning his words over in your head, attempting to sort through the shrouded mystery that they presented. Not just that, but he was from a completely separate world—even if you allowed yourself time to do just that, he was still untouchable.

Plus, you didn’t want to relive every single detail as you described the event to Kihyun. There were some important factors that could be conveniently left out—he had refused to talk to you for almost three days, annoyed you’d hung up on him and given him the cold shoulder that day. Despite having a job to do. But you were just as irritated in his behavior and lack of thoughtfulness the day of the event when you’d called out of work. He hadn’t bothered to check on you at all, and you had needed to get to your job. It was as simple as that, but he’d taken it out of proportion and was being childish.

His childish behavior had dropped after the three days—after he seemed satisfied he’d gotten whatever point he was attempting to make (there was none) across, and after you got some decent recognition from Minhyuk due to the article you’d written. You tried not to consider the fact that it could have been some of Jooheon’s doing that the piece was performing so well, another thought you pushed out of your mind and locked away.

After the hype of everything between the event and article died down, your daily routine fell back into place. Kihyun was back to his normal blunt best friend act, Minhyuk was as bossy as ever and overworked you, and your daily headaches returned.

The daily headaches. You wonder if it has anything to do with your missing pockets of memory.

“Are you forgetting anything?” Kihyun’s voice suddenly breaks through the slight throbbing just beyond your skull, silencing the thoughts that were just about to make everything worse.

You glance up from your suitcase to see him entering your room, eyes scanning over the piece of paper you’d typed up. A gray cloud of fluff, fondly known to be your cat Silas, expertly weaves his way through Kihyun’s feet. Whenever he did that to you, you’d trip and fall—yet for some reason, he and Kihyun had it down to an art. No matter how much Kihyun multitasked, he was always used to the feline being just underfoot.

Silas breaks apart from Kihyun and trots across your bedroom to you. “Hey, bub.” Smiling, you reach out and give the cat a few chin scratches. Looking up to Kihyun, you add, “I don’t think so. You’ve taken care of him before though, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Kihyun frowns. “Not for this extended length of time, though. Does he get separation anxiety?”

“With how much I work and am away from home, anyway? Doubtful. But who knows, he may miss my presence. Just sleep over here. I have food that’ll go bad and you still have a roommate.”

“True. Hyungwon just sleeps, anyway. It’s not like he’ll really notice I’m gone.” Kihyun lowers the paper of instructions for caring for the flat and Silas while you’re gone on your trip, eyeing you. “Are you going to get that checked out, by the way?”

You practically scramble to lower your hands from your neck, realizing Kihyun had spotted you attempting to massage away some of the pain throbbing at the base of your nape. He was always so watchful, it was almost annoying. You understood the headaches were something to be concerned over, but he didn’t have to nitpick so much.

“It’s not really a work trip, nor a leisure trip. I’ll see if I have time.”

“Still, you’ll be visiting home while you’re there. You may as well fit in a doctor’s appointment,” Kihyun pointed out, giving the paper in his hand a small wave. “Plus, you’re there a little over a week. Family matters to take care of or not, you’ll have plenty of time. Make sure to get some rest, too. Maybe you just need some decent sleep.”

You sigh. “Yes, mother, I’ll try to.”

The sound of Kihyun’s scoff immediately follows, along with his footsteps. Silas, who had been sprawled out on the floor this entire time, scurries away at the sudden weight reverberating across the floor that startles him out of his catnap.

“Anyway, did you forget anything?” Kihyun asks once more, eyeing your open suitcase in front of you.

You glance back at your suitcase, a little haphazard with the contents but sorted and all together nonetheless—you just had to figure out how to make everything fit between your checked and carry on baggage—and shake your head. “No, I think I’m good. If I do forget anything, at least I’m going home. There’s usually spare stuff available, or I can just buy it if it’s something small.”

Kihyun frowns. “You were literally just complaining a few weeks ago about having to spend money on a dress, and now you’re saying you can just buy what you need.”

“Well, I figure if I forget anything, it’ll be something cheap like shampoo,” you cut him a look, rolling your eyes. Not a gown, you want to say. “Anyway, let’s get some sleep. Flight leaves at two in the morning, and I’m sure that’s going to be a lovely time waking up for the both of us.”

If possible, Kihyun’s frown deepens. As quickly as you possibly can without making any mistakes, you finish organizing your belongings between the luggage and close everything up, creating a pile to easily collect upon your departure. Kihyun bids a soft goodnight and makes his way back to the makeshift bed he’d created in your living room. You were already dreading the sixteen hour time difference and having to reset your internal clock for your visit to the States. At least all Kihyun had to do was wake up at an almost-unholy hour of the night to drop you off at the airport, then return to home and bed. You hoped sleep would come easily to you on the plane—because as the lights in your apartment are shut off and you close your eyes, the pounding of your headache seems to increase and rear its ugly head in full force—making sleep almost impossible for the five or six hours ahead of you.

—

Sleep comes, at some point—though not easily. But as long as it took to come, it ends in an even shorter amount of time. When you finally do fall asleep, it feels as though only a few moments pass before your alarm begins to go off. You groan, your head still pounding, and roll over to bury yourself further under your covers. The blaring song of your alarm does nothing to ease the throbbing within your skull, and you wonder how you’re supposed to get into an airplane and make the trip. Will the climb in altitude make your head hurt worse?

It’s Kihyun’s groaning from the other room, followed by his annoyed stomps—that finally wakes you. He silences your phone alarm before abruptly pulling your covers off you, making you groan again.

“Wake up,” Kihyun orders, and you feel your shoulder shoved at. “You don’t want to be late.”

“I don’t want to be at all…” Comes your sleepily mumbled reply.

“We are not having an existential crisis at twelve in the morning. Get up. I will not hesitate to drag you out of bed,” Kihyun warns. “And your apartment floors are wood.”

Letting out a sigh, you push yourself into a sitting position. Giving your eyes a rub, applying a slight pressure in hopes to ward away the throbbing headache, you drop your hands then blink a few times and allow your sight to adjust to the darkness of your bedroom.

“You still have a headache?” You see Kihyun frown in the dark.

“Why are you surprised? It’s a constant thing nowadays,” you sigh once more, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed. “Plus, it took forever to fall asleep. I’ll just sleep on the plane, though. Do you mind packing the car and I’ll get ready?”

You don’t really wait for Kihyun to answer, knowing he’ll do so anyway without you having asked, moving around to collect the clothes you’d set out the evening before and heading to the bathroom. One of Kihyun’s pet peeves was being tardy, and while you lived close enough to the airport that it wasn’t a huge deal to leave a little later—it had been Kihyun’s idea to at least get there an hour and a half earlier than your flight. Which honestly made sense on any normal occasion, but the airport was sure to be a bit on the dead side considering the time of night.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready. Your warm morning shower does nothing to ease the tension in your head—a last ditch effort you had hoped might work. By the time you’ve finished a very shortened version of your morning routine brushing your teeth, drying your hair, and applying your facial care—Kihyun already has the car packed and is pouring some food into Silas’ bowl, before pulling a hoodie on and getting ready himself. You gather the last of your toiletry items that need to be packed, and when the two of you head downstairs and you bid your farewell to your beloved feline, you stuff your toiletry bag into the top zipper of your luggage.

Kihyun was right to urge you to leave earlier rather than later. Despite the distance to the airport, there’s a decent amount of midnight traffic due to it being a weekend. You close your eyes as he drives, the blinding city and street lights glaring against the glass window of the car and burning your pupils and head. Kihyun’s smooth operation of the vehicle makes it easy to doze off a couple of times before you arrive. While the traffic may have been on the heavier side, you still make it early, and with plenty of time to spare.

“Make sure to tell me when you land,” Kihyun orders as he helps pull your bags out of the trunk of the car.

“I will.” You’d be sure not to have a repeat of the hotel opening night, where he hadn’t checked in on you when you’d called out, and out of spite you hadn’t bothered to reach out to him. “Make sure you send me plenty of photos of Silas while I’m gone.”

“He’ll be fine, he’s a cat.”

You jut out your bottom lip into a pout. “That’s not what I said.”

Kihyun scoffs, but reaches up to pat your head gently. “I’ll send you photos. Please try to see if you can get into a doctor while you’re there.”

“You’re going to keep pushing that, aren’t you?”

“As much as I possibly can,” Kihyun lowers his hand to give you a one-armed hug. “I’m going to miss pestering you. I don’t think we’ve been separated for a week since we met in college.”

“You could just say you’re going to miss me like a normal person would.”

“There’s no fun in that though.” Kihyun grins down at you, before nodding towards the entrance to your gate.

Giving a small wave, you gather your luggage and head inside. In total, it takes about thirty minutes to get your bag checked, get yourself checked in for your flight, and to go through security. Just as you’d suspected, the airport is practically dead at this hour and the lines are nonexistent. However, the traffic had been enough to make a dent in the time, and you thankfully don’t have long to wait before they start calling for your gate to board. There’s exactly enough time to grab a quick pastry from a nearby coffee shop that happened to be open before making your way onto the plane when your seat section is called.

You board the plane, stow your carryon in the overhead compartment, and then claim your seat and fasten your seatbelt. Having flown before, you stick your earbuds in your ears—figuring you’ll listen to the flight attendants’ usual spiel when the time came—but more eager to make yourself comfortable and attempt some more sleep as quickly and as soon as possible. Especially since you’d been lucky enough to snag an unclaimed window seat. This meant you were tucked away in your own little back corner, hopefully left alone for the sixteen hours ahead by whoever decided to take up being your seat partner.

Hopefully left alone was too much along the lines of wishful thinking.

As you stare out the window, watching workers move about below in the dark as they load and prep the plane for takeoff—you suddenly feel an uncomfortable tug on the cord of your earbud, before it’s pulled straight from your ear. You can’t help but grimace, feeling the bud tug at one of your many piercings.

“What the hell—”

Just as you speak up, a voice that’s all too familiar asks, simultaneously, “What are you listening to?”

You blanch as you turn in your seat, coming face to face with none other than Lee Jooheon. He quirks a brow at you, tilting his head to the side as he inserts your stolen earbud into his own ear. You can just barely make out the dimple impressions on his cheeks, his mouth pressed into something along the lines of a smile suppressing an amused smirk.

“How—” The word falls from your lips, empty and confused. How, what? You wonder. How did he get here? How was he on the same flight as you? How did he recognize you? Not that you’d chosen to sit too far towards the back, honestly—anyone walking into the plane after just boarding could easily recognize a familiar face with an empty seat next to them. You liked sitting toward the front-middle of planes when traveling; apparently, in this case, that was your downfall.

“Business trip,” Jooheon just shrugs, replying simply. “Why didn’t you ever text me that night?”

You turn away from him, pursing your lips. Text him? You briefly remembered him handing you a business card, though couldn’t remember where it had slipped off to—too many drinks made it difficult to keep track of something that small. He’d only asked for you to notify him you got home safe, anyway, so what was the big deal? His bodyguard that had escorted you home surely passed that bit of info along to him.

Had he—a possible multimillion dollar heir—really expected you to text him, unannounced? And why would he expect such a thing?

Copying his shrug, you glance away from him. “I lost your business card.”

It wasn’t a lie. As much as you wanted to admit, it was easy to forget the business card and it’s whereabouts. It was easy to forget the possibility of texting him as he’d asked. With the alcohol that had coursed through you, it was easy to forget that entire night. That was something that would probably irk him if you did choose to admit it. However, what wasn’t easy to forget were his words that randomly popped into your mind and turned over in your head, playing like a broken record—Do you really not remember me?

That, on the contrary, was something that irked you.

What was there to remember? Had you really forgotten something? It was a question that burned into your mind, day and night, even when you attempted to suppress all thoughts of him. You tried not to allow yourself to think of the events of that day, or him. While the former was fairly easy, there was something about Jooheon himself that made the latter next to impossible. There was no way for you to fight off the burning curiosity he’d created, as much as you tried. You could forget everything but him and his mysterious words.

“Well, we can fix that,” Jooheon’s reply doesn’t miss a beat. Before you even have a chance to react to his words, you feel your unlocked phone slip through your fingers and out of your grasp.

“H-Hey—”

But Jooheon is paying no mind to your protest, and you watch as he swipes out of the Spotify app on your phone to open the dialing screen. His fingers glide across your screen as he inputs his number. He even goes a step further as to open your messages and start a new text to himself—ensuring he also had your number.

As he hands your phone back to you, you frown, feeling your jaw tense. You glance down at the screen briefly, which he’d returned to your playlist, before looking back up at him. What would he do if you blatantly deleted his phone number? A part of you felt spiteful enough to do so just for the mere fact that he had taken your phone without asking and entered his number. It’s fine, I’ll just delete his number after the flight, you decide. Even if he has my number, I can just block him.

Whatever kind of coincidence this was—it was just that. A coincidence. Nothing more would amount after this. It was rather unlucky you were stuck here for sixteen hours with the given circumstances, but you reminded yourself that this wouldn’t be happening again, and to just suffer through it for now. But there was a small part of you that wasn’t quite convinced it was merely just a coincidence, like you hoped… his words from the hotel opening night, like a broken record, continued to replay in your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. Something you really had forgotten.

“I like this song,” Jooheon comments off-hand, and you only hum in response, finally turning away. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t really in the mood to engage him. Maybe he’d only spoken up and said that because you’d been staring for so long, taking your gaze the wrong way. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be completely lacking in common sense. Jooheon doesn’t push for more of a reply out of you, allowing the two of you to sit in silence as the rest of the flight occupants take their seats.

It’s almost more unnerving to sit next to Jooheon without saying anything. During the hotel night, before things had gotten weird with what he’d muttered, you two had been able to freely talk without much difficulty. There was something about his energy that made it almost comfortable, yet invigorating, to be in his presence at that time. But now the invigoration has twisted and warped into an unnerving feeling. For the most part, you feel on edge—yet there’s still a high energy, a curiosity, that sparks between you. While the flight attendants review the usual plane and flying regulations, you find yourself glancing at Jooheon. The music still plays between the two of you, having not reclaimed your earbud and he having not offered to return it.

Despite your better judgement, you’re aware of the way that the wire of the headphones rests against his shoulders, and how in normal, casual clothes—he’s actually quite broad. It’s something you feel like you should have noticed when he was dressed to the nines in a suit, yet so many suit jackets have padding you weren’t actually sure you would have trusted it. But in the simple hoodie he was wearing, you can see the breadth of his shoulders, and you’re positive it’s not because it’s oversized. He looks so simple, the outfit rounded together with some black sweatpants and a white shirt peeking out from underneath the hooded sweatshirt. So simple, and so unlike an heir or someone of his financial status. You try to ignore the fact that your brain keeps yelling at you that he looks good. It’s not important right now—or right ever, actually. Why did your mind feel the need to supply such an observation?

You’re about to pull your gaze away from your attention on Jooheon, when you notice something as you do so—where his hand lays on the armrest, his finger taps incessantly. The tapping seems to pick up speed, even becoming more sporadic, as you feel the plane beneath you pick up speed with the takeoff. For a moment, you lose yourself in the background noise of his tapping—the tiny sound overtaking your senses and demanding your focus, a rhythmic and hypnotic thing. Don’t worry about him, you tell yourself. But there’s a part of your mind that is just too curious.

“Are you okay?” You suddenly ask, dragging your eyes away from his fingers. The action seems to feel as though it takes slower than it should.

“Huh?” Jooheon blinks at you in surprise, having not expected you to acknowledge him for the rest of the flight. It’s then that he realizes what he’s doing, and he stills his hand. “Yeah, fine.”

But when you glance down, you notice the way he grips the armrest instead—forcing his muscles to be still. You think he might start vibrating with the anxiety.

“Are you sure?”

Jooheon nods, though the action is terse. “I just don’t like flying.”

“Don’t you have to do it a lot, though?” You ask, surprised. He was the heir to an international hotel chain. Wasn’t he meant to do a lot of flying? Plus, he could be considered a businessman… the idea of him not liking flying and being used to planes confuses you.

“I—” Jooheon starts, though his words are immediately cut off as the plane picks up, pulling itself off the ground as it officially takes off. Jooheon intakes his breath sharply, the takeoff pushing both of you back against your seats. It’s not a rough takeoff, per se, but you’d definitely had smoother.

Despite that, Jooheon isn’t handling it well. Something within you pulls toward him—an innate need to protect that you can't quite explain. It’s like a little tiny flame, you feel it stir within you and you can’t help but want to feed it. The combination of his intake of breath, and the way his jaw clenches when he closes his eyes, causes you to reach out without thinking—practically prying his hand off the armrest to take hold of it.

You wrap your hand around his, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Jooheon is surprised by the contact—enough so he stills for a moment, opening his eyes to peer down at your hands in curiosity—before he’s caught by surprise by something else. It’s in that moment that your hand folds around his, skin touching skin and your warmth flooding into his system through shared palms—entwining itself around every nerve—that everything stills. The sensation of everything within him simply quieting—the black, reverberating anxiety that shook at his core like a thunderous stormcloud, and the way his stomach twisted with nausea at every jerky movement the plane made. But it wasn’t just that, it was everything from that to standard stresses, a whirlwind of things that needed to be done for work, and the tormenting voices he often had to deal with within his own mind—they all just silence at your touch.

He finds his gaze locked on your hands, confused and curious all at the same time. He’d never had this happen before. Was this something that was supposed to happen? Even if he wanted to, Jooheon feels as though he’s unable to pull away from the warmth there. Like your palms are magnetized, connected, and something he shouldn’t pull apart. There was a warmth just beneath his hand, where his skin met your skin, that he could feel building like a little fire. But instead of overtaking everything in the way that a wildfire might, Jooheon finds the warmth to be soothing. Comforting, like a warm drink that fills you up—or perhaps closer to the sensation of sinking into the warm water of a bathtub. The silence within him is a welcome sensation that he’d personally like to drown himself in, if only to escape reality for just a little bit and stay suspended where he was in that strange sensation of lulled time.

For you, the skin to skin contact with Jooheon is scalding. You immediately feel that electricity you’d felt the night of the hotel opening shoot across every nerve in your body like a cosmos, the tiny flame you’d been curious about flare up with a vengeance. The heat that floods through your system at his contact in places you’d never even imagined—the pit of your stomach, the cavity of your chest, the back of your throat, is parching and suffocating and entirely overwhelming. It overtakes you in such a way that you feel your chest seize up, like you can’t breathe. But for some reason, you hang on to him. You wonder if you’ll start shaking from the sudden pressure that feels as though it’s been placed on your body, hyper-aware of the contact of him.

Yet, for some reason you don’t have the answer to, nor the mind or focus to think about—despite the way his skin contact is scalding, the nerves in your body ignited and burning from his touch—you still find yourself reaching out to him during the flight. It’s almost like it’s instinctual, though you aren’t quite sure how that would even be possible. Every time you notice Jooheon tense or become physically uncomfortable, the incessant tapping of his fingertips against the arm of the seat picking back up—you reach out to him. Your touch stills the anxiety from pouring out of his body in a physical form. It always happens when there’s turbulence, Jooheon seemingly seizing up every time the plane acts up in any way. You find it an odd fear or worry to have, considering he should be someone accustomed to flying so much, but you suppose people don’t get to pick and choose what it is that they’re afraid of.

For a good majority of the flight, Jooheon opts to leave you alone. As much as he has questions and curiosities, and a need to hear your voice, he doesn’t want to push his luck. Every time your hand finds his whenever the turbulence of the plane gets to be too much for him—everything within him stills after a shock of electricity passes through his system from your touch. It’s like that single strike flashes through his system, piercing through every bit of thick, smoky anxiety in its wake. But beyond that touch, Jooheon doesn’t ask or prompt for much more. And as the turbulence settles the longer the sixteen-hour flight drags on, the less Jooheon feels your touch that acts as a solid comfort to him. Instead, he relies more on the music the two of you listen to together. You never ask for the earbud back, and the cord of the shared headphones acts as the main thing linking you together the more time passes.

Jooheon only pushes his luck a little bit every time food or snacks come around. He takes these moments to chat with the stewardess, asking some questions, and pulling you into the conversation with ease. It’s then that you find yourself stuck in small chats with him as he passes you snacks, drinks, or your meal. Luckily, it’s easy conversation that—for the most part—doesn’t push any boundaries, and always has something to do with the food being passed around. Questions like, How does that taste? What’s your favorite food? And barters to trade snacks. They’re interactions that don’t require much of a thought process otherwise, just meaningless words to fill the silence and help pass the time. While most of your interactions with him up until that point had been begrudging, to put kindly, Jooheon couldn’t help but be surprised at how receptive you could actually be.

In between conversation, you spend the flight trying to get some shut-eye in, as you had originally planned—to no avail. You aren’t sure if it’s the presence of Jooheon being so close to you, his flying anxiety, or the sensation and sounds that came with flying that make it difficult to find sleep. From the corner of his eyes, you’re unaware of Jooheon watching you nod off every now and again, unable to ignore the way your head starts to bob or fall back against the seat suddenly. At these times, you barely manage to catch just a few fleeting moments of rest, something you couldn’t quite place your finger on always stirring you back awake.

It’s during one of these brief moments when you stir back awake that you notice Jooheon working on a tablet. At first, you think nothing of it, wanting to go back to sleep—even though you’re almost certain it’s impossible at this point—but, then it dawns on you that Jooheon is focused and quiet, and most importantly: Working, and not bothering you. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d become accustomed to Jooheon pestering you every time you moved even an inch. His silence almost disturbed you.

You blink a few times, blearily at first, refocusing your gaze and quietly straightening in your seat to peek a glance at the tablet. It sits in Jooheon’s lap, propped against one of his knees that he has raised and crossed over the other leg, where he drags the stylus against the screen, moving a specific item back and forth across the piece he’s working on. You can’t tell if he’s being erratic or indecisive. For a moment, though, you stare—studying what you assume to be some sort of pamphlet being put together for a hotel—before a yawn overtakes you.

When the yawn subsides, you shift in your seat, leaning closer to Jooheon. You give his elbow a nudge on the arm rest as you peer further over his shoulder at the tablet. “There’s too much white space.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing when Jooheon startles in surprise at your sudden intrusion into his space—having thought you were asleep still—letting a curse in Korean slip from his mouth under his breath. Cute, you can’t help but think, offering up a sheepish smile as if to apologize when Jooheon turns his head to stare you down, his eyes screaming offense. Jooheon lets out a small sigh, turning away and lifting a hand up to pat his chest and clear his throat—attempting to settle a heart that had almost tried to jump out of his chest.

“I can’t get this layout to work,” Jooheon says as he returns his attention to the tablet in front of him.

You reach over the armrest, and over his arm which holds the tablet, pointing at the screen as you speak. “You should resize these things, and then move this font here, and this image here. You could also do an overlay with a neutral color to offset the layers of this.”

As you point to what you’re talking about, careful not to touch the tablet and accidentally move something, Jooheon watchings your index finger carefully. You don’t notice the way his brows knit in focus, hanging on every word you say and carefully listening to you. You also don’t notice the way that, as you speak, he’ll find himself losing focus for just a split second to allow his eyes to flicker to your face—so close to his as you lean over the armrest—taking a fleeting moment to admire the way you seem so serious and concentrated, your eyes alight with determined focus. Jooheon glances away from you, and back down to the tablet as you speak, feeling the corners of his lips twitch with amusement. This is what you liked doing. It was the part of your job that you liked, and he could tell. A stark contrast to the night of the hotel opening, which just seemed stressful and forced on you.

It’s Jooheon’s turn to shift in his seat, leaning closer to you as he pulls his arm back and puts the tablet on the armrest between the two of you. You feel yourself freeze slightly at the proximity, having been so focused on what you were telling him. He lifts his hand, holding out the stylus to you. You blink, glancing at him and meeting his gaze—brief enough that it makes your chest clench—before glancing at the stylus.

“What?”

“I’m not going to retain any of what you just said. I got a bit of it. You take over.”

“You… want me?” You blink in surprise, glancing at the screen of the tablet, and at him again. “This seems important though. It’s for your work, I could mess it up—”

Jooheon scoffs. “Please, if anything—I’m the one that’ll mess it up. You’re the journalism major here, I’d say you’re much more qualified.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You ask, relenting and taking the stylus from Jooheon.

“We acquired a hotel in Los Angeles a few months back that’s been undergoing renovation—for the line of hotels I introduced at the grand opening the other night. The one in Seoul was built from the ground up, but we’ve slowly been expanding and we took a historic hotel and made it our own,” Jooheon explains, watching as you finally touch the stylus tip to the tablet and begin to work. “Anyway, long explanation shorter—the opening for that and the reintroduction of the new management is soon, but we recently lost our marketing manager. We haven’t been able to find someone else to hire, and we’ve got deadlines to reach. I’ve been trying to help out by taking over half of the job duties from the general manager.”

“That’s very… responsible of you.”

“Well, this whole chain is my responsibility,” Jooheon muses. “So, yeah. But also my best friend is the GM and his ass is getting kicked. Neither of us are any good at this, we’re just good at the business portion of it.”

The conversation falls off there, Jooheon realizing you’re focusing. Hearing he and his general manager were struggling made you feel more pressure, and you can’t help but mentally chastise yourself for stepping in and helping, despite how clearly he had been struggling. Luckily, Jooheon stays close to you as he watches you work, leaning against the armrest. You try not to focus too much on the way your shoulders touch, or the way his scent flows into your space as he delegates a little, giving you technical hotel terminology to include and add in as the pamphlet comes to life on the tablet screen and the white space that had been taking up the majority of the screen before slowly melts away. When he challenges something you do, he allows for you to explain your reasoning behind it and listens carefully as you do so. You find yourself surprised at how well he listens, and how easily it is to compromise with him on certain things.

You two spend a couple of hours working away at the project together before determining it’s finished, Jooheon and yourself both pleased with the outcome. Jooheon is smiling with enough force that his dimples show on his cheeks, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling along with him—his happiness infectious; you’re happy he’s happy, and you’re happy to have helped. Yet even with the happiness, you find your eyes stinging because of staring at a bright screen for so long, and are acutely aware of your beloved ever-present migraine rearing its ugly head even more than it had at the start of the flight. Jooheon takes note of the way you lift a hand to pinch your nose, attempting to suppress the pain throbbing from your skull.

“Get some sleep. I won’t bother you anymore,” Jooheon comments, lifting the tablet up briefly to give it a small wave. “Thanks for your help though.”

“No problem,” you mumble, suppressing yawn. His thank you catches you off-guard, enough so that you lower your hand from the bridge of your nose to blink at him a couple of times. But he’s not paying attention, turning away from you to put the tablet back into a carry-on he’d had stowed underneath the seat ahead of him. You shift in your seat—away from the position which had you closer to him—attempting to make yourself comfortable again as you close your eyes.

Sleep seems like a fever dream to you. Something you’re aware that you’re receiving, but never feeling quite satisfied from it. As if it’s there, but simultaneously not; all a figment of your imagination. You begin to doze almost immediately after closing your eyes, the migraine practically pushing you to do so, because keeping your eyes open hurt too much. The intensity of the migraine doesn’t relent, though, which has you dozing and waking just as you had before you’d begun helping Jooheon with his work. Just as before, you find yourself going in and out of consciousness, nodding off and startling awake when your head begins to bob or tip too far. You sleep in increments—none of it restful.

Jooheon is aware of your restlessness next to him, but he’d promised not to bother you—and he has to remind himself of that. But the way your head tips and bobs makes him feel anxious for you. Especially because he could briefly recall a mention of a constant headache the night of the hotel opening, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the reason sleep wasn’t coming to you easily was because of that. Had you been serious about it? You had a dry sense of humor, which he found quite amusing, but it had him often wondering if what you said was the truth or not at certain times—and did a decent job to keep him on his toes as he attempted to figure out whether you were being serious at times.

He gives in to listening to himself constantly telling himself that he had said he wouldn't bother you, though, after too much time passes watching your head nod as sleep attempts to overtake you. That has got to be uncomfortable on the neck… he thinks to himself, completely giving in when he watches your head fall forward a bit too far. Jooheon reaches out to catch your head, guiding it gently toward his shoulder. As he does so, he sinks lower in his seat just a bit, so your head can rest more comfortably against him. He’s a little disappointed to find that the instant calm and quiet that had overtaken him earlier during the turbulence from your touch doesn’t envelop him warmly again—he is, however, surprised to find that after a few moments pass, you shift in your seat closer to him. When Jooheon glances at you after feeling the movement, he finds you still asleep—thankfully—slumping to the side to lean towards him more comfortably, snuggling against his shoulder.

The way you nuzzle against him has him tensing in surprise—a heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The action from you and the heat he feels overtake him with a sudden ferocity are familiar. Too familiar. A type of hunger he’d rather not put a name to.

No, Lee Jooheon. Not right now. He clenches his jaw, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly, feeling parched suddenly. It was strange how different actions elicited different reactions, his body responding in such stark contrast to each. As Jooheon turns away, he carefully lifts his hood up and over his head, closing his eyes.

He should sleep, too. There was still quite a bit of flight left.

—

You’re met with silence when you finally wake.

The plane is bustling and alive, a quiet hum of sound that reverberates through the cabin as people speak in hushed tones and get ready for their landing. These sounds all come to you, slowly seeping into your consciousness. Before your body fully wakes—before you begin to tense your muscles and stretch, and a yawn overtakes you while your eyes crack open—your mind wakes first. And you notice something that seems a little off.

Everything is silent.

Your headache is completely gone.

You stay still for a moment, reveling in the odd silence, though your mind is reeling as to why the migraines which had been plaguing you for months were just suddenly gone. The cavity of your skull where your mind rests feels empty, but in an oddly good way. What had changed? What had happened? Was it the ascension in the plane to a higher altitude? Was that even something that could stop chronic migraines?

It almost felt too good to be true, considering your migraines also came hand-in-hand with your pockets of disappearing memory. For all that to just suddenly stop felt too good to be true.

Furrowing your brows, you squeeze your eyes closed tighter. You want to stay here—suspended in silence and the darkness behind your eyelids—forever. There was no ache just beyond your temple that caused nausea; the pain so bad sometimes you felt like you might pass out. There was no ache behind your eyes that typically brought about the stinging sensation of tears, and made the glaring brightness of any sort of light hurt. There was nothing. There was just silence. No thoughts, no suffocating pressure, no pain.

“Are you awake now?” Abruptly, Jooheon’s not-so-welcome, yet familiar, voice breaks through your silence.

Begrudgingly, you open your eyes, blinking a few times to readjust to the light. And then, you blink again, realizing the tilted angle at which you’re resting.

“Sleep well?” The hint of amusement in Jooheon’s voice has you jolting upright—and off his shoulder, where you’d been resting your head. You take a moment to stare ahead, refusing to meet Jooheon’s curious gaze that you can feel burning into you. Silently, you swallow down your nervousness and glance to your side, avoiding his gaze for a moment to stare at his shoulder—your makeshift pillow for who knows how long—then you lift your eyes to meet his.

Without prompting vocally again, Jooheon simply raises an eyebrow.

You almost hate to admit you did sleep well, considering the push and pull you kept experiencing towards Jooheon. There were too many unanswered questions about him, too many things that made you curious and worried at the same time. He was too mysterious. Admitting something like this to him almost felt like you were placing a playing card right in his hand. There was a small part of you that wondered if his presence had anything to do with it, but you immediately pushed that thought out of your mind, writing it off as absolutely absurd. You barely knew him, how would he have any sort of effect on you such as that?

Letting out a sigh, you nod finally in answer.

Jooheon takes the silent answer with a small nod of his own, turning away to gather his belongings which had been at his feet to begin putting in the backpack he had, before pushing it back under the seat before him. “That’s good, you looked like you needed some decent rest.”

“Apparently so. My headache—or rather, migraine—is gone.”

When Jooheon straightens in his seat, he turns to look at you again. “You mentioned once you had a constant headache. Was it that bad?”

You nod. “It would vary. Sometimes it was a headache, sometimes a migraine. Anywhere from manageable to incapacitating, but always constant. It’s been going on for almost three months now, I think?”

“That long?” Jooheon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and the corners of his lips immediately follow in the opposite direction, pulling down into a frown. “You mentioned during our first meeting you were stressed, but that sounds like something more than just stress. Have you been to a doctor?”

“Please, finding the time is too difficult. Don’t start nagging me like Kihyun.” Out of habit, the borderline pushiness of his words has you reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s no headache there to attempt to subside—which has your hand just as quickly falling down from your face. You frown at your palm, studying it. The habit had been built on stress, and as stressful as Jooheon’s miniscule attempt to nag had been, there was no physical representation of that stress like usual.

Maybe Kihyun is the problem, you muse to yourself. He did have a tendency to nag to the extreme. Almost like a mother.

“I’m starting to think Kihyun might be on to something,” Jooheon grumbles from next to you, causing you to lift your gaze from your hand. “You seem to be stubborn, you need someone to nag you, it seems like. You should find the time. Three months almost certainly implies there’s some sort of underlying health concern.”

“My headache is still gone, don’t ruin the moment. If you keep it up, it’s almost certainly going to come back.”

With a scoff, you look away from him and nestle back into your seat. As you do so, an announcement over the intercom notifies everyone aboard the plane of the oncoming landing. Instructions to start preparing for landing by putting away and stowing all belongings follows, and the stewardess over the speaker ends the announcement by asking everyone to return to their seats and begin buckling up.

“Fine. I won’t ruin this moment. But I can’t promise for any future moments,” Jooheon declares. When you glance at him in surprise, he looks over at you with a small dimpled smirk. You end up rolling your eyes—rolling your gaze away from him. How the heck was he so annoying, yet somehow charming?

As if someone hears the word charming cross through your mind—the plane hits a bit of turbulence just before it begins to tip to the side, turning to make a circle to land. It’s a very slight maneuver, almost unnoticeable. In fact, you were so accustomed to flying that you really wouldn’t have noticed it yourself, if not for the fact that Jooheon, next to you, was visibly tensing as he had earlier. His hand, lying on the armrest between you, grips the edge so hard the skin pulls taught and translucent over his knuckles.

Even Jooheon’s unusual fear and his reaction to it, something you had become accustomed to during the flight, was somehow charming.

Wordlessly, you reach out, pushing your hand beneath his where it grips the armrest. It takes a bit of urging before he feels your fingertips pushing against the base of his palm near his wrist, attempting to push your way underneath. When Jooheon does, he glances at you in surprise, lifting his hand just enough for you to slip yours beneath to take hold of him as you had before.

When your palms connect, fingers wrapping around his and him returning the gesture, that scalding feeling from before returns. You knew you’d be burned, touching him—yet for some reason, as you had so many times through the flight already—it was a risk you were willing to take. That same electricity that you’d felt before, and felt from the night of the hotel opening, shoots up your arm from where your palms connect and shoots across every nerve in your body again. This time, though, it feels so much stronger—and now you wonder if the clarity of your migraine being gone is a good thing, or a bad thing. Without the heavy, leaden fog that rests over your mind with the migraine, you’re suddenly aware and feel everything. So much so that the contact this time and the reaction your body has to him makes you flinch in surprise, though very subtly.

Jooheon, of course, takes silent note—his eyes never not watching you curiously.

That electric fire that swarms through you happens in such a brief amount of time that it takes you a few moments of staring at your hand, connected with Jooheon’s, to realize that it at some point quiets down to something more akin to a simmer. Warm, and somehow pleasant. Something like sitting in a window, where sun filters through, your eyes closed against the sunlight that warms the glass and warms you.

You really had to be going crazy, you think. Jooheon was handsome but there was no way you were attracted to him—right?

Meanwhile, the same warmth floods through Jooheon, euphoric and soothing. He draws his eyes away from you, clenching his jaw and trying not to physically react to the fuzzy feeling that overtakes him, filling him up yet again. The welcome silence of everything stopping within him returns. If he isn’t careful, he’s sure he might let out a sigh of contentment that would give everything away. And so, he clenches his jaw a little tighter, pursing his lips.

“You’re going to break the poor armrest,” you say, past a knot that forms in your throat. Your throat feels dry, seizing up again. You feel awkward just holding his hand—especially as you try to make sense of the sudden fire that had built up just as it had before, before slowly dying down into something more manageable. This time, it wasn’t as suffocating. Yet you still felt somehow nervous and small next to him, that unnerving edginess he causes settling over you again. Your body was starting to feel as though it was experiencing whiplash.

A little over sixteen hours spent in his presence was starting to confuse you. Were you still irked by him, yet somehow intrigued? Or were you actually starting to soften up to him? You had to admit that his mysterious riddled words and overly generous actions had made you immediately throw up a wall… but he hadn’t been that bad during this flight. He’d been much more normal, still as charming, but besides taking your phone for himself—he hadn’t pushed any boundaries or said anything weird.

“You’d rather I break your hand, then?” Jooheon retorts good-naturedly, which has you suddenly snorting out a small laugh.

“Please don’t actually break it. I need to return to work after this trip.”

“What are you on this trip for, anyway?” Jooheon wonders, and when you look at him with a frown, he shrugs. “I told you what I’m going to LA for.”

“Family reasons.”

“A vacation, then?”

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought of what awaits you when you land. Although Jooheon has made the flight a little more bearable, despite everything you thought about him prior, a small part of you wishes you hadn’t even boarded the plane back in Seoul. Knowing what you were walking into when the plane landed—you wished for everything that, somehow, you wouldn’t have to. If only you hadn’t been pressured into taking this trip. You wanted to stay suspended here, with your migraine gone and a bit of peace from everything in life and just spend some time not thinking. Not thinking about work, not thinking about family, and not thinking about how much pain you were constantly in. Kihyun had told you to get your migraine checked out while you were near your family doctor, but you wondered when you’d have time for that—wondered how long this peace from the head pain would last. Which is why you wanted to keep it, for as long as possible. It was so nice to have some silence and a break from it all. Soon, you’d be walking back into more pain. Unwillingly so, but that was the outcome, nonetheless.

“It’s not going to feel like a vacation.” Comes your answer, just as the plane lands. It’s at that moment that Jooheon squeezes your hand, the impact of the plane hitting the runway jostling everyone inside just a bit. But there’s something in the way that he gives the squeeze—almost reassuring instead of to comfort himself—that has you staring at your hands, yet again, in silent curiosity.

Jooheon keeps holding your hand up until the plane reaches a complete stop once it pulls up to the jetway. It’s only then that he relinquishes his hold, and the both of you silently gather up the belongings which you’d brought as carry on items onto the plane. Other passengers begin to do the same, standing in their rows and slowly beginning to exit the plane. Jooheon, once he has everything in his backpack he’d brought with him, soon stands in the row you share, turning to glance over his shoulder. As you finish gathering your things into the backpack you’d brought on the plane with you after claiming it from the overhead bin, you look up at him—noticing him searching.

You peek over the top edge of your seat just as Jooheon appears to have found who he was looking for, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says, nodding over his shoulder to signal when they exit the plane. You squint, studying the people, before your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, instantly recognizing the larger built man a few aisles back from you who seems to nod a reply to Jooheon.

“He was here too?” You blurt out, without thinking, memories immediately flashing back to the night you’d been drunk and that man had taken you home. You grimace, sinking down in your seat a bit and hoping he doesn’t see you.

Your outburst causes Jooheon to glance down at you in surprise, lips twitching in amusement at your reaction and the way you attempt to hide yourself. “Of course. Hoseok’s my bodyguard. And kind of an assistant, since he keeps track of all my schedules.”

“Why’d you sit with me instead of the person you came on this trip with?”

Jooheon shrugs. “You’re much more interesting. Plus, I see him every day.”

You frown, but before you can reply, Jooheon reaches down behind you where you sit, backpack on, and gives the hook strap on your bag a tug, urging you to your feet. The two aisles ahead of you move to make their exit, marking it as your turn next. Jooheon turns away as you stand, stepping out of the aisle—and his next action catches you by surprise. He steps out enough to block others from cutting out and ahead, nodding for you to go first. Blinking in surprise, you almost trip as you rush out of the aisle so as to not hold up the line, feeling Jooheon keep close behind you as he follows.

You don’t realize until you’re off the plane that Jooheon has an ulterior motive by letting you exit first. As soon as you’ve cleared the bridge connecting the plane to the terminal gate, and have stepped out into the waiting area, Jooheon steps forward from behind you and slips his hand into your own. He takes a firm hold, tugging you along as he leads you off.

“Hey!” Surprised, you stumble after him, having not even had a chance to figure out what your next step after arrival would be—you’d traveled back in time, and it was almost nine o’clock at night on a Friday in Los Angeles. You needed to figure out a form of transportation home, first and foremost, before things started to close down. “J-Jooheon!”

The sound of his name slows his pace down, and Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you with a quirked brow—but he doesn’t stop walking. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name.”

You frown, staring at him. Had he been counting such a thing? You hadn’t really been aware you’d said his name so little… but you had been avidly avoiding the use of it. You didn’t want to give him too much power by using his name. It was better, you thought, to just keep him as a stranger. That’s what you’d thought the night of the opening ceremony and the nights following where he’d constantly tormented the gaping hole in your memory. Unfortunately, he’d pushed past that boundary line already—something you were well aware of. Lee Jooheon was more like an acquaintance now, and as much as you hated it—it was too late to turn back.

“We’re going to go get food,” he announces when you don’t say anything to his statement, turning away from you to keep leading you on.

You give your hand a tug, attempting to pull it back to yourself. “We don’t need to, though—”

“Nonsense, I’m starving. The plane meals weren't that filling.” Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you again. “And like I said, you’re much more interesting to spend time with. I’m not done doing so yet—as soon as you leave this airport, who knows when I’ll see you again, or if you’ll even use that phone number I put in your cell? LA’s a much bigger city than Seoul, we might not cross paths at all while we’re here.”

“Why does that matter?” You grumble. You wanted to keep things at the acquaintance level.

Jooheon shrugs. “Matters to me. But please, just indulge me for a bit. I’m stuck here for at least a week having to do work. I might not get to see anything outside of a hotel for the entire time.”

You sigh, but give up trying to pull your hand back to you. Jooheon doesn’t free you of his grasp until you’re being seated. As you stop outside the restaurant he’s chosen, you can’t help but stare up at the sign on the wall for the Mexican food eatery, grimacing. Jooheon catches the face you make as you sit across from him—and when your eyes meet as you take your seat, and you realize he’d seen you make the face, you let out another sigh.

“Did we really have to eat here? Airport food is so expensive.”

“It’s quick and convenient. Plus, I’m paying.”

“What?” You shake your head. You already owed him, you didn’t want more added on. “No, definitely not.”

“You’re indulging me, so I’ll be the one to handle the bill.” Jooheon reaches across the table, tapping the menu that had been set down in front of you by the waiter before they had disappeared. After doing so, Jooheon pulls his phone out of his pocket and busies himself with it.

You purse your lips, scanning the limited menu options. The downside to airport food, besides the price, was how little there was to choose from. That being said, it made making a final decision a lot easier and faster. When the waiter comes back around—the two of you being among the very few people sitting to eat at that time of night—you both place your order with ease.

Just as the waiter leaves, Jooheon’s phone rings. He glances at the phone face to see who’s calling, before answering in Korean. While the voice on the other end of the line speaks, you decide to pull your own phone out of your bag that you’d brought with you. Having been dragged away by Jooheon, you hadn’t had a chance to turn your phone off airplane mode. You do so, and then wait for the onslaught of messages to pour through.

“Hey,” Jooheon says from across the table. You glance up from your phone to look at him, just as your finger pushes the little slider to turn airplane mode off. “What does your luggage look like?”

For a moment, you just stare at Jooheon, confused.

“It’s Hoseok, he’s at baggage claim.”

“Oh.” The word falls from your lips slowly as his words settle into your mind, realization dawning on you. That’s right—you’d been dragged away so fast you’d also forgotten about your checked luggage that you had to pick up. “Uh, it’s a larger black suitcase. I have a yellow ribbon tied to it.”

Jooheon nods, repeating the information to Hoseok. As he does so, you overhear him follow up by telling his bodyguard-assistant that the two of you are eating, and apologizing profusely for running off. It’s clear from the tone the conversation takes that Jooheon isn’t going to be let off easy, despite being the boss. You zone out, then, instead returning your focus back to your own phone. But the screen contents are empty when you tap the screen to wake the phone from sleep, unlocking it.

The lack of any sort of notification causes you to frown. Of course, it was past nine now, so you doubted anyone here that was waiting for you to arrive actually cared about you arriving. This entire trip had been a guilt trip, and was an inconvenience for you. You were sure drama would start as soon as you arrived home. It was likely no one had even stayed up to greet you, so why would anyone bother to check and see if your flight had gone well? There had been minimal communication leading up to your departure, anyway.

Doing the math in your head, you count back, figure that it’s a little after one in the afternoon back in Korea. The fact that there was no message from Kihyun, either, was a little deterring—considering it was a weekend in the middle of the afternoon. But then you remembered he had asked you to call him when you landed. Mentally chastising yourself, you open your text messages and send him a quick text, letting him know you’ve landed and were grabbing some food, and would call him a little later.

“You okay?” Jooheon asks, now off the phone. He’d been sitting there quietly for a few moments, watching your expression turn increasingly sour.

Hearing his voice, you startle in surprise—having not even realized he’d gone silent. You fumble with your phone, locking it quickly—slightly guiltily—and pull your gaze back up to him. Not long ago, you’d been trying to get out of eating with him and slip away as fast as you possibly could. But, now you realize it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like you had anywhere to go.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumble sheepishly.

Jooheon clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water the waiter had set on the table when seating the two of you. “That’s a lie,” he says, before taking a drink. “But I won’t press.”

Before you can react to that, wondering how Jooheon would know such a thing was a lie, your waiter returns with your food. The way you can feel your expression instantly lighten on your face, your stomach growling in response to the delectable scent—you realize that’s how Jooheon had known you were lying. Thinking about what you were returning home too had dampened your mood enough that it was visible on your face. But the smell of the expensive, yet delicious-looking, airport food had lightened it back up.

Jooheon smiles softly, watching you, amused at how easily food motivated you seemed to be. He gives a quiet thanks to the waiter before joining you, taking a bite of the tacos that had been ordered. The two of you eat in silence, for the most part. The only questions Jooheon asks are if you like the food, just as he had done on the plane, and how long you’ll be in Los Angeles for. Neither answer illicit much of a further reaction from him, or push him to speak more—and so you finish your shared meal together quite quickly—and thankfully before things get awkward with the staff as the restaurant nears closing time.

You wait by the entrance while Jooheon finishes up paying. As he turns away from the counter, he sticks the receipt he was given in his wallet, before shoving that into the pocket of his sweatpants, walking over to meet you. You offer up a smile as he stops next to you.

“Thanks for the food.” “Thank you for eating with me,” Jooheon replies, returning your smile. He can’t help but take note of how soft, and slightly shy, the way your lips appear to be turned up on your face. It’s cute. Before much more can be said, his phone goes off in his pocket.

The sound makes you a bit jealous, and you watch as Jooheon pulls the device out and studies the name on the screen. He lets out a very long sigh before he answers the phone—and you’re almost surprised it’s in Korean, again.

“I just finished eating,” you hear Jooheon say, and you turn away as he speaks on the phone.

As you do so, you blink, catching sight of something—or rather, someone—peculiar.

“Daniel?” The name falls from your lips with confusion, but with a raised-enough voice that the owner of the name—the person walking towards you—lifts their head in answer, confirming your suspicion.

Jooheon, standing behind you, hears your voice not only against his ears—but he also hears it echo within his phone receiver, as well. Blinking in confusion, he pulls his cell phone away from his ear just enough to stare at it, surprised and confused, before turning around slowly. Jooheon looks at you, first, then lifts his gaze up to see what you’re staring at with such a surprised expression.

“Changkyun.”

You glance over your shoulder at Jooheon, hearing a name fall from his lips that isn’t a question—but rather, a statement. Seeing where Jooheon is staring, you look back.

Daniel—or Changkyun—stops dead in his tracks where he’s walking, the cell phone he’s holding to his ear frozen there. He stares, dumbfounded, looking between you and Jooheon. After a few moments, your name falls from his lips in surprise—out of breath and nostalgic, the familiarity of it hits you like a wave. And then, his next word that follows has you blanching in surprise, looking once again back over your shoulder at Jooheon.

“Uh, hi, Boss.”

Jooheon purses his lips, lowering his phone from his ear and hanging up the call. He shoves the device back into his pocket. “You’re late.”

“S-sorry, you know how LA traffic is.”

“You two know each other?” You blurt, suddenly, just as Daniel nears the two of you, slowly coming to a stop.

“I want to ask the same thing.” As he speaks, Jooheon quirks a brow at you.

“Actually,” Changkyun clears his throat. “Same.”

“This is the best friend-general manager that I was telling you about on the flight, for our LA location,” Jooheon explains, before nodding in your direction. “And she’s my favorite small-time journalist in Seoul.”

Favorite small-time journalist. The words ring in your head, and you’re suddenly propelled back to weeks ago when you had found yourself wondering if Jooheon had a hand in how well your article had been doing. You purse your lips, but decide not to say anything.

It’s Changkyun’s turn to quirk a brow, but you’re too busy turning the rest of Jooheon’s words over in your head to react. It takes a moment before your eyes suddenly widen. Your head snaps up in the direction of Daniel, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and mouth falling open. “You?! A general manager?!”

“Wow, the lack of faith in your incredulous reaction is a testament to your faith in me,” Changkyun mutters, tone dripping with sarcasm. All you do is shake your head, still in disbelief, before looking back at Jooheon.

“We went to high school together,” you reply simply. “And middle school, actually. We’ve been friends since then.”

“Speaking of, why are you back? Are you here for—” Before Changkyun can finish his sentence, you loudly cut him off.

“Oh! Look! Hoseok has the luggage!” And before waiting for either of the men next to you to react, you push past Daniel in a rush, heading towards Jooheon’s bodyguard. Changkyun blinks, surprised, meeting Jooheon’s eyes before looking over his shoulder at you. Jooheon simply shrugs, following after you a little more slowly.

“How are you getting home?” Jooheon asks as he catches back up to you, watching as Hoseok relinquishes your luggage back to your own possession.

You give Hoseok a small thanks, turning back. “I’m just going to call an Uber or Lyft.”

Jooheon frowns, before looking at Changkyun. “How close are you two?”

“Uh… close, I guess? Our families know each other, and we keep in touch, albeit inconsistently because of work.”

“Perfect. Let her borrow your car.”

In unison, you and Changkyun both blurt out, “What?”

“It’s late, and it’s safer. We can just get the Uber. This way you can just head home,” Jooheon explains, matter-of-factly. “And if you two went to school together and your families are familiar with each other, I’m sure you know where to pick your car up.”

“Hey,” you mutter, scowling at Jooheon. “That’s not really for you to decide—”

Changkyun sighs, waving you off. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. He has the right idea. You live like twenty minutes away from here, anyway.”

You frown, wanting to argue further—but you feel Jooheon’s intense gaze on you and figure it probably won’t get you very far. But to just make that decision on his own, without asking… you cut Jooheon a look of annoyance before turning your attention back to Changkyun as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket, pulling the car key off and taking the remaining keys on the ring. He hands it over to you, briefly explaining he’d left the car in the loading port after convincing the attendant outside that he’d only be a short amount of time, urging you should likely go soon so as to not result in his car being towed. You nod, thanking him and giving him a quick hug, before turning to Jooheon.

Lifting Changkyun’s car key menacingly, you glare. “Don’t you dare use this as an excuse to see me and come with him and pick the car up, got it? I appreciate your concern and I’ll accept it this time—but I’m not happy about it.”

And before he can answer, you gather your things and turn on your heel, heading away. You hear Jooheon let out an audible laugh as he watches your retreating figure. He smiles, watching you leave, and waits until you’re out of earshot before turning to Changkyun.

“High school friends, huh? What a coincidence.”

“That’s the girl you’ve been bugging me about?” Changkyun crosses his arms, frowning. “If so, I don’t think coincidence even begins to cover it.”

Jooheon tilts his head to the side, curious.

“She’s the one, right? The failed contract you mentioned?” Changkyun prompts, before letting out a bitter chuckle as Jooheon nods. He shakes his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Ha… I can’t even be surprised, with the divorce and all…”

“Divorce?” Jooheon echoes.

Changkyun frowns. “My statement that she dodged earlier. Why she’s back here… her parents are getting a divorce. Long time coming, honestly, and she probably got dragged back into it. There’s… a lot in that household that’s worth escaping, to be honest. Which makes sense why she sought you out.”

“If it makes so much sense, then why’d the contract fail?”

“Do you really not know?” Changkyun wonders, quirking an eyebrow as he levels his gaze with Jooheon’s.

“I’m not here to play guessing games, Changkyun,” Jooheon mutters. “It just happened to be convenient that you showed up to see who I was referring to, and coincidence that you know her and we were on the same flight. But I’ve been venting all this to you for the past few months because I’m at an utter loss as to why the contract would have failed. I’m not all-knowing, despite what people may think. Now that you’ve seen her, I’m assuming you have an answer. So, spill.”

Changkyun smirks, stepping forward to place a hand on Jooheon’s shoulder. “My Lordship… that girl is your soulmate.”

Soulmate.

Before the word even processes, Jooheon is scoffing, to which Changkyun tsks.

“You were human at one point, too. We all have one. Even you, the King of Hell,” Changkyun chastises. “I’m guessing you probably can’t see it, or you would’ve caught on much sooner—but her aura, it reads totally differently when she’s next to you in comparison to when she was walking away. It’s quite interesting to see this in person, I’ve only ever heard of it happening a few times through sources.”

Jooheon frowns, studying Changkyun’s face for any sign of a lie. Soulmate. Another person with which one had a natural affinity and deeper connection toward. The connection was often instantaneous and natural—and strong enough that one would feel themselves drawn to that other person in every single way while simultaneously bringing about a sense of peace and calm. Jooheon wanted to scoff again. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in them. He’d seen the magic at work for others. But, for himself?

And yet, so many things made sense. His anxiety eased when near you. The entire plane trip, everything had been calm. A sort of calm he’d never experienced before. Just as much as things had been calm, though, every touch had set ablaze his nerve endings. He hadn’t experienced such a nervousness in someone else’s presence in years.

What an ironic twist of fate this had to be—the universe was definitely playing games with him, now. He was well aware he’d pissed off many higher powers over the years… but to do this to him? Send him his own soulmate, on a silver platter, begging to make a contract with the Devil? Begging for release? Begging to forget?

To forget…

Jooheon blinks, realization dawning on him—the migraines you’d mentioned. He lets out an audible groan, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course that would be a side effect. While he had never had a contract fail in the past, unless a soul really wasn’t set on release—a broken contract could amount to many side effects, some more serious than others. In most cases, Jooheon had witnessed the failed cases simply go insane. But since your request had been so definite and simple, it made sense that it would backfire with a physical manifestation like this.

That’s why she doesn’t remember me.

“Changkyun, I need a drink,” Jooheon mutters, brushing past both him and Hoseok. The two share a look, and Changkyun stares after Jooheon in confusion, before trailing after in a hurry.

#jooheon fanfic #monsta x fanfic #mx fanfic #jooheon scenarios

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