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softlyjiminie · 5 years

Text

nine months from now | m.y.g

⇢ pairing(s): boss!min yoongi x reader, mentions of vmin + namjin.

⇢ word count: 16.5K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff, un-expecting parents!au, parents!au.

⇢ summary: his was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. a sudden, unexpected turn of events leads you into a world of baby bottles and baby grows, it just so happens that the cause of this mess is your boss...min yoongi.

⇢ warning(s): please read! mentions of infidelity, insecurity, unexpected pregnancy, light!description of birth ( pain, water breaking ), soft smut, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, unprotected sex ( please wear protection ), mentions of one night stands, mentions of drunk sex, phone sex, oral sex ( female receiving ), masturbation ( male + female ) , light!praise kink, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, dirty talk and swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey everyone! this is a kinda late birthday fic for our wonderful boy min yoongi! i love parent aus and i just got to thinking about how yoongi would be the most amazing dad and boom dis bad boy popped out. I hope you enjoy reading and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! also thank you to my wonderful gigi ( @fantasybangtan ) for this beautiful banner, love you so much :(

one month. two blue lines.

this was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. you were supposed to work your ass off, show off your skills, get promoted and live a comfortable life. there was no time in your plan for this.

no time in your plan for a baby.

you feel as if the whole world has been drained away as you sit on the edge of your bath tub, your chest rising and falling with panic —you hadn’t even noticed, not until it was too late. your period had always been irregular, is it was easy for you to miss the signs. it couldn’t be happening. it can’t be happening. “how can this be happening?” you whisper to yourself, the lump in your throat makes your voice sound hoarse and weak.

“well, when two very special people love each other..” your roommate, yura, begun as she rests her head on your shoulder and grabs your trembling hand. she had always been a joker, much to the chargen of your half brother, seokjin.

“she knows how it works, yura! it’s the sex that got her there!” your sibling yells, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with a scolding disappointment. you’d never seen him so angry before, face red and the vein in his neck on the verge of bursting. you could tell he was trying to reign in his temper and you knew it was more than just rage he was feeling. seokjin had never known his farther, your mother was too ashamed to ever tell him and so he spent most of his life living with a hole in his heart. “do you even know who the father is?”

you flinch at his sharp tone, knowing it was only his self inflicted conflict that was so venomous. yura’s head snaps up to glare at seokjin, lips parted in shock at he continues his rant. “how irresponsible could you be, YN? getting pregnant at this time in your career, how could you be so stupid?”

“seokjin, enough!” yura snaps furiously, standing up with her hands resting comfortingly on your shoulders. she stares him down, rendering him silent and huffs. “YN is a grown woman...twenty-four years of age, meaning, you can’t scold her like a child anymore. it’s her body, her life and she’ll do as she damn well pleases. “

the sounds of their voices fade to nothing but static as they bicker back and forth about you. it’s almost as if you’re not even there, mind a million miles away. the mere thought of a life growing inside you has you spiralling and it’s not until seokjin puts a hand on your shoulder, that you look up.

“do...you know who the father is?” yura asks you quietly and avoids your gaze at his flits between hers and seokjin’s face.

“i do,” you twiddle your thumbs nervously, thinking back to the only occasion you can remember. you rub your eyes as they slowly begin to water, your brother and best friend nuzzling into you to help calm your nerves. “i know exactly who it is.”

seokjin and yura share a look, worried for the name about to pass your lips.

three months.

the walk to the top office is a brisk and daunting one. thousands of scenarios occupy your mind but you remember your brother’s advice and try to keep a steady head. you relax your stance as the elevator doors close in front of you, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. a hand comes to rest on your lower stomach, reaching for the bump that was barely visible.

you’d been to various different appointments over the last few weeks, blood tests, ultra-sounds and a paternity test. groaning, you remember the face of the assistant, her pointed nose tilted up in disgust when you begged her for any disgarded coffee cups the executive had lying around. all you needed was the tiniest trace of saliva to confirm your suspicions.

reaching your desired floor, you step out of the lift, and the sudden feeling of exposure crawls up your spine. patent heels click and clack against the smooth marble floor as you head to the front office. the light shines through the glass panes but it doesn’t lift your somber mood.

“i have an appointment with the executive?” you smile politely to the receptionist behind the desk and hand over your ID badge. she’s surprised, to say the least, when she checks it over and you can tell she’s unsure of how someone of your position would get an appointment on such short notice.

she lets you through regardless, mentioning to the executive that you’ll be up soon and too expect you. your once calm and collected walk is now weak and wobbly at your ankles, you shake as you knock on the door and quiver when a deep voice beckons you in.

the room is bright, illuminated by natural light that shines through the glass panes directly onto the office. it’s sleek, black accents run through out the room with shades of whites and yellows and greys for contrast. a long desk, also black in colour, sits in the middle of the room, in front of the largest window that looks out onto the busy streets of seoul. you wonder if people ever look up and try to imagine what would happen in a room like this. the though of what’s about to happen sends chills down your spine.

your patent heels sink into the carpeted floor, the softness and uneven ground do nothing to help your quaking knees.

MR. MIN YOONGI

the letters are engraved into the golden placement with thick, bold letters and reading it makes your heart race. the man himself is oblivious to your entrance, once deep red and burgundy hair having faded into his natural jet black roots. he wears a navy suit, tailored perfectly to fit his shoulders and his tie sits promptly around his neck, not a hair is out of place.

he hadn’t always been this perfect, you of all people would’ve known that. min yoongi was notorious in your company for his simple two step manoeuvre; flirting and fucking. whilst you had yet to fall victim to his charms, you knew to steer clear of him at company parties. yoongi had been a simple project manager at the daegu branch of your company, The Red Label, an up and coming fashion brand in south korea— before being unexpectedly promoted to executive to the seoul branch. you heard the last one had quit from heart break caused by the man himself.

you, yourself were a new fashion designer, fresh out of college when you joined. you were happy to say that your designs had been worn by many idols since you started your job, including the infamous jeon jungkook.

you remember meeting yoongi at the annual anniversary party, drunk memories of the night suddenly becoming more and more clear.

“yes?” he asks, looking up from his papers with a thin-lipped smile. he’s trying to be polite, you can tell, but you hate the way his black eyes watch you with discontent. you doubt he recognises you, remembers what went down a few months back.

“hi...” you breathe, the anxiety from your thoughts rushing in. yoongi simply stares you down, his dark eyes watching as you shuffle under his gaze. he leans back in his desk chair, boredom etched into his features.

“look ms. kim, i’m a busy man and have plenty of meetings to attend to today... so id prefer it if you didn’t go wasting my time.”

heat flushes through your veins and tingles at your fingertips, the words you had chanted to yourself in the mirror as practice have suddenly gone astray. you look to yoongi, his impatient stare boring holes into your very soul and you can tell he’s growing irritable.

yoongi opens his mouth again to start a simple attack. “as i have stated already, ms. kim, i am a busy man with many duties to attend to today, so if you don’t mind-“

you hate this, you hate him. you hate how he thinks he can talk to you like you’re beneath him. especially after what he did to you.

“i’m pregnant.” you blurt out, your rigid frame becoming lax as you realise what you’ve done. you watch as yoongi’s face contorts with confusion, what does this have to do with him? he must me thinking.

“why-?”

“it’s your child,” you snap back, suddenly gaining the roaring confidence seokjin had instilled in you many years ago. you march your way over to his desk, slapping down a file of all the tests you’d gotten, this paternity test with his DNA and his name in thick bold letters standing out on the white pages. “the documents are all here, if you don’t believe me.”

the colour drains from yoongi’s face as he realises the severity behind his once careless actions, he never thought this would happen, he always thought he’d been, “safe? didn’t we use a condom?” he mumbles quietly, embarrassed and ashamed.

“you insisted that we didn’t need one, you were too intent on getting your congratulations for your recent promotion.” you explain curtly, wrapping an arm protectively around your stomach.

it was only then that yoongi noticed, the small curve of your stomach that was carrying a life that he had helped to make. whether he wanted it or not, yoongi was going to be a father and he could tell by the fire in your eyes that you were going to do everything in your power to provide for this child.

he sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his face, letting it cup his chin as he thinks. “okay....okay, fuck. what do we do now?”

“well, i...” you hesitate, opening your mouth in a silent gasp. you step back from the desk and start to twiddle with your thumbs as you huff, nervous. “i don’t want this baby, my baby to grow up without a father. i’ve seen first hand how painful that can be. i also understand that, considering our circumstances, it might not be the best idea but i still believe you should take responsibility of a father and help look after them as well.”

your answer is thoughtful, none of your words are fuelled by malicious intent. you want the best for the baby, your baby, his baby. yoongi’s heart clenches in his chest, his baby.

“when’s your next appointment?” he asks in a whisper, a million and one thoughts rushing through his head at once. you look surprised, expecting yoongi to try and pay you off and keep quiet.

“next monday.”

“good, i’ll be there.”

three months, one week.

“is there any particular reason in which you’re not letting me attend today?” your brother hums, your only thought from then is to only roll your eyes as you pack your bag. phone, keys, purse. seokjin watches as you flutter about, fluffing your hair and straightening the sweater you wear, so it sits over your small bump just fine.

shaking your head, you attempt to hide the nerves that crawl up your throat in fear of spewing them all out onto the floor. you’d blame it on early morning sickness. your older brother eyes you suspiciously, dark brow arched perfectly as a finger rests on his top lip. he knows you like the back of his hand, everything there is to know about you. he knew you were excitable when it came to things like new music or watching re-runs of americas next top model. he knew you were shy with physical contact and intimacy. he knew that sometimes you got so anxious and scared, especially with deadlines that your words became jumbled up and you’d forget your name.

he knew why you were being so quiet today.

you ignored him nonetheless, looking ever so slightly flustered once you’d finished getting yourself ready. you hadn’t felt this way since you’d submitted your first design to the Red Label.

“are you sure? i know you hate all the machines and the gel the put on your tummy-“ the elder rambled and watched you collapse onto the couch beside him, you clasp your hands over his knee and sigh at him. clearly exhasperated.

“yoongi is coming,” you grumble eventually, curling in on yourself with a large pout. seokjin narrows his eyes, ever since finding out and confirming that yoongi was the father, he had been far from happy. seokjin remembered referring to the man as a pompous piece of poop, except more foul language was used. “i know you don’t like him, but we decided to try this co-parent thing? i’m just nervous that he’ll want to drop out as soon as he sees the baby-“

frowning, your brother shuffles over to you and presses a light kiss to your forehead as an attempt to comfort you. “and if he does, we’ll figure it out together. promise.”

you nod in affirmation, leaning into seokjin’s touch. he gets up to check the door a while later, calling out for you confusedly. “YN, there’s someone here to see you?”

following his voice, you find yourself side by side with your brother, facing a man about your age if not younger. he’s dressed formally, in a black suit and white shirt, a bow tie around his neck. he offers you a boxy grin and you frown.

“who are you?”

“ah, you must be YN.”

“yes, she is, but who are you?” seokjin cuts in before you can open your mouth, moving stand protectively in front of yourself and the baby. confused, you’re eyes widen and you shuffle back in the doorway to protect yourself further.

the man’s enthusiastic grin drops slightly as he readjusts his tie, coughing and holding his hand out to your older sibling. “taehyung, kim taehyung...” he introduces himself and falters when seokjin doesn’t take his hand. “i’m mr min’s driver, he sent me to collect ms. kim for her appointment today.”

“driver? collect my sister? why i oughta-“

you set a palm on your brother’s chest and push him back lightly, smiling at taehyung as you do so. “jinnie,” you warm him and ignore his angry stare before addressing the driver. “i’ll be ready in a moment, taehyung.”

quickly, you run back into the apartment to grab your bag and coat, returning fully dressed and ready to go. taehyung is already waiting with the door open by the car outside. you turn to your brother and hum. “i’m mad at him too, for sending a driver, but at least let me rip him a new one myself.” you say, breathlessly.

“with pleasure.”

“a driver, really, min yoongi?”

you storm past the man himself, anger flaring up within you at just the sight of his stupid designer suit and stupid pointed leather shoes that were probably imported from italy. he‘s a stupid man. who even wears a suit to a hospital appointment?

yoongi stands flabbergasted, hands up in defence whilst taehyung only shrugs his shoulders and mentions he’ll be parked in the private area. the executive quickly follows you, surprised that you can even walk that fast with growing life inside of you and bends over with palms on his knees when you stop at the receptionist desk.

“i didn’t think it was smart of me to delay the appointment by meeting you at your own home, ms. kim.”

rolling your eyes, you lean up to the receptionist, ignoring the way your name rolls so greasily off of yoongi’s tongue. “appointment for YN kim? 2:30.” you beam down at the man behind the desk, who’s eyes light up when they notice you.

“YN! lovely to see you again, you’re right on time!” he hums and checks you in on the computer as you spare a quick glare to the man behind you. the receptionist follows your gaze and leans in to whisper. “is this the baby father?”

a light chuckle wafts past your lips and you nod as you tie the appointment slip from him. “why yes hoseok, he is.”

“how unfortunate that his personality doesn’t match his looks.”

you giggle and bid hoseok goodbye, walking down the hall to your doctors office for your ultrasound. yoongi mostly follows and stays quiet, sensing the anger and resentment you have for him, building. he sighs in the waiting room, knowing that he has to find some way to get a long with you and change your impression of him for the sake of his child.

“miss kim for her ultrasound? oh and is that dad?” your doctor asks as she leads you into the room, helping you onto the bed and allowing you to push up your jumper for the jelly. yoongi feels a pang of guilt resonating in his chest, knowing that he should be the one helping you, but stands awkwardly to the side nonetheless.

shuffling up on the seat, you look to yoongi expectantly to introduce himself and he jumps up, fixing his suit as he leans forward to take the doctor’s hand. “min yoongi...uh... dad.”

“dr park, or you can call me dr jihyo,” she smiles, getting ready to apply the jelly to your stomach. “you know the drill YN, it might be a little cold,” yoongi watches quietly as you nod in confirmation, flinching when the cool substance comes into contact with your tiny bump. “alright! good job mum! let’s get you all set up.”

it takes a few minutes for dr park to set up the monitor, using a device that yoongi doesn’t recognise to scan for what he assumes is the baby. yourself and the doctor chat idly, and yoongi realises how scary it must’ve been to do these things on your own for the first time. his train of thought is cut off by the sound of a steady, tiny heartbeat filling the room.

that’s his baby, your baby.

“your baby sounds nice and healthy,” dr park hums happily, tilting the device to get more of a view of your little peanut. she points her finger on the screen and turns back to smile at you. “here they are, hiding from us.”

you giggle happily and for a split second, beam over at yoongi as you witness the life you’ve created together. “is that our baby-?” yoongi half whimpers, taking a step forward to take your hand in his. you jump at the feeling, his change in attitude but appreciate the support nonetheless, on the edge of tears yourself.

these last view weeks had been daunting, life changing, but seokjin and yura had been there for you every step of the way. holding your hand and coming with you to check ups.

“yes sir! i’m going to print out some pictures of the scans for you both, while we’re here, would you like to know the gender of your baby?” she asks politely and taps away on her computer.

“no, thank you.”

“yes, please.”

you send a glare yoongi’s way, fired up inside as he matches the look.

“yes!”

“no!”

the tension thickens in the room, so much so that a knife wouldn’t be able to cut through. dr. park stands from her chair, arms up to ease you both and coughs for your attention. “how about i print those pictures and you two can decide when i come back?” she suggests as you rip your hand from yoongi’s, who feels the walls build up around you again.

“that’d be great, thank you doctor.” he hums, watching as the doctor leaves the room before turning to you with a deepest scowl. “what was all that about, ms. kim? you were acting like a petulant child.”

you growl deeply, sitting up and wiping yourself clean of the cold jelly. you pull down your sweater and turn to look at the man with a dark frown. “me? a child?” you tsk, looking him up and down. “i didn’t see you taking any initiative when it came to the baby until wanting to know its sex! as far as i’m concerned, mr. min, you’ve acted as nothing more than a sperm donor i actually have to see,” you spit, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel when yoongi visibly flinches at your words. “and for the love of god, it’s YN.”

“well, YN,” he starts to argue, brushing off the hurt. “this is a first for me too, and if we’re going to make it work we have to compromise. i get it, i haven’t been much help or support but i am trying to get better, for you and the baby.”

you falter, you know that you have been tough on him but he is also making an effort by even showing up at all. sighing, you look to yoongi thoughtfully. “you’re right and I am sorry for lashing out, but this is one thing i won’t change my mind on. we have many decisions to make together, but this one i need for myself.” you say, rubbing your arm sheepishly.

“that’s fine, we can make that work.” yoongi smiles softly, to which you can’t help but return.

five months.

some would be shocked at the progress yourself and yoongi had made, having a baby really changed people. yoongi was much sweeter now, having dropped most of the formalities in favour of your ‘beautiful’ name, or so he called it. the executive brought you lunch almost everyday, left snacks and sweet notes to aid your cravings and ease your hormones.

yoongi even offered to send you money for groceries, claiming he wanted the baby to have a healthy lifestyle from early on. of course you refused it, whilst you loved the support you were getting from him, it sent chills down your spine at how fast he’d changed.

“but what’s so wrong about that?” yura asks you one night. the pair of you are both cuddled up under heaps of blankets, your feet on her lap as she munches on the kale chips yoongi had given you that day. she inspects the green crisp for a moment, blinking before popping it on her tongue and crunching happily. “free food? comfier clothes? a driver? sounds like the life to me, YN.”

you snatch the bag of chips away from your roommate, knowing it’ll spoil her appetite before your brother brings over dinner. peeking into the bag yourself, you swipe a few of the healthy snack for yourself, grimacing at the taste. what kind of sane person combines kale and chips? who? and it didn’t help that your cravings had kicked in.

“there’s nothing wrong with it, i just don’t want money spent on me.” you whine and pout, shoving the chips away from yourself.

yura only rolls her eyes and flicks your forehead. “but the moneys not for you it’s for miss yura junior over here!” she coos, raising her voice by a few octaves to talk to your bump. you watch with furrowed brows and a slight grimace as your roommate continues to make sounds horrifyingly similar to breeding cats.

“please, stop.”

“nono, she loves it.”

just at that moment, seokjin makes his entrance with bustling bags carried by his poor boyfriend- namjoon. you push yura away from your bump in order to make an effort in reaching namjoon but he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“you mean, he,” your brother comments and settles himself in the kitchen to prep you a meal. “i can already tell, that little critter in there is a boy and none of you can convince me otherwise.” he insists loudly, causing namjoon to roll his eyes.

“maybe YN’s results will...” yura turns to you with a mischievous glint, itching her fingers up your side knowing full well how ticklish you were. you’d probably sock her in the face with how much you wriggled.

“and there’s not a chance that either of you will find out, i’m under strict instructions to keep the results from you. all of you.” namjoon interjects pointedly, sagging into the seats and rubbing his arms from all the shopping your brother made him carry. yura sticks her tongue out at him. “now what’s this about baby daddy money?”

pulling the blankets up to your chin, you sigh, pouting over at namjoon. namjoon was like a second elder brother to you, quiet and helpful much unlike seokjin. you suppose that’s why the pair made such good partners, they balanced each other out well. “yoongi has been sending things over to help take care of myself and the baby but, it’s too much!” you huff and throw yourself back into the couch, sinking in and away from the world. “he even moved my desk at work, closer to his!”

joon tilts his head, looking at you with a knowing smirk and taps his nose. “sounds like this yoongi guy has a thing for you.”

“nuh uh, never, nada...nope!” you counter, shaking your head. there’s no way in hell yoongi could possibly feel that way about you. your hook up was a one time thing and you didn’t quite match up to the other girls he hooked up with at the office. “never in a million years. not possible.”

“you never know, YN,” he hums back, shrugging nonchalantly. “yoongi could be everything you least expect.”

you lose yourself in namjoon’s the words, thinking deeply as seokjin starts to being out the dinner trays.

“can you believe, min yoongi put a baby in her?”

“i want to know how his dick even got up just by looking at her.”

your skin crawls with discomfort as you enter the break room, your co-workers instantly silencing. this was common, for them to make you the subject of their idol chit chat. of course with your sudden pregnancy and yoongi’s newfound favouritism for you during meetings and overall, it only made sense for everyone to put two and two together.

jealous female coworkers didn’t like the idea that min yoongi didn’t want to hook up anymore, he wanted to focus on the one thing more important than his job.

he wanted to focus on you.

so now you were YN KIM, the red label’s pregnant whore. katie’s words, not your own. she was a new international relations employee from overseas, working with your departments new collection to debut in the US market.

you loathed her.

“good morning, YN,” she beamed, flicking her bleach blonde locks over her shoulder and pursed her lips the tacky barbie pink lipstick on. her insect eyes shift up and down your frame, making you curl in on yourself uncomfortably. “you’re looking a little bloated today.”

you bite your lip in an effort to stop it from quivering, holding your bump protectively as you wait for the kettle to boil for some tea. “i’m pregnant.” you mumble quietly as a line of defence, wincing as katie and her minions let out high pitched, squeaking laughs.

“are you sure? it seems like you’ve put on a few.”

gasping, you drop the mug you were using for tea and bite your lip, desperate for the tears not to fall. as quickly as you can, you shuffle out of the dreaded break room and ignore the ugly chuckles of your coworkers, making a break for the bathrooms.

bursting into the room, you brush past whoever’s about to leave and dash to the taps to splash cold water over your hot, tear stained cheeks. you hope to god that no one is here to see your snotty faced, crying session but your biggest nightmare only comes true when a warm hand settles on your shoulder.

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but i don’t think this is the little ladies room,” you pout through your tears as you turn to face the voice, absolutely mortified when you notice them to be jimin. the blonde offers you a small smile that drops when he notes your sniffling, immediately replacing his expression with a look of concern. “ah! YN? are you alright?”

clearly not, you think but allow jimin to grab you some tissues and dab at your tears. jimin was a sweet boy, a fresh face around the company since he was hired to replace yoongi’s assistant (she had quit for undisclosed reasons.). the boy was smartly dressed, always in a blazer and woven sweater. he wore circular specs that always slid down his nose, but his golden weaved hair was always pushed back in away that had the ladies drooling.

“what happened?” jimin asks quietly, helping you fix your makeup to a presentable state. his touch is gentle as he dabs under your eyes, looking at you earnestly.

“promise you won’t tell yoongi?”

“pinky!”

you sigh heavily when the man steps back, offering him tired smile with puffy eyes. “the inernational relations girl has turned every one of my coworkers against me, ever since she found out that yoongi was too committed for hookups...” you mumble sadly, gesturing to your bump as jimin follows your gaze.

the blonde steps forward, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as he shakes his head. “they’re just jealous!” he exclaims, making you jump slightly. “i would be too if i was one of them, you’re a beautiful girl YN, with a beautiful baby coming along. if they’re going to be mean about it, they can fuck themselves because yoongi sure ain’t.” he finishes with a triumphant smile, looking down at you.

jimin is a sweetheart, and having only seen him around the office you know that you have someone trustworthy on your side for now. “thank you jimin, so much for your kind words.”

the blond only tilts his head, offering you a crescent moon eyed smile. “anytime, YN! now let’s get you back on that office floor.” he beams and takes your hand, leading you back to your desk, much to the dismay of all the other girls.

“repeat that again.”

“i fired her.”

yoongi punctuates every word, teeth grit as he spits them out. it’s almost as if thinking about the incident makes him angry, which of course it does, grown women bullying the mother of his child.

you sit straight faced in yoongi’s office chair, the doors are locked and the curtains open widely. the pale light of the clouded seoul sky brightens up the dark scowl on his face, as it caresses the curve of his pink lips and slope of his nose. shaking your head, you watch as yoongi fixes his suit and makes his way over to you. his steely, copper eyes are locked on your smaller frame as he flattens his palms out on the desk before you.

he really is mad and you can’t blame jimin for telling yoongi the truth.

“why?” you gasp with parted lips, looking up at yoongi with innocent eyes in hopes of ridding him from his scowl.

the man himself leans down close to you, his face within an inch of yours and his lips deathly close to your own. his breath is warm against your top lip, and you force your gaze upwards into his dark, liquorish eyes. “you know why, YN. there’s no way i’m going to have the women in this office harass you for my actions, for carrying my baby.” he seethes, tone contrasting with the forefinger and thumb he uses to gently tilt your chin up so you face him.

“if that’s the case, then you should have fired the whole floor.” you say meekly and gulp, this was the most yoongi had ever touched you since that night you spent tangled in each other’s arms, while he passionately ground his hips into- YN! you’re getting sidetracked! of course, aside from the occasional hand at the waist or on your bump to guide you.

“i would, for you.”

the line sends shivers down your spine and you bite your lip, lowering your gaze.

yoongi smirks down at you, letting you go gently and you’re left wondering how much power he really has in this company. the executive pulls up a chair beside you, grabbing your hand after a beat of silence. “YN, I’ve been doing some thinking, and i believe it would be best for you and the baby to move in with me in my penthouse down town,” yoongi explains simply, as your brows furrow in confusion.

“of course we’ll get a bigger place when he or she arrives, but i’ll take care of that and in the meantime i think it would also be in our best interest for you to quit your job here.”

“excuse me?”

yoongi hums absentmindedly. “i asked you to-“

“no i heard what you said, it’s absolutely ridiculous yoongi!” you cry and tear your hand from his, the deep set frown on your face growing into an ugly glare. the man simply sits back in his chair, confused. “you think just because i have your child inside of me, i’m going to do everything you say? quit my job? i worked hard to be here, i sacrificed days and hours for this position and i’m not going to leave my hard earned job because you have money and because you can get want you want.”

he stands, pushing a hand through his dark hair and stepping towards you. you weren’t going to let this man intimidate you. “YN, i’m simply making a few suggestions that will make this pregnancy easier.” yoongi growls lowly, feeling the anger boil up inside of him. why couldn’t you see that he just wanted to help?

“christ, yoongi! why can’t you see that i have a mind of my own as well?” you mutter, the hot rage coursing through your veins becoming a muted frustration. anger isn’t good for the baby and you know yoongi only means well. defeated, you pick up your bag and nod over to the man before you. “i appreciate all the help you’ve given these last few months, but i’m not a doll like your other girls, yoongi, i’m human too.”

you mumble the last part, adding that you’ll take a few days off if it pleases him. as you leave the office, yoongi is left with the lingering feeling that he’s disappointed you yet again, wanting more than anything to fix this.

“YN, sweetheart! YN...please wait!”

your frown deepens and shoulders hunch over the kart at the sound of yoongi’s voice. if only you weren’t pregnant— maybe then could you run a little faster. the executive calls your name again, following after you as you turn the corner into the baby isle. all you wanted to do was shop, for your baby— undisturbed.

rolling your shoulders, you push the kart at a faster pace and try to focus your attention on the adorable little baby grows with a range of soft pastels. “YN...” you cease at yoongi’s whining tone, biting your lip as you start to count to ten. “YN, please.” one, two, three—

“please-“

“what? what yoongi?”

yoongi throws his hands up into the air in defence, blinking shortly. you sigh in defeat and stop the kart in front of the teething toys and give the executive a lazy once over— his fit is different to what you would typically see him in, aside from his gucci and dior fabric suits. today he dons a tight fitting black t-shirt and casual black jeans that hug his thighs deliciously. breathing in deeply through your nose, your eyes flicker back up to meet yoongi’s sheepish honey ones, you nod to him to continue.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes hesitantly, debating whether or not he should reach out and touch you. “i’m sorry for making you feel like i was taking your career away from you. i know how much this job means to you and also how hard you worked for it...” the executive bites his lip and watches earnestly as you quirk you’re brow, cocking your hip as if to say ‘oh really, min yoongi?’. the man himself knows that you mean business and chooses his next words carefully. “what i’m trying to say, is that i was out of line. just because we’re having a baby together, doesn’t mean i have a right to dictate your life.”

the brunette looks down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. you hum happily and take a baby grow off of the shelf, smiling at the words embroidered into the soft white fabric. ‘daddy’s number one fan.’

“you can make it up to me by pushing around this kart,” you wink and dump the tiny clothing into the object itself. “it’s heavy.”

yoongi smiles gratefully, lifting his head and gripping the kart. “anything for you, darling.”

seven months.

“so what kind of gender reveal are we doing? cake, balloons—ooooh! confetti!”

eyes rolling, you set the small box of collectible doohickeys on the smooth glass tables of yoongi’s fancy, four bedroom apartment. it was a place uptown with views of cotton candy sunrises, baby blues and pinks that swirled with light oranges just above vast greenery. yoongi had bought a year or two again with no use but now it was being made into a space for you, himself and the baby— right after you agreed to move in with him.

yura is perched in the plush leather couch, fur blankets draped over the backs that you eye suspiciously— you’re sure that when the baby comes, they’re something that you’ll have to replace, in fear they’ll be stained with baby fluids. “YN...” she sings with her pen between her teeth, she’d been planning your baby shower since you’d been too wrapped up with OB appointments and settling in with yoongi.

as you blink, you pick up a small snow globe from one of your family vacations with seokjin— tilting your head with a sly smile. “you know there isn’t going to be a gender reveal,” you put the globe down. would go nice with the kitchen? you’d have to put it out of the little one’s reach, though. “not until the baby is born, yura.”

“what’s happening to yura when the baby’s born?”

“you guys are so lame.” the girl in question scoffs, kicking her feet in defeat as she gives you an exaggerated sigh. yura pokes an unsuspecting yoongi in the chest as he enters the room with one of the final boxes before; she skips out to help your brother and his boyfriend with the rest. soaring a glance, you notice that ‘kitchenware’ is scrawled across the brown cardboard in the executive’s messy chicken scratch— something about the man that you’ve come to adore over the last few months. yoongi had done many things for you and the baby, so you knew moving in with him would give him some sense of security— and it made you feel much better.

yoongi looks up at you, confused as you start to giggle— moving to help him unpack the pretty marbled dishes you’d picked out with him. “why are we the lame ones?” he says with a pout, whiny tone like music to your ears.

“she’s still not over our decision to keep the baby’s gender a secret,” you raise your brows in a knowing look, reaching over and grabbing the executive’s hand sweetly. “she wanted to do a gender reveal.”

“we still could,” yoongi teases you playfully, as he uses your intertwined hands to twirl you into his chest so that he could hug you from behind. you shake your head with a bubble of laughter at the dark haired man’s antics— only quieting down when his hands slip down to your bump. a comfortable silence sweeps over you both, nothing but the sounds of your anticipating breathing filling the little space between you. another beat of silence passes before you feel the light tremor of feet and hands from the bump. “there they are.”

the pair of you spend the next few moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, waiting for your little treasure to kick and push at your tummy— but to your dismay, yoongi makes a quick departure after receiving a call from the board. for you, work had been slow and difficult as your pregnancy progressed whilst yoongi’s grew busier and busier as the season deadlines approached. you’d decided to take your leave, finding it harder to keep on your feet while your ankles begin to swell and your joints became sore— yoongi of course, was relieved.

“you two are getting affectionate.” namjoon comments, sliding into the room after your boss has left. you roll your eyes and make a move to sit on the plush couch, your little one becoming too excited.

the elder male quickly rushes over, taking your hand as he helps you to sit— you smile gratefully as thanks. “we’re just friends.”

“friends who‘re having a baby together.”

biting your lip, you pause your actions as an uneasy feeling spikes up within your chest. yoongi couldn’t possibly see you both as more than friends— he was in this for the baby and so were you. it didn’t matter that he sometimes kissed closer to your lips than normal or that he had a habit of making you blush. it didn’t matter that he called you sweet names, held your hand tight and was protective over you because mon yoongi wasn’t falling for you. was he?

or could it be, that you were falling for him?

namjoon’s brow creases with worry when your silence boarders on the edge of uncomfortable— making him take your hand in his, once more. “YN, are you okay? did i say something wrong-?”

“n-no i’m just...i’m just scared, joon,” you whisper, throat drying at your sudden realisation. the whole world feels as if it’s about the slip away from under your feet, the words you’re about to say— foreign on your tongue. namjoon looks up at you, the fear in his whiskey eyes reflecting your own. “i’m scared.”

“of what, YN?” the latter mumbles, concerned.

“of falling,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “of falling for min yoongi.”

min yoongi had come to realise that parties were never really his thing.

they were easier to enjoy when people were drunk off their minds and didn’t know what was up or what was down. but observing the gathering from the edge of the room— completely sober and nursing a glass of baby champ had shown min yoongi that he’d never really liked parties.

there were too many loud noises— the squealing from your friend and chatter from excited guests— and too many people, bodies closely packed in a tight space. at least when he was drunk, he was too out of his mind to care, but he was going to be a father now and taking care of his little humans meant taking care of himself.

after all, drinking is what brought him is little gift in the first place.

the only thing that makes the night more tolerable is the bright smile that you have plastered on your face. the executive grins when his gaze finds yours, you give him the sweetest of beams before turning back to conversing with one of your childhood friends. yoongi loves the way you look tonight; you’d settled on blush pink dress— one from a collection you’d designed yourself. he remembers how hard you’d worked to finish the designs before taking your leave, so he was adamant that you would wear the dress, the first of its kind. your hair frames your face perfectly, each curl falling perfectly into place— caressing your soft cheeks that are lightly dusted with a warm blush to compliment the shadows that paint your eyelids.

“you’re drooling, hyung...”

the dark haired male jumps at the smooth voice from behind him, a scowl replacing the loving smile that once tickled at his lips. yoongi spins on his heel, adjusting his tailored jacket as his driver, taehyung slips an arm around his shoulders. the two had known each other for longer than it might have seemed, the younger being one of the few people yoongi actually trusted. they’d met back in college, before yoongi had become a big hot shot, before he fell into the world of sex, alcohol and money.

they’d lost touch when yoongi moved from deagu to work in seoul, seeing taehyung working there as a driver had been a pleasant surprise. the royal blue haired boy hasn’t changed a bit, the only thing being that he’d started dating the printer boy, jimin— who the executive ended up promoting because he loved the two so much. they were a trio, a little circle of trust and yoongi’s home away from home.

but that didn’t stop the executive from cursing out his long time friend. “what the fuck taehyung?” yoongi hisses, pushing the driver lightly. he gives a brilliant laugh in response, as bright and as colourful as his head full of “do i look like some kind of fucking dog to you?”

jimin appears on yoongi’s left, wrapping his own arm around the older’s shoulder and linking his hand with his lover. oh god, the terrible two. who knew what mischievous they would get up to when together. “you do look like a puppy in love,” the blonde comments, tapping yoongi’s nose with his small pinky. he’s only a little bit tipsy, probably because of the whisky yoongi had caught them sneaking in. “woof woof.”

“if hyung was a dog, what breed would he be?”

“probably a chihuahua, small but...deadly.”

yoongi sighs, gaze switching between the two lovers as they squabbled over dog breeds excitedly. one, two, three, four— “do you need something?” he asks the pair, praying to heavens that they don’t and that they’ll leave him alone.

jimin giggles, the sound bubbling from between his lush lips. “we’re here to give you a pep talk.”

“you should tell her how you feel,” taehyung mumbles, clinging onto yoongi. affectionate and drunk. “you love her, everyone can see it.”

“no they can’t—“ yoongi protests, but it’s far too late. the intoxicated pair of lovers are already pushing him in your direction and he can feel his heart beating violently in his chest as he nears you. since when were you able to make him nervous? perhaps his long time friends were right, the executive had felt himself grow fond of you— almost like his world revolves around you. he was with you not just for his child but for something much greater than himself. yoongi rolls his shoulders, his fingers barely touching at your own as he does his best to grab your attention, but then you turn around— glittering eyes shining even brighter at you look to him, the wisps of a greeting painted on your pink lips. “YN... i—“

his thoughts race a million miles a minute, just staring down at you makes yoongi’s heart stop. you barely have time to greet each other, before a loud nasally voice cuts through the buzzing electricity between you. “ahhh, mr min! the man of the hour, i’ve been dying to meet you.”

“mum,” you whine with a shy smile, linking your arms with yoongi in an affectionate manner. “play nice.”

“am i ever anything but?”

taking the time to look between the two women, he notices the endearing similarities between you and your mother. like the crinkles under your eyes when you grin and the little tilt of your head when you listen intently. he can’t help but wonder what little habits your child will pick up when they’re a little older, will they be more like him? or like you? yoongi hopes to the heavens that your baby turns out like you.

the man is so lost in thought that he almost forgets to introduce himself. “yoongi is just fine ma’am.” he smiles brightly, holding out a hand for mrs kim to shake— kissing it sweetly when she does so. he can’t help but blush under the intent gaze of your mother, squeezing your arm with nerves as he brushes through the terrains of his dark locks sheepishly.

truth be told, meeting your mother was the most daunting part of the evening for yoongi. you had painted a picture of regal woman, to yoongi, mrs kim with deepest eyes that were warm and soft— seemingly yes, he had faced celebrities and big bad CEOs but this was the grandmother of his unborn child. the woman who had raised and brought you into the world— he needed to prove himself worthy, especially since he’d impregnated you outside of marriage. yoongi wanted to show your mother that he could take care of you.

“what a charming young man, YN, darling,” mrs kim chuckles, batting her lashes up at the executive. yoongi only chuckles shyly, feeling his heart rate increase at the compliment. he was never good at taking those. “you never told me he was this attractive, you’ll make handsome children.”

“mother!”

“ah but mrs kim, i’m sure that if our child does turn out as handsome as you say— it’ll all be due to YN and you of course.” yoongi grins cheekily, ducking his head when you swat his shoulder playfully. the rose tint on your cheeks tells yoongi that his words have done their job in making you flustered and of course impressing your mother too.

the woman in question gives the executive a quick wink. “ever the flatterer too, hm?”

“yes ma’am.”

the conversation lasts for a minute or so longer before you’re rushing off to stop a slightly intoxicated jimin from stripping on the snack table as yura and taehyung cheer him on from below. affectionately, you lean up and kiss yoongi on the cheek before hurrying off with the help of your brother— leaving him alone with the intimidating presence of mrs kim herself.

moments pass without a word and yoongi wishes that he had stolen the liquor from tae so it’d at least soothe the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “i believe you’ll make a great father, min yoongi,” your mother announces, eyes trained on the daughter that she raised. “the way this baby has come about may be unconventional...but seokjin tells me you’ve stepped up to the plate, that you’ve come a long way.” she pauses, taking a breath as if she’s evaluating her words. “i know that you’ll take care of them, my daughter and her baby but i fear you’re not being one hundred percent honest.”

“i’m not?” the executive questions, lips forming a pout of confusion. whilst he was glad that seokjin had spoken highly of him and that despite the circumstances, your mother supported you both— he feared that if he’d lost your mother’s approval, you would take his child and not look back.

mrs. kim shakes her head fondly, a light chuckle filling the air between them. “oh don’t look so afraid child, i mean, you’re not being honest with yourself.” she chides, rubbing yoongi’s forearm as his brows furrow further. still confused, a question forms on his lips but the executive is silenced by another tsk from your mother. “you’re in love with my daughter, it’s clear as day and i‘m afraid that if you don’t tell her now or ever— she’ll grow fearsome herself, fail to commit and...” the woman takes a deep breath, casting a gaze over to you that yoongi can’t help but follow. “she needs someone like you to take care of her when she doesn’t want any help. i trust you to do that for me, min yoongi.”

the dark haired male takes a deep breath through his nose, watching as the elder woman takes her leave in favour of helping you calm your friends. he knows in his heart that she’s right, he loves you. he loves everything about you.

and there was no better time to tell you, than now.

the drive home is comfortable, quiet. yoongi steers with his eyes on the road and his hand intertwined with you over the console. he’s not watching you, but he knows that you’re counting the raindrops that slide down the tinted windows and merge with one another, you’ve told him that it was a habit you picked up as a child.

the baby shower wrapped up just after eleven p.m, when you’d started to complain of sore feet and the baby begun kicking to their heart’s content. like the loving brother he was, seokjin offered to help clear up whilst joon packed a drunk, snogging jimin and taehyung into his own car to drop them home. you’d thanked them endlessly, only playing nice because yoongi had promised you a foot massage when you’d returned home.

pulling into the driveway, yoongi turns off the ignition and lets the car fall into rest, the drifting hum of the car helping to steadying his nervous breathing. “we’re home,” he mumbles, more so to himself than you— biting at the skin of his lower lip. you’ve stopped counting the raindrops now, turning to face the man with a brow raised in confusion.

“yoongi, is everything alright?” you ask, squeezing his hand tighter now, it feels weighty in your own— reassuring to hold like an enveloping warmth that touches your heart. even though the car is dark, you can still make out the lines of worry that crease in his forehead, he’s never usually this quiet, uncomfortably quiet. “please... you’re scaring me...”

“i’m in love with you.” he says after what seems like years of deafening silence, finally meeting your eyes with a steeling gaze. you gasp, jumping back in shock but yoongi doesn’t dare let your hand slip from his. you feared this, the day that he told you such a sweet little lie. because how could he ever love you? you were just a girl from an office party with nothing special about you. min yoongi didn’t care for you, is what your thoughts forced you to believe but your heart knew better. “and i...i know that you’re scared, i am too. but YN, i can promise you now, that i’ve never been so sure of this, of loving you than i have about anyone...”

yoongi takes both of your hands this time, dark, stormy eyes fluttering across your face earnestly. you know in your heart that you love him too, you’ve felt it for a while but he continues, giving you all the more reason to trust in his words. “you’re beautiful and kind, and these last few months i’ve realised that you’re more than i ever deserve,” he pauses, looking away shyly as he opens up to you. “and i love you, so much i-“

“just shut up and kiss me, min yoongi.” you whisper in response, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss. your lips meld together perfectly as your hands move into the oblivion sea of his hair, gripping the locks tightly while your tongue finds his— engaging in a battle of passion. memories flash behind your eyes of the night you spent with yoongi, the one that gave you your gift. his hands sneak down to your waist as you kiss him eagerly, pouring a million and one emotions into it.

you don’t remember making it inside of the apartment, yoongi mumbling something about ‘not here’ in terms of taking you inside of the car. there’s a clash of tongue and teeth as you stumble up to your shared bedroom, pushing off clothes and letting out whimpers of one another’s names but when you reach the bed, rushed kisses become slow and steady, tender touches to your face and hips. “i want you,” yoongi says lowly, fingers tangling in your hair. “i want to take my time with you.”

you nod slowly as he pecks your lips once before kissing a sweet trail down your body and to your ankles. yoongi silently pulls of each of your shoes, massaging your swollen ankles as he smooths over your skin. you let yoongi take off your jewellery and smooch at your wrists, let down your hair and finally— unzip your dress. instinctively, your arms wrap around yourself like a protective barrier, shielding your body from yoongi’s moonlit gaze. of course, you weren’t ashamed to be carrying life inside of you but your body was in no way what it was before. you had stretch marks from your growing bump and swollen breasts that started to lactate here and there— you weren’t ashamed just shy.

“yoongi...i-“ you cant seem to find the words, gasping as the executive leans over you and pushes you down onto the bed. his slender fingers capture your wrists, gently pinning them above your head as his lips hover teasingly over your own.

yoongi tilts his head, allowing the moonlight seeping through the curtains to illuminate his features— the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. the darkness in his whiskey eyes and the black flecks that paint them. he’s beautiful. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “you’re glowing, pregnant or not i still find you stunning. please don’t hide your beauty from me.”

a small smile tugs at the curve of your lips as you nod silently, the man above you taking it as a sign to continue further. yoongi skilfully unclips your bra as his own lips find your neck, sucking on it diligently while your quiet whimpers fill the air like music to his ears. he litters your blank skin with shades of midnight blue and night sky purple as you arch your back into his chest but it’s not enough— you want to feel his skin against yours, the warmth of his body tangling with your own.

“off,” you mumble, pushing at his shirt while his calloused hands rub circles into your bare hips. “take it off.” yoongi obliges, pulling away from you for just a brief second to strip off his button up— his suit jacket and tie having been thrown off as you stumbled into the house. his skin is milky and pale, only dotted with light patches of freckles and scars fading with adult hood. “you’re beautiful too.” you add, looking yoongi deep in the eye.

he shakes his head fondly, kissing you again but only briefly. “i love you,” he utters into the quiet night before moving down to peck your bump. “i love you too.” you wait a moment as your baby delivers a small kick, seemingly tired out for now and share a gummy smile with yoongi. from there, your lover makes quick work of your panties, pulling them off in one swift movement as he takes to spreading your legs.

his touches are feather light, kisses like wise as the drift across your inner thighs and avoid where you need him most. “please, please yoongi.” you chant his name like a mantra, his warm breath making you even more sensitive than before.

“what is it that you need sweetheart? tell me.”

you chest heaves as yoongi smooths over your thighs, enjoying your responsiveness to him. “you, need you to touch me! god, please yoongi.” you whine, legs beginning to tremble with need. the executive only chuckles at the mention of his name, using his large hands to spread you open again, a single digit traces the outline of your heat, causing your hips to twitch up and follow the source of your pleasure.

“you’re so wet for me sweetheart and i haven’t even touched you yet,” yoongi coos, collecting your nectar with two fingers. he moans at the taste, leaning into your dripping heat with his tongue and swiping at the rest, making you whine and writhe in satisfaction. you had no idea why you were so sensitive and needy for his touch— blame it on the pregnancy hormones— it was almost as if yoongi had set alight a fire under your skin, scorching you with a hot desire as he spread your lower lips and tongue slipping past your wet hole.

fingers grip at his hair while you open up for him like a flower, hips rutting into his mouth as his plush lips sloppily kissed at your pulsing clit. “god, yoongi!” you cried, eyes rolling back as he slipped a digit past your entrance, curling it along side his tongue causing more of your hot slick to gush down your thighs, urging yoongi on while he moaned into your mess. the vibrations sent chills up your spine, making you arch your back and scream into the night, arousal spreading through your body and coursing through your veins. “please.”

“please, what?” the man in question asked, pressing your hips down as he looked up at you, evidence of your arousal painting his cheeks and chin. “tell daddy so he can help his baby.” yoongi cooed, replacing his tongue with two fingers, the stretch becoming a satisfying burn as he prepared you for his cock.

you writhed as the title slipped carelessly from between his lips, squeezing your tightness around his fingers as you struggled to keep your thighs apart. you were his baby and he was going to spoil you rotten. “wanna...wanna,” you fumble over your words as yoongi curls his fingers, pressing them into that spot that has you wriggling in the sheets—desperate for release. “wanna cum,”

“oh baby, you can only cum when daddy’s filling you up, yeah?” he speaks softly, all the love in the world intertwined with his quiet syllables. yoongi lazily draws circles on your clit, pressing his forehead to yours as she whispers sweet praises against your lips— they don’t stop when he pulls his fingers from your swollen heat nor do the kisses that come as he sheds the remainder of his clothes and aligns his hardened cock at your entrance.

you bite your lip harshly, eyes rolling with pleasure as yoongi’s hands find your own— his length pushing between your folds teasingly. you squeeze at your intertwined fingers, a sign that you’re ready to take him, that you don’t want to wait anymore. yoongi looks to you lovingly, lips hovering over your own, barely touching but saying every word and then some— you feel it, you see it that in this moment he loves you and for those to come, he loves you.

with a silent nod and another squeeze of your hands, yoongi pushes past your entrance, nestling his cock within the heat of your soaked walls. together, your share a gasp— finally being united as one. this time feels like your first together, no drunken hook ups, just you and yoongi and all the love in the world, between you both. his warm breath fans over your face like an ocean breeze as he sets a rhythm with his hips, slow at first with easy rolls of his body against yours— only speeding up with every octave that your moans rise in.

“yoongi...feels so good,” you mumble breathlessly, freeing one hand from his and burying them deep in his oblivion hair. yoongi only smiles down at you in response, bucking his hips a little feverishly as he drags the tip of his cock against your velvet lined walls. you jolt with pleasure, beginning to grind your hips back, in wanton— finding your hand slipping down to cup the man’s cheeks, letting him peck your finger tips that rest near the corners of his mouth. “so...so good...”

yoongi leans down, being mindful of the bump as he presses his chest to yours, your intertwined hands finding purchase in the silk of your sheets while he bottoms out inside of you. the room becomes filled with a vivid heat, the scent of passion twisting with the air leaving a lingering touch on your skin. “yeah? you like that sweetheart?” his voice is a light whisper, sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back into him. “love seeing you like this, angel,” he praises too, nosing your cheek as you fall into another pitfall of pleasure— a symphony of your sweet moans playing on repeat. “so swollen and full, carrying my sweet baby. love how big you’ve gotten for me.”

the silver words that slip from yoongi’s silver tongue have you throwing your head back, light perspiration licking at your skin as he takes the opportunity to ravish your neck once more. “got me so worked up, thinking bout those beautiful tits,“ his words start to slur as his free hand grips your breast squeezing them hard, so hard that you’re fearful they might start to leak. “can’t wait to taste that sweet milk, that you make for my baby. mine.”

yoongi ends his sentence in a grunt, cock thrusting mercilessly into your weeping hole, as he takes you over and over. words barely form on your lips, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping on skin and the moans that urge each other on. he drops his head to the junction between your neck and shoulder, hot breath tickling at your skin while you tug at his hair, his thick length pumping in and out of you, dragging you closer to the edge.

“yours, im all yours,” you whimper and clutch him closely as the tip of his cock brushes over that spot. tears spring in your eyes, yoongi’s hips rocking back and forth inside of you— the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter. “i’m so close, please yoongi—daddy.”

he draws himself from your neck, pressing his forehead to yours once more as he mimics your pants, chest heaving with yours as you both draw to a close.

“cum with me sweetheart, i’ve got you...d-daddy’s got you—“ his breathing stutters, the feeling of you clenching around him becoming too much for him to bare as his thrusts become sloppy. “let me pump you full of my seed, give you another baby—“

“ohgod, yoongi!”

he pants out the last part, desperate to bring you to release. you know that his words are impossible, but the steer you on nonetheless, a blinding light flashing behind your eyes as a wave of goosebumps rise across the planes of your skin. you stumble into your orgasm, releasing onto his cock and fall into yoongi’s arms, spasming as he whispers cotton candy words into your ears while he chases after his own high.

“fuck baby, you’re so good for me, my beautiful girl.” he stammers out, tripping over his words as he fills you up with the seed of his orgasm. with trembling arms, yoongi collapses to your side, lips bright red and swollen, glass milk skin bruised and bitten. he looks beautiful like this, hair slightly frazzled from your exploring fingers as his chest rises and falls. he’s extraordinary. the executive shuffles, pulling you into his chest and kissing into your hairline with a small smile to his face. “you’re staring.”

“i love you-“ you blurt, mind cleaning from the post orgasmic haze. you know that the words have been said already, before you tumbled into the sheets with the man beside you— but this time it feels different, feels more real. you love min yoongi with all that you have, from this nose scrunch when he laughs, to the creases between his brows when he concentrates, everything about him is something that you love.

“i know,” he whispers, bumping your nose with his in an eskimo kiss.

you blink back, lacing your fingers. “no yoongi, i’m in love with you—“

“i know,” yoongi chuckles, taking your hand in his before brushing his lips against your knuckles sweetly. “and i hope to god that the heavens know how much i’m in love with you.”

nine months.

“strip.”

he utters the command, simple— yoongi bends your will to suit him best. he loves having control over you, making you follow his every wish. you’re his little pet, and he’ll do with you as he pleases. shuffling, you pull off the his shirt that you wear— revealing that you’d gone bra less in favour for comfort. the executive let’s put a deep groan that has your nipples hardening just by the sound, helpless whimper escaping your lips.

“look at you baby, all swollen and leaking for me... daddy wishes he was there to punish you himself.”

you pout heavily at his words, like you had when yoongi left two weeks into your third trimester for a three day business trip in the states. it was important, you knew that, he was finally closing the deal to debut The Red Label over there— he has big plans for the label and making you realise then, that your lover cared for the company more than you initially thought.

“miss you, daddy,” you gasp, writhing under his gaze through the facetime camera— adjusting it so he could see your rising bump. “both of us do.”

your third trimester was easier than expected, despite the aching feet and the constant desire to pee at the most inappropriate of times— the last few weeks of your pregnancy were on track to going well. your newfound boyfriend, yoongi, made sure to take care of you too, with sweet massages and passionate kisses, possessive touches to the waist and keeping your pregnancy hormones in check.

ever since that night you couldn’t help but jump yoongi’s bones at any chance you got— not that he minded, he always said that being with you was like being together for the first time again. even if it was late nights before bed or five minutes before yoongi was due for a meeting, he still was tender with you, loving with you. he still loved you.

your friends and family had instantly detected the shift in your relationship too, seokjin and namjoon giving your boyfriend the ‘you hurt my little sister and i’ll-“ talk. you know that they meant well, after all, who could imagine how far yoongi had come since the start of this all. he had begun your pregnancy as a disinterested asshole, who only cared for money or himself. he had no intent of bringing a child into the word but he really had stepped up since then, proven himself a worthy father to not just the baby, but yourself.

“you look gorgeous, so round and full...” he whispers, tired eyes watching you through the screen. his milky skin reflects a warm orange hue from the hum of the hotel lights, his hair ruffled from the stresses of the day. you close your eyes, biting your lip as your boyfriend lets out an amused chuckle— shaking his head. “wanna fuck you good, keep you pregnant. love how you look carrying my baby.”

“yoongi...”

“yes, sweetheart?”

“please...”

your boyfriend tilts his head, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth before leaning back in his chair as if he’s deciding what to do with you next—you know that you’re at his mercy, even if you’re a thousand miles apart. “touch yourself for me...but don’t you dare cum until i say so.” the man before you tuts, grinning evilly. “start with your nipples, sweetheart, i know they’re sensitive.”

you follow his words, keeping your eyes on his as you guide your fingers to your hardened buds— swirling them in circles with a quiet whimper, eliciting a similar sound from your lover abroad. “more...want more...” you gasp, feeling on edge from the stimulation.

“go ahead angel, touch yourself like daddy would.”

following his voice, your finger tips drift across your skin with a feather light touch, nothing like yoongi’s— but it will do for now. slowly, you move your laptop onto the sheets, giving your lover a clear view of the flower you hide between your legs, watching him shiver at the sight of your glistening hole. with shaky breaths, you start to rub shy circles into your clit— drawing patterns and figures of eight just like yoongi would. pleasure tingles at every tip and joint in your body, trickling through your veins as your wetness drips down your thighs, just from the thoughts of yoongi watching you.

“eyes open for me sweetheart,” he reminds you, guiding you gently to push two fingers past your entrance. you thrash in the sheets, desperate for more, to touch what only yoongi could reach— your hips buck up involuntarily at the thought of his large hands spreading you apart, fingers curling as the walls of your cervix pulse hotly around him. “that’s a good girl, doing so well for me, hm?” yoongi praises you, leaning into the screen.

“mhm, your good girl...” you respond breathlessly, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you spasm and twitch with arousal. a beautiful mess is what yoongi would call it, your slick paints your thighs with a glossy essence— illuminating your skin as you curl your digits in search for that special spot. “god please please please!” you chant as yyour thighs shake with delight, the feeling only heightened by yoongi’s constant praise, your hips move desperately to catch up with your fingers that run at their own pace.

“slow down angel, don’t you wanna be good for daddy?”

you want to roll your eyes at your boyfriend, but knowing him— he’d only extended your punishment. “no,” you mumble, almost sternly, picking up the speed and curling your fingers, dragging them across your walls as you let out a high pitched squeal. “wanna cum.”

yoongi pauses and that’s when you know that you have him wrapped around your finger. a few pleases here and there have him nodding in permission for you to cum. your whole body shakes with delectation while yoongi coaxed you through your orgasm— stars twinkling behind your eyes as your released splashed out and coats your fingers.

“fuck baby, you did such a good job for me— put on such a pretty show for me...” the executive curses, shifting in discomfort. you can tell by the look on his face, parted lips and a crease between his brow, that he’s struggling to hold down his arousal. while left shaking and heavily pregnant, you some how manage to shift into a comfortable position— giving yoongi the puppy dog eyes.

“did daddy cum too?”

“no baby,”

a beat of silence and a grin from you. “please daddy, wanna see you cum too...”

a broken moan escapees from the confines of yoongi’s cherry lips, making you hum in satisfaction from across the globe. within an instant, the position of your boyfriend’s camera has changed— tilted down so you can get a good view of his cock springing free from his tight grey joggers. yoongi fists his length, hissing at the sensitivity, he’s bond turned on at this point. his cock stands at full attention, bright red tip burning in desperation as clear precum oozes heavily from its centre. throwing his head back, he begins to pump his girth, thick and wide, which makes your mouth water at the thought of it filling you up and stretching you open again.

“cum for me, yoonie,” you whisper, he’s barely three or four strokes in— too pent up to wait any longer, you have no idea how long he’s been holding it for. yoongi cums then and there, chest heaving with his dark hair matted to his forehead. thick ropes of his hot seed coats his knuckles, a shade much paler than his own skin.

you smile brightly when your lover comes to, busying yourself by pulling his shirt back over your head and inhaling its scent— firewood and pine, reminding you of him. yoongi smirks lazily as he uses a tissue to wipe up his mess before tilting the web cam up to his face for a better view, he chuckles deeply and shakes his head like before. “god, YN, the things you do to me,” he muses, rolling his eyes at your antics.

you mirror his smile, pressing a kiss to the screen as if he was really there. “you love me.”

“i do, so much.”

“and i love you, even more.”

although yoongi was meant to be returning today, you hadn’t been expecting any guests.

the jingle of keys in the lock captures you’re attention, the re-run of ‘real house wives’ not doing anything to interest you. you weren’t expecting your lover for another few hours but perhaps this was his way of apologising for leaving so suddenly. yoongi had seemed stressed this morning when you called after your OB appointment, showing more pictures from your scans with dr. jihyo park— he’d shown little excitement towards the life you’d created together, which was highly unusual for him.

nonetheless, you adjust yoongi’s sweater around you and wrap your arms around your baby bump protectively, moving from your comfortable position in the depths of your couch in search of your lover.

what you don’t expect, is the click of high heels against your marble floor.

what you least expect is the woman paired with them.

anyone with a pair of working eyes, or even less would know how beautiful of a woman she was. her skin was golden, dipped in honey and kissed by the gods of the above— unblemished and untouched. she had sharp features, cat like eyes, the colour of molasses paired with thick lashes and eyeliner that could cut diamonds. obsidian black and curled locks tumbled carelessly down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly whilst her ruby red dress hugged the dips and curves of her body— matching the blood red painted onto her lips.

she was stunning.

the stranger, however, seems too comfortable in your home. she knows exactly where to hang her keys and to put her jacket— she opens a letter that you know must be addressed to yoongi and simply tosses it aside as she struts through your home like she owns the place. it’s not until you’re standing out in the open for her to see, that she stops her actions, tilting her head into the air as if it’ll answer the questions in her puzzled mind.

“i wasn’t aware that minmin had hired new staff, i’m joohee.” she introduces herself, clear voice echoing across the hall.

you frown, rubbing your arm at her words. “who’s minmin?”

“your boss? min yoongi.” joohee answers confusedly as she approaches you, handing you her luggage expectantly. a pitiful smile crosses her plump, devil lips as she eyes your bump— making your skin crawl and coddle it protectively. “you’re pregnant? how far along are you? such a shame that minmin didn’t give you any time off. his values can be pretty off-“

you drop joohee’s bag as you listen to her blabber, her voice becoming patronising and sickly to your ears. she looks as if she’s about to have her way with you, tear into you like a lost little lamb but you won’t dare be disrespected in your own home. “listen lady,” you seethe, hating that you look like the pregnant angry lady. “i don’t know who you are, or what business you have with my boyfriend but i am not the help. now if you don’t mind, i’d like you to leave my home before i cal” security.”

the women before you lets her lips part with shock, quickly adjusting herself as if she’d been a doll in repair. her midnight eyes look you up and down while a cruel smirk as she takes her sunglasses from her air and toys with them between her perfectly white teeth.

“ah, i see, yoongi’s been out to play while i’ve been away. you’d think he’d be loyal to his wife— wouldn’t you?”

“w-wife?” you stammer, heart plummeting in your chest. you hadn’t noticed the diamond ring nestled comfortably on her ring finger— as if it had been there the whole time.

joohee smiles again, one that could be on the front cover of vogue. “three years and counting, darling, who could have guessed.” her words are like bullets to the chest, taking you down one by one. your heart burns with an unfamiliar sensation— heartache? betrayal? you can’t tell. everything seems foggy, all lies with smoke and mirrors. you had to have known at some point that it was too good to be true. “some water, darling?”

you shake your head at joohee, not realising the hand that claws at your throat. panic and pain crawl through your chest and hide in the ridges of your throat as you struggle to find the words to face the devil dressed in red satin. “no... i just, i just need a moment—“ you whisper, fiery tears burning in your eyes and threatening to scorch at the apples of your cheeks.

“take all the time you need, dearest.”

you move swiftly from there, running to the nursery and grabbing the hospital bag you’ll need for the baby’s delivery before heading to yourself and yoongi’s shared bedroom. you stare at the room with disgust and hatred, you’d shared too many loving moments with this man for it to be true. he lied to you, lied to her most probably.

you realise now that you were just another pawn in the game of chess called min yoongi.

through broken sobs, you manage to pack enough of your clothes to last you until you have time to come back. and so with trembling hands— you dial the phone and listen to it ring once before it picks up.

“hello?”

“seokjin?”

“yes, YN— what’s wrong? are you... are you crying?”

“please...come pick me up...”

there are no more words as the line goes dead, a little piece inside of you— dying as well.

yoongi had known something was off that night when he came home. a seventy-two hour stay in the states was more than exhausting— dealing with press and foreign interviewers who only wanted to hear about ‘american inspirations’ the debut collection. the executive had wanted to tell them proudly, that it had been you leading the design team, his YN but he stuck with his simple answers of gucci and dior to appease the crowd. all he wanted now, was to curl up with his darling girlfriend and their unborn child.

except... something was off.

the house had been dark when he came in, a new set of keys by the door and an unfamiliar suitcase. yoongi knew, if there was anything to go by, that you would have the hum of real house wives on and the smell of those salted kale chips he made you eat— wafting through the air. but instead, the sultry tones of old, familiar jazz oozed from his living room accompanied by the soft sounds of glass on glass and wine pouring.

wine.

“where is she? you bitch.” yoongi never swore at a woman, his mother raised him better than that but he heated the way joohee leisured on his couch— the couch where he lay with you for countless nights— sipping at a bottle of red wine. “answer me!”

joohee barely flinched at the raise in the dark haired male’s voice, simply choosing to pour another glass of the fruity liquid for the man himself. “she left minmin, who wouldn’t after finding out their little boy toy is married.” she teased, each word she spat like poison from were sweet lips.

“divorced, joohee, fucking divorced.” he heaved. “what the fuck did you tell her?”

“correction, divorcing and only what she needed to hear.”

yoongi remembers how fast he’d moved across the room, slamming his fist down on the coffee table so hard that it had almost shattered the glasses. that time, joohee had jumped, never had she ever seen yoongi so mad, so angry. “get the fuck out, walk out of the door and out of my life. it’s what you’re fucking good at.”

joohee left not a minute later, leaving yoongi alone in the dark of his home. your home. the home you were supposed to share with one another, build a life in. he hadn’t wanted that with joohee, not after she ruined him and broke what soul he had. you were the one to have brought min yoongi back to life, but now, he had lost you.

min yoongi hadn’t cried in a long time, but tonight would be the first since then.

“YN...he’s calling again.”

you look up briefly from folding freshly washed baby blankets and grows, to stare down at the phone that sits between yourself and yura before going back to the task at hand.

“ignore it.”

yura sighs, hitting decline before resuming her own activities— munching on the snacks yoongi had packed in your baby bag. ever since that night, seokjin had made sure you were guarded by at least one of your friends or family members. since you’d moved back in with him, either he or joon would watch you throughout the night, holding you while you cried your heart out. seokjin swore that the stress wasn’t good for the baby and that he’d kill min yoongi if he ever saw the ‘fucker again’ but you couldn’t help it, the man that you loved so deeply, the one who’s child you carry lied to you and tore your heart in two.

how could anyone lie about something like that?

moments pass before the phone rings again and you quickly reach over to hang up once more. “you really should talk to him YN. not for your sake but for the baby’s..” yura mumbles after a while, sucking the salt from her fingers as if she’s worried you’ll burst out mad at her. “maybe it’s not what you think—“

“how can it not be? he had a wife yura, he’s married! there’s no explanation for that!” you almost yell, clutching one of the grows to your chest tightly as if it’ll protect your heart.

“but maybe—“

“stop trying to defend him!”

“i’m not!”

“then shut up, shut up because you don’t know anything.” you add sternly as your bottom lip starts to wobble, you breathe heavily trying to calm yourself down. the slight twinge in your lower belly doesn’t distract you from the pain in your heart. “you don’t know what it’s like to fall for someone like this, to think you have it all and then—“

yura looks at you patiently, one of her greatest traits. she didn’t lose her temper with you or fall into screaming matches when your hormones got the best of you. she may have been slightly ticked at you, but she knew better than to show it. “the what?” she comments, brow raising in interest.

“nothing... i just, im sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled.” you bite your lip, putting down the small item of clothing and running a hand over your face. your roommate only shakes her head fondly, rubbing your shoulders, she knows this entire thing has been hard for you. you’d never planned to have a baby this early on in your life, you wanted big things and had major plans.

and you gave it all up for yoongi.

your friend smiles sadly, letting you go before heading to the doorway. “it’s okay, YN... i’ll give you some alone time.”

she does just that, giving you room to breathe as a million thoughts and what ifs cross your mind. what if you’d never met yoongi? would you be the same person you are now, back then? would you want this? would you— a burning sensation spikes in your lower back, making you double over in pain, this hadn’t been like any pain you’d experienced before, nothing like the braxton hicks you’d been warned about. and then, there’s a light gush between your thighs— panic soaring in your chest.

“y-yura-!” you gasp, steadying yourself on the nearest surface as the pain subsided unlike the fear and nerves that cloud your mind. “a-are you still there?”

the girl scoffs playfully from the hallway, making herself known. “of course i am, i’m your babysitter remember? i wouldn’t actually leave you.” she mumbles, tone quietening as you whine with the next oncoming contraction. “YN...are you alright?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white with the force. “yura... i think— i think my water just broke...”

“oh shit.”

this, this was pain.

yura whispers praise into your hairline while nurses flurry in and out of your room— she’d called your brother not long ago who was on his way from his last shift at work. you didn’t want to be alone. “why, why did i go through with this?” you whine, hair plastered against your forehead with sweat. people are surrounding you, telling you to push and then not to, everything is too overwhelming and all you want is the baby out of you.

everything that could possibly go wrong, was going wrong. an ambulance had been unable to pick you up from your brother’s home, the delivery plan having been registered to yoongi’s house— meaning that your roomate had to drive you all the way to hospital herself, getting lost on the way. now you were being wheeled through the hell hole, on the way for your delivery.

“because you wanted this baby and you wanted it him?” yura suggests, squeezing your hand tightly— only wincing when you squeeze it back with the start of a contraction. “would now be a bad time tell you that i called yoongi?”

“you what?” you screech, barely having time to be mad as another wave of pain hits burns at your waist. god, did you even think this part through? you barely register the door opening, another presence instantly by your side. your body responds naturally , calming in response to the man that’s now beside you.

yoongi grips hand, and if you weren’t in so much pain you would have torn away— your heartbeat ceasing in your but you know that you need him here. the time to talk will be later. “im sorry,” he mumbles quietly as they prepare you for the delivery room. “im sorry i did this to you, that i hurt you and i know that you don’t want me here right now, but im not going anywhere. not when you need me.”

curling in on yourself at the student wave on pain, you take a chance and stare up into his eyes— searching for the truth, for an answer. “okay,” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve uncovered behind yoongi’s dark eyes. “okay, lets do this.”

the executive nods at the nurses to make a move for the private delivery rooms he’d booked earlier on in your pregnancy. he squeezes your hand with a promise to yura that he’d take care of you, while you brought new life into the world.

“she’s waiting for you, y’know.”

yoongi doesn’t dare to look up, choosing to focus on the scuff on his shoes as a distraction from the conversation that is to come. it’s been hours, three or four, since the delivery— the birth of his child smooth sailing from the moment he took your hand but through all the screaming and cursing at him, yoongi couldn’t help but think of what he had lost. a family, a life with you.

but now, your room was packed with the family you had built before him, namjoon cradling you’re infant in his arms as yura cooed away— playing with tiny fingers. the executive didn’t feel like he belonged, like he didn’t deserve to be in there with you.

seokjin clears his throat with a roll of his shoulders before taking a seat next to the latter. as much as your brother despised yoongi, he knew in his heart that you were meant to be together. he’d seen you both grow from cold, isolated human beings into the warmth that a child needed to be in the world. seokjin would do this for you. for you and the baby.

“look,” the elder starts, elbows on his knees to support himself as he rubs his hands together, ordering over his next choice of words. “i never liked you, i knew that you’d break her somehow—“ yoongi scoffs, cutting the other kim sibling off, as the words nick his heart. “— but i also know that she gave a lot up for you because she loves you. that mother in there, YN, is going to need all the help she can get and christ be damned that i’m going to give it to her but that baby... that baby is going to need a father. so either you step up and prove to her that you’re still in this or you take your leave now.” seokjin warns, this time— sparing a dark glare to a now intimidated min yoongi. “because the last thing they now need, is another let down.”

the executive blinks, taking a moment to ponder your brother’s words. “i understand, thank you.”

seokjin nods, moving into your room to round up your family— giving yoongi the space he needs to explain himself to you. when he enters, you have the baby swaddled in your arms with a look that says it all. that your entire world is right here with you. a look that makes yoongi fall in love with you all over again.

“he’s beautiful,” you whisper, having heard the male come in— sparing him a short glance before looking back down at your baby, afraid that if you look away for too long, he’ll disappear. “don’t you think?”

the dark haired man can’t help but nod, approaching you slowly to admire his son— a small little thing with beautiful eyes to match your own and a head full of curls, just as dark as yoongi’s. “we made a beautiful little thing.” he comments, leaning down to brush his thumb over little min’s cheek. yoongi looks up, not realising how you watch him with tenderness, this was how it was supposed to be. “YN...i-“

“yoongi.” you breathe, turning back to focus on your baby.

“i’m sorry, i should have told you— about joohee— about my marriage with her, which is over by the way...” yoongi hates how you flinch at the mention of his ex, reaching out to grab your hand. he breathes a sigh of relief when you don’t pull away like he expected you too. “we’re getting a divorce.”

you gasp, all of your emotions flying at you at once. joohee had failed to mention that fact to you, something you might have heard if you’d heard yoongi out. “but she said—“

“i was with her a long time ago, back when i was working in daegu and she changed. the industry changed and she did too. joohee became manipulative and rude and—“ the executive closes his eyes, taking a moment to reflect. he’d never opened up about this before, but he needed you to understand...maybe forgive him. he needed to be in his child’s life. “and we weren’t working anymore, giving each other what we needed. i wanted white pickett fences, a dog, a family but she wanted all the money in the world and i couldn’t give her that.” he breathes, and you squeeze his hand. “but i met you at that party where i felt so free,”

his words come out as jumbled, becoming a ramble causing you to shake your head and grip the man’s wrist tighter. “yoongi.”

“and then this happened and i knew that i wanted all of that with you and our son and i’m so sorry that i put you through all of that pain, for not telling you—“

“min yoongi—“

“and i just miss you so much that it hurts, i want to be with you...”

“god min yoongi just shut up and kiss me!” you repeat your words from early on, using the hand that held his to pull him closer, pressing his lips against yours in a forgiving kiss. you pour all of your words and emotions into the movement of your lips against his, your love, your pain, your passion. you love him, you do— with all your heart and soul, the pair of you being mindful of the baby between you as you hold each other near and dear. “i-i love you,” you stammer, pressing your forehead against his. yoongi smiles, lips hovering over your own, he’s about to lean in for another kiss when your little boy gurgles between you. “and i love you too baby.”

“does he have a name yet?”

“i was waiting for you...”

yoongi smiles, letting your baby boy wrap his tiny fingers around his own. your body lights up with joy, if someone had told you— nine months ago, that you would end up with the worlds most beautiful baby boy, a man that you loved and a family that supported you... you would have laughed but now you’ve seen, that sometimes life has unexpected twists, good and bad.

but luckily for you, you’d had a good one. “joonwoo,” your lover hums, kissing the top of your babies head before giving you the very same kiss. “that should be his name.”

“joonwoo, meaning protection,” you mumble in a wordless agreement, observing your family. joonwoo had been a name you picked out with yoongi one night during the early stages of your pregnancy—you were surprised that he’d even remembered. “it’s perfect.” yoongi would have your white pickett fences, your dog and your family home but for now, you would enjoy the moment— enjoy the time with your boys and wait for what the future would hold.

you couldn’t wait to see where you’d be in another nine months from now.

“ahaha! look, they’re kissing! what did i tell you guys? thats twenty bucks… each!” taehyung exclaims happily, removing his face from the glass as he watches the happy family through it. jimin only rolls his eyes from behind his lover, arms aching slightly from the abundance of gifts he holds in them.

yura rolls her shoulders, having half a mind to shove the blue haired male over but she knows you’d give her an earful if she did. “fuck you,” she groans as she passes over the cash.

“i do that already!” jimin chirps from behind.

that’s when seokjin sweeps in, taking the money from taehyung with a happy smile. much to the disdain of the latter. “but i called it! he’s a boy.” the elder smirks, counting the bills. taehyung pouts in response, clinging to his boyfriend who only rolls his eyes at the group’s antics.

“but y’all are forgetting, the most important thing...” namjoon adds, taking the money from seokjin and smirking smugly at the shocked faces he receives. “i won the bet cus they’re getting married.” the brunette reveals in a sing song tone, pulling the ring box that yoongi entrusted him with. namjoon only chuckles as the group descends into chaos.

this baby was in for one hell of a family.

⇢ author’s note(s): thank you all so much for reading!! please let me know what you think and have a wonderful day or night <3

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mikauzoran · 3 years

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Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Eight

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Eight: Guitar Lessons

Luka found Adrien in the main cabin, slowly playing through the principal melody of Merry-Go-Round of Life from Howl’s Moving Castle on one of Luka’s acoustic guitars.

He paused at the bottom of the stairs to listen and watched, entranced, as Adrien’s hands gracefully shifted into position, his fingers dancing eloquently over the strings.

The playing itself was still hesitant due to Adrien’s lack of confidence, but the notes rang true as Adrien carefully played each chord.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Adrien remarked a bit breathily when he finally noticed Luka’s presence.

Luka blinked out of his trance at Adrien’s words. “Sorry for eavesdropping.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I’m in the common area.” Adrien stood and nodded guiltily towards the guitar. “I hope you don’t mind me helping myself. You said I could practice whenever I liked, and I kind of took you at your word.”

“It’s not a problem,” Luka assured, coming around to Adrien’s side of the couch and taking a seat, gesturing for Adrien to do the same. “I was serious, so, please, go for it.”

“All right,” Adrien chuckled self-consciously even as his nerves started to fade. “I will. Thank you.”

He retook his seat next to Luka and tipped his head at the guitar again. “I’m having a little trouble with F still. Could you show me again, please?”

He looked down sheepishly at the instrument, his cheeks taking on a soft, peony pink hue. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve shown me a dozen times already.”

“It’s okay,” Luka replied earnestly, scooting in closer. “It’s kind of tricky, so no worries. If it helps, it sounded fine when you played it a minute ago, so I think you’re already doing it right in practice.”

Gingerly, he took Adrien’s hand and placed each finger individually.

Adrien tried not to let show how the small contact made him melt on the inside.

He felt awful using learning guitar—something that was practically sacred to Luka—as a means to steal little intimacies…and yet, he did it over and over again. He couldn’t get enough of Luka’s attentions.

“There you go,” Luka proclaimed, giving Adrien a reassuring smile.

Adrien tried to return it, but it came out strained.

Luka was so close, and Adrien felt hyperaware of every move Luka made.

He mentally cursed himself for being so needy.

His therapist had told him that it was okay and natural even for him to be touch-starved, given his circumstances, but Adrien couldn’t help the instinctive guilt and shame that welled up whenever he felt the urge to throw himself at Luka and beg to be petted.

“You’re doing really well with the guitar.” Luka heaped flattery onto praise, making Adrien giddy.

“You really think so?” he pressed, hoping for more validation.

It was so easy to get the things he wanted out of Luka compared with how Adrien had struggled in vain for years to get acceptance, acknowledgement, and affection from his father.

Adrien briefly noted that it felt more than a little messed up to use Luka to resolve long-standing daddy issues.

“Absolutely,” Luka confirmed, oblivious to Adrien’s mental conflict. “You’ve come a long way with the guitar these past two weeks. You’re picking it up quickly.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Adrien chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I bet you’d pick up piano faster than I’m progressing with guitar. You’re the real musical genius here.”

Luka rolled his eyes. “I’ll take that bet.”

Adrien blinked. “What?”

Luka took Adrien by the hand and gently tugged him over to the keyboard in the corner, demanding, “Teach me.”

Adrien broke out in a laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not really equal to the task. I don’t know the first thing about teaching.”

Luka shrugged, waving away Adrien’s protest. “Start by showing me how to position my hands?”

Instantly, Adrien realized the benefits of playing piano instructor: more legitimate excuses for touching.

“Like this.” Adrien demonstrated and then helped to curve Luka’s fingers into the proper shape. “You want to keep your fingers rounded. Like, if you were sitting and you put your hands on your knees, you want that kind of curve. It helps keep your touch light so you can move your hands more quickly.”

“Got it,” Luka confirmed as he practiced rounding his hands. “So, now that I’ve got that down, care to show me around the keyboard?”

Adrien nodded, reaching out and playing a single note.

“Middle C,” he announced, looking at Luka with a warm grin. “Whenever you get lost or confused, just come back here. If you can find middle C, you’ll be able to find your way again from there.”

Luka reached out and pressed the key several times, letting the sound fill the room like the knelling of a bell.

“…It’s a lot like you,” Adrien confessed softly, looking down at Luka’s hand.

“Yeah?” Luka hummed.

Adrien nodded. “You’re…you’re my middle C.”

Luka paused to stare at Adrien, but Adrien kept his gaze fixed determinedly down.

“Whenever I’m feeling lost and trying to figure things out, if I go to you, you always let me use you as a sounding board and give me advice, and I always manage to find my way again.”

Adrien peeked up at Luka to gauge his reaction and found him wearing a smile full of affection.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Luka replied. “I’m always happy to be there for you, and I’m glad I’ve been able to help in the past.”

“You’re helping even now,” Adrien chuckled. “I seriously don’t know where I’d be right now without you.”

Luka slowly shook his head. “You have other people who care about you. I’m not the only thing standing between you and obliteration…. Still. I’m really happy that you think I’ve made a difference.”

“You’re indispensable,” Adrien stressed, reaching out and playing the middle C again.

An impish quality snuck into Luka’s smile. “…So…if I’m C…does that make you a G?”

Adrien’s head tipped to the side.

Luka grinned and played an open fifth—the middle C and the G a perfect fifth above it.

A pleased smirk gradually spread across Adrien’s lips. “I mean…I am your Perfect Fifth, aren’t I?”

“That you are,” Luka affirmed, playing the open fifth again.

Adrien moved his hand an octave above Luka’s and played the C and the G there.

The ringing quality of the notes sent shivers down both of their spines.

“They sound good together,” Adrien whispered wistfully, wondering if he and Luka would work equally well in concert.

“I’ve always loved the sound of open fifths,” Luka remarked softly, wondering the exact same thing. “It’s not major or minor…. It’s full of possibilities.”

They sat with that observation for a long, pensive stretch.

Mentally, Adrien chastised himself for being such a starry-eyed romantic.

He pasted on a neutral, unreadable smile and suggested, “Shall I show you a scale?”

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Luka Couffaine #Lukadrien June 2021 #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #MLB #Guitar #Piano #Fluff #Pining #Mutual Pining #Slow Burn #Friends to Lovers #Writing Prompts #Mikau's Writings #Your Hands Hold Home

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wolfcrunch · 5 years

Note

hello again i’m the hallucination anon and wanted to do a more vague prompt so here’s a dialogue prompt: uhhh “please don’t go” that’s basic as hell sorry. good luck with getting back into writing!

ohhh i liked this prompt, and thank you! I’ll get to the other prompt when I can, but I wrote this one first since I had a pretty clear idea of it!

read on AO3

“Izuku, please stop wriggling around–”

“I can’t help it mum!! I’m so excited!!”

The soft whines from the small boy caused his mother to smile sadly down at her child, a sigh befalling her before she gently stroked his soft curls, revealing in how easy her fingers carded through the usual tangled mess of hair. She made sure her boy was strapped in correctly, safely, before stepping back and peering at the green-eyed boy who stared at her with a doe-eyed innocence.

“After all, mum takes me to the best places!”

Izuku giggles at his own words, missing the tears that bud within his others eyes, ones she quickly wipes away before forcing a smile upon her face. She closes the door, her son muttering to himself - an early habit he had gained from his father - before moving to the front of the car, willing her shaky hands to open the door to the drivers seat, sliding in. With her face hidden, her son didn’t have a clue.

Didn’t have a clue as to why his mother had woken him up much too early for daycare, or why she had packed two bags with only his belongings.

No clue as to why his mother had been watching him sadly for the past several days, leading up to this very moment…

Buckling the tight leather seatbelt, Inko held back another sigh, hesitating before she reached over, grasping the door handle and shutting her door with a click.

Sealing their fate. His fate.

“I always do, don’t I, Izuku?” Inko states murmuring mostly to herself as she gripped the wheel with one hand, reaching to light the ignition of their small car. “And mum swears this isn’t any different, just trust me. Ok?”

If Inko’s mind wasn’t already made up, she would’ve cried at the cheery, happy squeal of agreement that followed her words.

Izuku kept his eyes to the shapes moving outside the car as they drove, not yet having a real understanding of time to really see how long they’d been travelling for. As the car drove, Izuku imagined himself and Kacchan, fighting alongside one another as they fought villain after villain, his imagination running wild as he excitedly wriggled in his car seat. He imagined All Might, saving the two of them from a hero much too strong, and the trio taking them down together.

A beaming grin took up the majority of the five-year-olds face, waving his arms around and kicking his legs out as if he was fighting. Take that, and that!! Kacchan will take you down with one big boom!

His head felt light and airy, and he wondered what amazing place his mum would take him to today - would it be an amusement park? The zoo? Oh! Maybe she was taking him to go meet All Might?!

His tiny fists clenched the sides of his car seat excitedly, even at just the possibility of meeting THE All Might! Sure, he might be jumping to conclusions - but for a small five-year-old, nothing was impossible, not really.

He wondered what he could say to All Might first–

Kacchan’s going to be sooooo jealous! I’ll have to get a picture for him…

Although the blond in question had been harsh to Izuku in the passing weeks, following his quirkless diagnosis …but it was fine! Maybe, if Izuku met someone really, really cool, then Kacchan might let him play with their friends again!

And Izuku wouldn’t have to worry his mum, coming home with bumps and bruises that he said were from the other kids being too rough…

Only when the door on Izuku’s right open, did he realize that the car had come to a stop, and his mother quietly set about to unbuckling him from his seat. Peering over her shoulder as the woman gently held her child, Izuku could see the sun was already up, shining down upon the two. He breathed in the fresh, early morning air and wrapped his arms around Inko’s neck.

“Mum, where are we?” he chirped, feeling Inko move a hand to gently past the top of his head, before she leaned down to grab something.

“You’ll see, Izuku,” her voice soft, slightly chiding in his ear as she grasped the luggage she had brought along. Izuku took that chance to look once more, seeing a large, worn down building before them. It must still be pretty early, seeing as no one was up and about.

The freckled boy noticed the paint peeling off the side of the building, and felt something coil in his gut…it had to be nothing right? His mum wouldn’t take him anywhere dangerous…right?

“Mum…?”

Inko was oddly quiet as she moved closer to the building, slightly frazzled and hurried footsteps. Izuku decided to keep his mouth shut after that, ignoring the fear that rolled down his spine, the cold air of the building settling across his skin, causing goosebumps to appear.

The door of the building creaked, loud and rusted as Inko slowly moved it open. The building shrouded the pair in darkness from the rising sun, making their way inside the dull-lit room, to where Izuku could see was mostly empty - there was something that seemed to be like a waiting room, similar to the one his mum had taken him to when seeing the doctor. There was a long desk at one side, a woman sitting behind it with a worn-down desktop, tapping away at her keyboard. Only when Inko placed Izuku down, gently taking his small hand in hers, did the woman look up.

Hair fraying grey with age, the older woman had a soft smile on her face, Izuku being unable to tell that it was forced. “Good morning! How may I help you?”

Inko seemed to startle, but only after a moment did she speak up, averting her gaze from both the receptionist and even her own son. “Y-yes…I called ahead, a few days ago. Inko Midoriya, if it rings a bell? The Director told me to come ahead today - sorry if I’m a bit early…”

Recognition seemed to ignite in the older woman’s dark eyes, and she gave a nod. “Ms. Midoriya, master Shi told me you would be arriving today…” She got to her feet, moving out from behind the long desk and bowing slightly to the pair, the atmosphere somber. “If you take a seat, I will go fetch him. He should be getting the others up for breakfast any moment now.”

As she tottered away, heels clacking at the tiled floor, Izuku turned to his mum with wide eyes, filled with confusion. “W…Mum, why are we here?”

The green-haired woman only ushered her only child to one of the couches, seemingly ignoring the scared whimper that tore itself from his throat.

He wanted to go home. Something was wrong, wrong, he could just feel it, unable to comprehend…when could they leave? Why was mum being so quiet?

He could only watch as she rifled through one of his bags, bringing out a soft, plush All Might teddy he’d gotten for his birthday. Her green gaze lingered on the object before she passed it to Izuku, who clung to the toy and pressed it to his chest.

“Mum…?”

The soft, worn couch cushions almost made Izuku sink into them once he finally sat down, Inko looking anywhere but at her child. Izuku buried his face into his toy, hoping that the strange woman would come back–

"Master Shi is now here to see you, Ms. Midoriya.“

Two sets of footfalls echoed off the empty walls, and Izuku only looked up as they came closer, in time to see the older woman now accompanied by a slightly younger man, skin pale and sickly as his silver hair fell over his shoulders. But his orange eyes held a young, fiery warmth to them, despite the circumstances. "Welcome to my humble abode, Ms. Midoriya. And I take it this is little Izuku, correct?”

Izuku’s mother shifted her feet, nodding halfheartedly. “It is…”

Izuku swallowed a lump in his throat as this unknown Shi crouched down to be on his level, smiling softly at the boy. “Hello, Izuku. I’m Sen Shi; but feel free to call me whatever suits you. Your mother here has told me a great deal about you, over the last several phone calls we’ve had.” His voice sounded rusted, but still strong in his age. “You’re five years old, right? And a big fan of All Might, I see!”

The quirkless boy only nods, nerves causing him to curl in slightly on himself, biting his lip as the mans face softened, and he held his hand out.

“I promise we aren’t here to hurt you, Izuku. We are quirkless, much like your current state.”

Something sparked in Izuku at that, as the man turned his gaze to Inko. “Are you entirely sure this is something you wish to do, Ms. Midoriya? This is your final chance…he seems like a fine young lad.”

Izuku’s head whipped to his mother at that, eyes wide. What…what did he mean? His small fingers tightened around his All Might toy.

The look on Inko’s face was devastated, eyes budding in her eyes as she nodded, a sob shaking her form. “T-this is what’s best for him. Please, don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Sen Shi sighed, nodding slightly before he gazed at the receptionist, who had remained silent during the conversation. “Why don’t you take young Izuku’s bags up, hmm? We’ll follow in a few moments.”

…Mum?

Izuku’s mouth ran dry as he wriggled to get back on his feet. The older woman took his bags and turned without so much as a second glance, and Izuku reached out a hand to cling to his mothers skirt. “Mum, why are you crying? Let’s go home!”

But she stepped away, and Izuku felt the dread almost sweep him off his feet. Inko couldn’t even look at him, and he felt tears unwillingly fill his eyes, blurring his gaze.

“This is what’s best, Izuku,” a gently hand tilted his head up, and Izuku felt lips press shakily against his forehead. The trembling hand brushed through his scalp one last time, leaving a cold path behind before it pulled away. “You be a good boy for these nice people, ok? And you become smart and big and strong, and you do whatever your heart desires, and grow without having everyone around you hurt you…”

“Mumma…” his voice cracked as the woman took one step back, and another, turning away from her boy.

“You’re such a good boy Izuku…but I can’t handle seeing you so sad…seeing everyone look at you with such disgust, hurting you…and I can’t do anything to stop it. What mother am I…”

The best–

“I’ve already failed you…I’ve failed you so much, Izuku, and I’m so, so sorry. I promise, you’ll understand when you’re older…please, become the best person you can be. I still believe in you–”

His mother choked back another sob, before hurrying out. Without her boy. Without Izuku.

The five-year-old was frozen for only a moment, before the tears spilled, dripping down his cheeks and rolling off his chin. “Mum!” He cried suddenly after her, about to take off after her before hands wrapped around his midsection. “Mum, come back!”

But Inko didn’t look back, even as Izuku struggled, even as he began to scream and cry, the front door opening as his mother made to leave, her figure getting smaller and smaller.

The light shone in from outside. Izuku’s last chance. Izuku resisted.

“No!” His voice screamed, cried hoarsely after his mother. His family, the only person who cared for him, and looked after him - loved him. “Please, don’t go! Mumma!!”

Through his tears, he saw her pause at the door, hand grasping the edge, and Izuku felt a flicker of hope raise within him, eyebrows drawing up as his mother stopped. As she hesitated. As she wavered…She’d come back! Then they could go home, go home and pretend this never happened, and it was all just a horrible nightmare–

‘I’m sorry, Izuku.“

Those quiet, whispered words echoed loudly in Izuku’s ears as his mother gazed one last time over her shoulder, green eyes filled with sorrow as tears spilled, before she stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

Shutting him out–

He screamed once more, struggling with vigor as he yelled and cried, pushing and even trying to kick against the man holding him, wanting to leave. Wanting to get out, to find his mother.

She couldn’t have really left him like that, right?

"Let go! Let me go!!” he sobbed, voice raw as his futile attempts at escaping gradually slowed down. “Let me go, I want her! I want my mum!!”

Shi continued to hold the boy with a sad expression as he watched the child, only pulling him close once he stopped struggling, his tiny body now heaving with sobs. “I’m sorry, young Izuku,” the man murmured, carding his fingers through the boys curls, emptiness settling into the child’s stomach.

Izuku clung to the sleeves of the older man as he murmured more words, falling deaf on Izuku’s ears as more tears rolled down his cheeks, dampening his clothes as he shut his eyes, hoping this was just a bad dream and he’d wake up soon.

But it wasn’t, and he’d have to deal with this for the rest of his life, replaying the event over and over and over again in his mind, the last fleeting memory he would have of the woman he called mother.

The last time he’d have seen her face, and heard her voice. The last time she would kiss him goodbye - a goodbye of forever.

“Please, don’t go…”

His All Might toy lay forgotten, laying to grow dust and worn, too many good memories associated with it to be picked up once more. As peaceful memories turned twisted, twisted full of sorrow and even hatred to the very core, too painful to be regarded.

And as hope shattered into a million pieces, never to be repaired again-

Because she was gone, just like everyone else.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my writing #midoriya izuku #midoriya inko #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #writing requests #anonymous

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transdonaldduck · 6 years

Note

idk if you already answered this, but what was mason and donalds first meeting like?

Mom was confident, a pillar of strength Mason desperately wanted to emulate- she was certain and steady all the time. At most she was reserved, modest, gentle… but never has her hand hovered over a doorbell for so long, waiting to gather the courage to ring the bell. A heart beat passes and Jessica pushes the buzzer to McDuck Manor.

There’s a pause, then- “McDuck Residence, state your business.” It’s a curt tone, feminine, and her sharpness makes Mason frown.

“Yes, hi! Hello.” Jessica’s nerves finally smoothed out on the last word, jitters vanishing as her professional persona kicked in, “I’m looking for Donald Duck.”

She doesn’t get a reply for a long moment, and just when she thinks she’s been denied, there‘s the voice again, “May I ask what this is about?”

“Of course, um, My name is Jessica Quackmire. We met about fifteen years ago, and I have… something that uh…” Her face twists as she fishes for the right words, “…Belongs to him?”

Mason turns her head slowly, unamused. Jessica shrugs helplessly, mouths I didn’t know what to say!

There’s a loud sound, the grinding of metal against metal and Mason jumps, watching the gates peel backwards to allow them entrance, “Please proceed forward.” The woman says over the intercom before the line drops dead. Mom puts the car in drive.

“Something that belongs to him?” Mason asks wryly.

“I’m an adult, I can admit it: I panicked.” Jessica says reasonably, grimacing at her own word choice, “This is a delicate situation, I didn’t want to just tell him about a surprise family over a gate intercom.”

“Fair enough.” Mason concedes, drumming out a tune on the dashboard, trying to expel some built up energy.

“…Are you nervous about meeting him?” Jessica asks gently.

Mason balls her hands up to stop the incessant habit, dropping them to her lap, “What’s there to be nervous about?” She tries for nonchalant, “It’s not like I don’t know all about him… he’s got his own wikipedia page.”

“It’s different reading about someone versus actually meeting them.” Mom points out as she finally makes it to the manor, pulling into the roundabout in front of the main entrance, “Do you want to stay in the car until I talk to him?”

“No way, I want to be there the whole time.” She says, unclicking her seatbelt, “I can handle it.”

Once mom had decided to start med school, she’d sat Mason down and had a long talk about her father. It’s not as if Mason wasn’t aware of him before, and while she’d always kind of wondered about what he was like in person, she also was pretty happy with her life and never really felt the need to reach out badly enough to actually do it. Mom wanted them to build a relationship, though, since she wouldn’t be around a lot once she went back to school. Mason had a sneaking suspicion there was another reason there somewhere, but she didn’t pry. The thought of meeting her dad was good in theory, but he was a difficult man to track down. Turns out he hopped from job to job, didn’t have a landline listed in the phone book, and his previously listed house(boat) had apparently blown up and then sunk spectacularly during the return of magica De Spell- so, he was hard to get a hold of… which meant they were stuck here, jumping right into the fire instead of asking him to meet them out for lunch or something. No warning ahead of time. Oof.

Mason pops open her door and jumps out of the car, following her mom up to the door. The closer she got to actually meeting Donald Duck, the more anxious she was getting. What if he didn’t like her..? What if he didn’t want her.

Mom knocks on the door politely and firmly without delay, this time, shoulders squared. Mason mimics her, straightening her spine, schooling her expression. The woman who opens the door was an imposing figure. She was dressed very sweetly in a matronly apron and a skirt, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and Mason understood almost immediately she was the no-nonsense type and strains to stand stiffer under her eyes.

“Jessica Quackmire,” Mom smiles, solding out her hand.

“I am the housekeeper, Miss Beakley.” She smiles back, shaking her mom’s hand twice, “Please follow me, Donald is out back.”

Miss Beakley hardly gives them time to register her words before she’s off, and Mason and her mom are pressed to chase after her. The Manor is huge, bigger than Mason’s elementary school and highschool combined, there’s tasteful crown moulding and paintings and marbles flooring with plush red carpets on top, they pass a fireplace as tall as her stacked with wood for its next use- its fancy and clean and well put together. Her Dad lived here?

As she looks around, craning her neck to take it all in, she gets the distinct feeling of being watched. She glances behind her suspiciously, frowning at the empty hallway and then scrambling to keep up when she realizes she’s being left in the dust. Finally they come upon a kitchen area and, past that, a set of sliding glass doors that lead out to a pool area, and in the pool… is a giant boat.

Are rich people really like this?

There’s two people on deck of the boat and, now that Mason is looking closer, the ship is in rough shape- it’s banged up and scraped, huge sections of paint missing, the bow is cracked and splintered in places, the smoke stack up top dented and banged up. There’s signs of work all around the pool, stacks of wood, buckets of paint, other things Mason doesn’t know enough about to identify… but the thing that really catches her attention is that the two men on the boat are arguing loudly.

“Donald!” Miss Beakley calls, “Your guests are here!”

The man in the sailor suit pauses the argument, grabbing the edge of the railing to peer over and look at them. He’s handsome, a few stress wrinkles here and there, but his feathers are still bright. He’s wearing a sailors outfit, and even leaning over the railing he stands like the boys in JROTC stood- military. He’s got his feathers cut short, a tuft or two poking out from his hairline, and before she can quite take it all in he leans too far over the edge and pitches forward into the water with a loud quack of surprise.

Mason barks out a startled laugh, clapping a hand to her beak to smother it as mom hurried forward to try and help. This was Donald Duck? Scrooge McDuck’s nephew and one of the worlds most skilled adventures in the world? Mason felt a bit better, knowing now he wasn’t exactly the intimidating figure she’d built him up to be. Jessica leans out and offers him her hand as he pops out of the water, blinking chlorine out of his eyes, but before he can take it Scrooge leans down from the entrance plank and uses his cane to hook the back of his shirt, pulling him over to the edge of the pool so he could haul himself out.

He sits in the edge of the pool and coughs a few times, smacking his chest, and gathers his bearings.

“Hello Mrs. Quackmire,” Scrooge says, coming down the rest of the way to greet them, “Scrooge McDuck.”

Jessica reaches out to shake his hand, “No introduction necessary, Mr. McDuck, I think the whole world knows who you are.”

Donald gets to his feet, water rolling off his feathers, ringing out his shirt, “Don’t say that, it’ll just go to his head.”

And Masons heart skips a beat.

“Your voice…” She says without thinking at all.

He blinks, winces, and she can see his face flush under his feathers, “I have a speech impediment.” And it almost sounds like an apology.

She wants to say don’t worry, I had the same one but her throat is suspiciously tight and she can’t quite get the words out, dropping her eyes to the ground so she doesn’t make him feel worse. Mom has put her through several speech therapy classes when she was young and, while she never fully lost the scratchy undertone, she wasn’t even a fraction as garbled as he was. If there was any more proof she’d needed…

“Hey, Donald. It’s been a while,” Jessica steps forward, crossing her arms across her stomach, drawing his attention, “Would you mind if we talked in private?”

He blinks and his eyebrows furrow, and Mason can tell he’s trying to place where he knows her from. He nods, “sure, would you like to come inside my houseboat? It was recently sunk so sorry about the work in progress.”

“You could always stay inside the manor like I was offering.” Scrooge mutters, rolling his eyes, “I’ll be inside if you need me. It was nice meeting you, Miss Quackmire.”

“Likewise!” She responds, following Donald inside the boat with Mason in tow.

And Donald hadn’t been lying, like the outside of the boat, the inside was a mess. The railing on the stairs was broken along the base, missing several slats, and the kitchen had been gutted, empty holes where a stove or a dishwasher should have been. The place was sparsely decorated, the kitchen table piled with picture frames and photo albums, the living room with only a worn looking couch and matching chair, an ancient tv set.

“She was damaged during the return of Magica De Spell,” he tells them, “I’m trying to fix her up. Make yourself at home, I’m gonna go get out of these wet clothes.”

Jessica smiles at Mason encouragingly, “Well, this is kind of nice, isn’t it?” She says, looking around, “It needs a few repairs, but it’s so… sweet. Quaint.”

“Not something I expected from the nephew of a trillionaire.” Mason admits, walking over to the kitchen table, peeking at the photos, “This must be Huey, Dewey, and Louie.” She says, looking at the picture. It’s Donald with the boys, they’re all smiling, at a park, and the boys look no older than six or seven. The picture is warped around the edges from water damage and she can see the care Donald took to try and salvage it.

Donald comes back into the room wearing a loose black t-shirt and Jessica smiles at him, stepping away from the kitchen table, “Please, have a seat.” He says warmly, motioning to the couch. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, “Would you like some tea?”

“No, that’s alright.” Jessica shakes her head, taking her satchel off and setting it aside.

“Okay, let’s get down to business. You said you had something of mine?” Donald says, sitting across from them in the chair, “I hope it’s not her!” he says jokingly, motioning to Mason.

Mason and Jessica’s eyes get as big as dinner plates.

There’s a long pause, and Donalds own eyes widen comically as the puzzle pieces slide into place. “Oh- Oh-” He stutters, hands reaching out to clutch the arms of the chair, “ Is she- she’s mine?” Donald asks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, disbelief in his gaze.

Jessica takes a deep breathe, “Fifteen years ago you and your band the Three Caballeros were playing at a bar in Las Vegas. I invited you back to my place- I don’t know if you remember that, or me, but I have a picture of us when we met. I was into photography back then.” She grabs her satchel, pulling out an old looking photo, handing it to him, “After that night, you went back to duckburg…” She closes her eyes for a brief moment, “And I laid an egg.”

He studies the photo.

“I chose to raise her on my own,” She continues, balling her hands into fists in her lap, “I thought it was the best choice and I never told you, but I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. We came here today to… to give you the option to have a relationship, with her.”

He looks up, face still slack jawed, “I have a daughter?” he asks, in the softest voice Masons ever heard, looking back and forth between them.

Jessica nods, “Yeah.” She says, just as soft.

He looks at her and he absolutely glows. She feels her breath catch again, and she almost feels lightheaded, “What’s your name?” He asks her, smiling wide, eyes sparkling.

“Mason.” She says automatically, blinking away the burn in her eyes, “Mason Victoria Quackmire.”

“Mason!” he repeats in awe, jumping up and coming to sit beside her on the couch, “I was just joking before,” He says earnestly, “I’m really happy it’s you. I’m really happy to meet you.”

Before she can burst into tears she throws her arms around him, burying her face into his chest, and a warm feeling cascades over her heart when he envelopes her in a bear hug, pulling her close, tucking his beak over her head. He’s solid, steady, and warm.

“On the event that this was a happy reunion,” Jessica ventures, giddy, digging through her bag, “I brought you some things I think you’d like to see.” She pulls out a photo album, ones that has a dated floral pattern, worn along the edges.

Mason groans playfully, too busy wiping away happy tears to really put any ire into her teasing.

Donald gasps, reaching out to take the book, keeping her held close with one arm. He sets it on his lap, flipping through the pages with one hand. The first is a picture of her the day she hatched and he gets so excited he almost jumps off the couch, cooing at the picture, “You’re so adorable!” He fawns, positively glowing as he flips through each page.

“There she is on her first birthday, we had a special cake for her to eat with her hands,” Jessica squishes close on Masons other side, pointing to different photos and offering context, “There she is on her first day of kindergarten- oh there’s the Halloween where she dressed up as Darkwing Duck! From that old-school tv show!”

“I know the one,” Donald smiles fondly, trailing a finger lightly over the edge of the photo, and Mason slyly tries to wipe away her tears. Jessica and Donald both press reassuringly closer and Mason gets the idea that she wasn’t subtle enough.

They spend who knows how long going through photo albums and school yearbooks, her parents gushing over elementary school graduation and awkward middle school dances, the ones where Mason has braces and ugly glittery dresses she had thought looked amazing when she’d picked them out. Jessica had even brought home videos she’d taken of Mason when she was a kid, Donald hunting down his salvaged VCR to play them, Masons speech impediment mirroring her fathers, and the first time he heard her childhood voice he started quacking excitedly, grinning ear to ear.

“Uncle Donald!” A voice calls down the stairs, a kid bouncing down the steps, “Dinner’s-” he stumbles to a stop, blanching at the other people in the house, “Uh, Dinner’s done?”

“Ah,” Donald says eloquently, glancing at his cell phone, “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.” He admits, “Would you two like to stay for dinner?” He asks, turning to them.

“Ah, no thank you, we wouldn’t want to impose.” Jessica refuses politely, both she and Mason had agreed beforehand that they wouldn’t stay for dinner, putting a time limit on their stay in case it wasn’t a very good reunion.

“But we’re staying in town for the next few days, so we’ll be able to come back and see you again when you’re free?” Mason ventured hopefully.

“I’m free- I’m always free, no problem, anytime.” Donald nods, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Anytime.” He stresses.

The boy’s eyebrows keep climbing, confusion written on his face as he slowly inches up the stairs, adjusting his hat awkwardly. He disappears the last of the way when Jessica stands, taking his queue to leave finally. He’s one of Donald’s nephews, Mason’s pretty sure that was Huey, the one who dresses in all red. Mason follows after her mom, standing and getting ready. Donald is slower to follow, sad to see them go.

“Before you Leave- please, let me introduce you to my family.” He implores, “Officially.”

Jessica looks at Mason, asking her silently if that’s what she wanted, “Yeah, Okay.” Mason nods nervously, “I think I’d like that.”

The manor is just as nice and high class as before, but after spending all day in the houseboat it feels emptier, a bit too cold compared to the lived in and well loved old ship… the dining room is full, several people gathered around to eat, Donald’s nephews and a little girl- maybe a friend of theirs?- are gathered to one side, whispering and conspiring over their silverware. Scrooge Mcduck is at the head, glancing over a map- which is spirited away suddenly by the housekeeper from before, tutting at him when he tries to snatch it back. Also there’s a ghost. What the fuck. He’s serving mashed potatoes.

“Oh, Mrs. Quackmire, I didn’t realize you were staying for dinner.” Mrs. Beakley notes apologetically, “I’ll set out two extra place settings for you.”

“No, no, that’s alright.” Jessica holds out her hands, “We’re actually on our way out!”

“But before they leave, I’d like you all to be acquainted.” Donald steps forward, “Boys, Uncle Scrooge,” He says, turning to them, placing a warm hand on her shoulder to steady them both, “This is Mason. She’s my daughter.”

“…What?” Scrooge asks blankly, processing his words slowly, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “Did you just- Daughter?” He wheezes out, shocked.

Donald squeezes Masons shoulder, “Yes, I didn’t know about her until today. Jessica and I met at one of my shows with the Three Caballeros. Mason, this is your great uncle Scrooge and your cousins Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby.” He says, pointing them each out in turn.

She does a little wave, smiling awkwardly, “Hi, it’s… really nice to meet you.” She says earnestly. They seem too shocked to say anything, except for Webby, who looks like she’s about to jump out of her seat in excitement. She whips a camera out of nowhere and snaps a picture of Mason, much to her confusion.

“Oh this one is SO going on my corkboard!” She crows, holding it out so Mason can see her own surprised face.

“Wait wait, Uncle Donald has a kid?” Louie finally snaps out of his surprise, peering at her over his dinner plate, “When did that happen?”

“About fifteen years ago.” Jessica jokes, nudging Donald with her elbow playfully.

Mason doesn’t quite catch Scrooge frowning but she can sort of tell he’s not happy, “It’s nice to meet you, lass.” his smile is tense.

At that, Jessica claps her hands together, “Well, it seems like you all might need some time to process! We’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.”

“Let me walk you out!” Donald insists, walking along with them as they leave his flabbergasted family behind. Once they reach the car, there’s a moment where they all just stand around, obviously not sure how to end this interaction. “It’s been wonderful, Mason.” Donald says sincerely, “Would you mind if I gave you a hug?”

On other adults, Mason would have felt obligated, but with Donald it really did feel like she could have said no if she wanted to. “I’d like that.” She says honestly, jumping forward to lean into his embrace. He rubs her back and sighs happily, releasing her after a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks.

He nods, “Tomorrow.”

“Mason, could you start the car? I’d like to talk to Donald for a moment alone.”

Grabbing her keys, Mason nods, getting into the passengers side and cranking the engine. She turns the radio off, leaning over to press her head to the window so she can hear what they’re saying. She jumps when Mom taps loudly on the window, rolling it down sheepishly.

“No eavesdropping! Turn the radio back on.” Mason groans but compiles, spacing out and staring up at the stars as pop music muffles whatever her parent were talking about. Jessica finally leans over to give Donald a quick hug, pulling away and resting her hands on his shoulders as she says her final piece. She squeezes his shoulder and smiles, finally pulling away. He retreats up the stairs, standing there as Mom gets into the car. He doesn’t go inside until they pull away.

“What’d you two talk about?” Mason prods.

“Nosey!” Jessica teases, staring at the road, “It was nothing, just boring mandatory adult small talk.”

Mason hums in response, resting her head against the passenger side window as they pull out of McDuck’s driveway. “…He’s really okay with us coming back tomorrow?” she asks softly.

“Yeah, Honey Bee,” Jessica matches her tone, “He’s so excited to know you.”

Mason smiles, “I’m excited to know him too.”

#sugarfr0g #mason duck #jessica quackmire #ducktales oc #my writing

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preyed-llama · 6 years

Text

an interesting night

Genre: hurt/comfort

Ship: Logince

Summary: Roman’s forced to go to a party to clear up a mess, although how could things go as planned.

Warnings: homophobia, alcohol, drugs mentioned, sex mentioned, swearing. (Let me know if I’ve missed anything.)

The bass shook the foundations of the house as Roman rocked back and forth on the dancefloor. A girl from his drama group was moving around in time with the music doing some dorky dancing. Roman would’ve started doing silly dancing too if he didn’t feel others’ eyes on him. Of course, they were on him. They were watching for him to mess up. The only reason he was at this stupid party rather than staying at home with his precious Disney movies and a nice cup of green tea, is someone had let it slip that he was gay. Now this wouldn’t be a problem, if the school wasn’t so homophobic. A month ago they had thrown a guy out of the locker room because a rumour was spread that he was into guys.

It had made his blood boil when he found out about it, but now he was just trying to stay undercover. The closet was safe after all. The girls arm wrapped around his waist as she pressed sloppy kisses to his neck. It wasn’t the best situation to be in. He glanced around for a second before he looked down at the poor, drunk girl and excused himself.

The kitchen wasn’t too busy, it certainly wasn’t as busy as the loungeroom, you couldn’t move without someone touching you in some way, and most of the time it wasn’t intentional. The lights were also steady, rather than the flashing colours they had chosen for the loungeroom that was giving him a major headache. Outside of the glass door he could see another large group of people in the pool and sitting on the seats. Most looked too drunk to be responsible out there, but that was a problem for a different person who wasn’t currently drinking their problems away because the constant fear of rejecting was strong enough to drown him.

He shook those thoughts from his head and looked over the options. Beers and shitty mixes sat around the table. His eyes landed on the cruisers, they are overly sweet and taste just like soda, so maybe not. But the beers were excruciatingly dry. If he grabbed a cruiser though, would he seem more gay? Surely that would fuel the rumour. Beer tasted disgusting though, he always struggled to get drunk off it because it felt like it was stuck in his throat. He’d need a lot more alcohol before he’d grab a beer.

Jack Daniels sat untouched in the corner. Jake’s house totally had some cola in the back fridge. He’d seen it when he was over a few weeks ago for a game marathon. Jake was chill, he didn’t worry too much about rumours and he’d been friends with Roman for years, although they’d both got very different interests. He hadn’t told Jake he was gay, so he couldn’t even get his help.

Fetching the Coca-Cola from the back fridge was certainly an adventure. He was hit on by numerous girls, most of which didn’t look like they could even stand, and he was offered some… unnameable substance that he turned down rather quickly.

Back in the kitchen he made a Jack and coke, that was manly enough, right? Surely no one would notice. He downed a mouthful and winced, there was a reason he preferred green tea to alcohol, maybe he should’ve settled for a cruiser.

He shook that thought from his head, he was here to prove he wasn’t gay, so he couldn’t go and give up on his reputation. The hallway was quiet enough, a rather attractive man stood in the corner on his phone. Who was Roman kidding, he was gorgeous. His perfectly combed pitch-black hair made Roman’s heart stutter. It looked like he had dark blue eyes, although those were hidden behind blocky glasses. He was looking quite dressy, a black button up and some dark blue jeans, it was a sharp contrast to all the tank tops and muscle tops Roman had seen over the course of the night.

His eyes dropped down to the jack and coke in his hands before he glanced around the hallway, no one else seemed to be around.

The other teen looked up as he approached. He was clutching a lemonade cruiser in one hand and his phone in another, he seemed to have his phone open to messages. Roman gazed at the cruiser enviously. He doesn’t have to hide, does he? The spotlight isn’t trying to melt away his façade, to uncover every bump and secret hidden inside, and yet Roman has to give up things just so the spotlight can’t catch them, rude.

“Can I help you?” His voice was like honey and caramel. It was so sweet and so perfect that Roman couldn’t help the blush that spread on his cheeks. He quickly took a sip of his drink to try and shake off the nerves, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. He was meant to be proving how straight he was, but with such an angel in front of him, he wasn’t even sure how he could ever pretend to be straight.

Although, there was no one around, and the hallway wasn’t the lightest place in the house, a small conversation couldn’t be too bad. “Not particularly.” Roman hoped he was coming off as a flirty nonchalant and not regular weird. “What’re you doing standing all the way back here? The party’s in the loungeroom.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, that’s were everyone else is too.” Roman tried to calm his hammering heart, so what if this man is an introvert and his phone lit up with a notification revealing his sherlock background that clearly means he’s dorky as well, that’s hardly something to get excited over, after all, he’s straight.

He couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted. “You do have a point, my dear Nerd. It’s where all the obnoxious, judgemental people are, pretending to be something they’re not.” He tried to hide the wince when his own words struck home, maybe alcohol was a bad idea. Or maybe just leaving the house in the first place was a bad idea.

“So why aren’t you there?” The other teen shot back, his gaze was back on his phone as he continued to type to someone.

Roman’s impulsiveness got the best of him, before he could stop himself, the words were already falling from his mouth. “Because I’m not some judgemental, homophobic asshat that won’t even let others be happy.” He covered his mouth and looked down at his drink. This certainly wasn’t the first drink he’d had that night, and sure he was drunk and naturally incredibly impulsive, it’s how the original person found out he was gay, but it still made his stomach churn. It wasn’t okay, he didn’t know where the nerd stood with things. Was he homophobic? Would he be outed? Was it the end?

He hadn’t realised he was freaking out until he heard glass shatter against the floor. The nerd was saying something, he couldn’t hear anything over his own breathing, heartbeat, and the ringing of the shattered glass. Oh god he never should’ve come.

“Breathe for me. Come on. In four 4.” Roman shakily tried to follow the instructions. His breath kept hitching as his thoughts flew too quickly to gather. “Good, good. Hold for seven.” Roman could hear the music and the teen’s voice, the other sounds were slowly being drowned out. “Out for eight.”

He followed along several more times until he was calm enough to move. “Can I touch you?” the nerd asked. He nodded mutely. A soft hand landed on the small of his back as another one held his hand. He was led further into the house. There was one room that wasn’t being used… for one purpose or another.

The moment the door closed the world felt calmer. The loud music and shouts were muffled behind the light grey walls. The nerd’s hand was still on his arm as the other one moved back to his back. “It’s okay. Keep breathing.” Roman tried to stop a shiver from rolling around his spine. This was certainly not how he wanted the party to go. People would be suspicious of him going into a room with another guy, and the nerd was touching him. Oh god this was really not helping the rumour.

He shrugged off the nerd’s hands and leaned against the wall breathing heavily. The thoughts continued to swim through his head at he let his eyes fall closed. Everything hurt. He should’ve stayed home. The rumour would’ve settled down eventually.

The nerd’s voice gently pulled him from his thoughts. “Greetings, Roman Prince, right?” Roman looked up at the nerd and furrowed his brows. “I’m Logan Sanders, Virgil works in the tech crew for your performance.” The name seemed familiar. He nodded his head and breathed out a laugh.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Logan Sanders.” Roman held out his hand, which Logan shook firmly. Roman would’ve blushed if this was any other situation. They dropped each other’s hands and looked around the room. It was a study, bookshelves lined the walls and a desk sat in the centre. Someone was at least smart enough to hide anything precious before the party had started.

The music continued to drift into the room. It felt nice. Dream-like.

Logan cleared his throat and sat down properly, his legs crossed as he sat to the left of Roman’s outstretched legs. “May I inquire as to what caused the panic attack?” Logan asked softly. Roman blinked a few times and hesitated. Would it be safe to tell him?

Oh, screw it.

“A rumour’s going around that I’m gay.” Logan didn’t seem too impressed. His eyes looked disappointed as his mouth was etched into a frown. Once he started to speak he couldn’t stop. “The last person who was called gay was assaulted and harassed. I wouldn’t be able to handle that. I don’t want to be rejected for a part of me.” Roman knew he was crying. He could taste the salt from his tears in his mouth.

A hand rested on his. He looked up at Logan to see fire burning in his eyes. “Well that’s ludicrous. What does it matter if you’re a homosexual or not. Am I wrong for being homosexual? Of course not. So why would you be?” Logan seemed to be staring through Roman rather than at. He was just talking, as if it’s a conversation he’s had with himself many times. Roman’s heat clenched as he rolled his hand over to give Logan’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s fine.” Roman muttered. Logan rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet. ‘no, it’s not.’ The silence felt uncomfortable as Roman glanced around the room for anything to talk about. Although it was uncomfortable, neither made a move to leave. It felt like the room was safety. Away from lies and fears.

Roman let out a sigh and spotted Logan’s phone light up again. “So what’s a nerd like you doing at a party like this?”

Logan seemed to smile slightly as he rolled his eyes. “I was here to support a friend. Although he bailed rather quickly. What about you?”

Roman laughed. “Wow, first of all, rude. Second of all, here to clean up the rumour, although I don’t think that went down too well.” Logan nodded. The conversation felt more comfortable as Logan’s phone continued to go off, he never picked it up or looked at it. His gaze was at the room.

“So you like Sherlock Holmes?” Roman asked to break the silence. Logan glanced over at Roman, his eyes were alight with joy as his posture relaxed completely. He only had a few seconds until Logan launched into a long rant about how incredible Sherlock Holmes was. It seemed adorable how Logan gestured with his hands as his face lit up with emotion.

Roman felt his heart hammer in his chest as a blush grew. Logan glanced over at him after several moments and dropped his gaze. “Uh, I apologise for going off on a tangent.”

“No need to apologise, it was adorable.” Roman said absentmindedly. “So have you read the novels?” Logan immediately started to talk about the differences between the books, the movies, and the tv series. Roman felt mesmerised. How did someone manage to look so perfect? How was he so confident? Logan was blushing just the slightest as he continued to ramble on.

The conversation flowed for the remainder of the party as they talked about various shows they were interested in. Roman didn’t seem to need alcohol to forget his problems. Although he was glad he was drunk enough to get himself into this situation in the first place. During some point in the conversation, Logan leaned on the wall next to Roman.

Sirens blared through the music startling Roman from their moment. So the party seemed to have been broken up, which meant it was probably their time to bounce. Logan walked over to the window facing the backyard and opened it. The pair quickly left the house and moved over to the fence. Roman pulled himself over it and helped Logan up.

Laughter broke between them as they casually made their way down the street. “Can I borrow your phone for a minute?” Roman asked. Logan hesitated for a moment before he handed it over. Roman quickly typed in his phone number and handed it back. “Well I best be off, it was incredible to meet you dear Logan. Message me.”

Roman walked in the opposite direction towards his house. He could see people be pulled out as he walked passed casually. A few people glared at him or tried to call out to him, but he just kept walking. His house was only thirty minutes away on foot, so he didn’t bother to contact anyone. He received a message from an unknown number half way home. He smiled down at his phone.

#sanders sides #logince #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic

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mysmesomespacechips · 7 years

Text

Merry Choi-mas! - Day 2

Summary: 12 days of Choi-mas: A collection of fluffy holiday-themed one-shots with the Choi twins. (AO3)

Cuddling by the Fire: Saeyoung x MC

by @spacechip707

MC was rudely awoken when her husband decided to recreate an earthquake against her shoulder. She mumbled a few incoherent insults and tried to yank the sheets higher on her body.

“Hey,” Saeyoung called, his gentle whisper prickling at her neck. “Wake up and come into the next room.”

He nudged her side again, this time successfully rousing her from the depths of slumber. She glanced out the window and observed the darkness blanketing the sky. “It’s still night,” she said.

“I know,” he said, his fingers brushing her shoulder as he pulled at the sheets. “Just come on.”

His footsteps faded past the bedroom door. MC attempted to snuggle back into the bed, but the air was cold in their little cabin and without Saeyoung’s body heat, the draft invaded the cloths, rendering them useless.

She swung her feet to the ground and followed after the redhead.

She found him in front of the fireplace, his silhouette a stark contrast to the crackling flames.

Her eyes adjusted to the light, allowing her to take in the atmosphere of the cozy cabin.

It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas magazine. Fairy lights were strung across the walls, bathing the room in a soft glow. Forest green wreaths rested on the shelves, filling the air with the soft aroma of pine.

It was so different from the first night she and Saeyoung had stayed there—long ago when danger was their reality and the future was uncertain and dubious. Back then, the place was tattered, rough, and in severe disrepair. Sort of like them at the time.

But ever since Saeyoung bought the cabin as a rather expensive “wedding present” to themselves, they had gradually renovated it to better suit short visits like this. It still held signs of wear in its mahogany walls, but overall it was brighter, sturdier, and warm. Sort of like them now.

MC’s eyes shifted from the scenery and towards the huddle of blankets she presumed to be her husband. She padded across the dimly lit floor, afraid the slightest creak might shatter the delicate calm that had settled.

Despite the effort to dampen her movements, the floorboards protested under her weight. Alerted by her presence, Saeyoung twisted around to face her. The bundle of cloth swaddling him fell away to reveal his face, and MC’s breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat.

His glasses were absent, allowing her an unobstructed glimpse of those amber eyes. They both reflected and mimicked the fire in their blazing curves. Specks of gold mingled with the auburn haze, giving the illusion that they were their own flickering flames. Even his red hair emitted an almost ethereal glow when paired with the soft light.

He was beautiful.

At least until he hooked a candy cane onto the edge of his mouth. “There you are,” he said, his lips presenting a ghost of a smile.

“Sorry,” she said, making her way around the mess of pillows and blankets he had created. She snapped off a piece of his candy, to his displeasure, and lowered herself onto one of the cushions. She noted the pungent aroma of wood wafting off his clothes as well as the shortened supply of logs in the corner. “How long have you been awake?"

He shrugged, readjusting the blanket on his shoulders. He rested his chin on his knees, his eyes fixated on the fire, occasionally following the popping embers. “For a bit,” he said finally. “I was cold. Thought you might be too, so I woke you."

“Why didn’t you just bring these blankets to bed?” she asked, gesturing to one of the many coverings he had scattered on the floor.

“Wouldn’t have helped,” he said. “Besides, you kept putting your cold feet on me.”

MC turned on him with a glower, but it wasn’t menacing enough to stop his snickering. So, she shoved him, pleased when the weight of the blankets caused him to topple sideways. She snorted in triumph when the covers slid off his form and exposed him to the chill. “That’s what you get,” she muttered.

His throat rumbled in a playful growl, but before MC could register that dark glint, it was too late. He grabbed her middle, dragging her onto his lap despite her giggly protests. He trapped her thrashing legs in place with his own and slid his hands under the hem of her shirt.

MC stiffened as his cold fingertips skimmed her bare skin. She moved to escape again, but found fighting only made it worse. His icy grip would spread to other parts of her middle, leaving goosebumps trailing down her stomach.

It was his turn to laugh. “Not so fun, is it?” he said.

“I get it! I get it!” MC said, batting at his wrists until he surfaced his icicle fingers.

He continued to lock her in place however, reaching to his side to grab an abandoned blanket and wrapping it around the both of them. His arms enveloped her frame and shimmied her closer to him. In spite of his freezing hands, the rest of his body was a hearth, banishing the frigid temperatures inside their bubble.

“Anyway, it’s more comfortable just to sit in front of the fire,” he said.

MC hummed in agreement, snuggling further into him and tracing her finger down his knuckles. Fragile silence once again weaved its way through the cabin. It rested on them like another blanket, adding another layer of warmth that external heat couldn’t provide.

But it barely survived under the strain of worry burrowing into MC’s chest. She knew the cold couldn’t be the only reason for his insomnia.

“Saeyoung,” she began. “Was there something else that brought you out here in the middle of the night?”

His muscles tensed under her. His embrace became a little tighter, his breathing a little more erratic, and his heartbeat a little faster as it hammered against her exposed back.

“Just thinking,” he replied.

MC frowned at the dismissive answer. Saeyoung had come a long way since their first night here. He was more vulnerable and honest, but he still had those ghosts which he tended to bear alone. Especially this time of year.

He tried to hide it, and did it well with his blithe grins and cheery answers. But MC caught the falter when he thought nobody was looking. Those times when he ascended to that isolation he called “space.”

Even now, she could feel his presence growing more absent despite his body being flush against hers.

“About what?” She said, once again startling him out of his own head.

“About how much I love Christmas.”

She wasn’t expecting that. She shifted in his lap to gape at him and to check that he wasn’t being facetious. “You what?”

He laughed. It wasn’t silly or nonchalant. It was one of his rare, creamier laughs that wound its way from the depths of him and splayed through the air like a strain of music. His hands twisted her head back towards the fire as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “I know. It’s weird, especially with me being a Scrinch or whatever a while back.”

“Scrooge and Grinch,” she corrected. “And you weren’t really. I get why...why it was such a hard time for you.”

“Sometimes it’s still hard for me, ” he confessed. A quavering breath slid past his lips and tickled her ear. “Bad memories just come up at the smallest things and open old wounds.”

MC’s heart constricted as his emotions bled into her. He was trying his best to adjust to normal life—to leave behind his past and his old self and better for his new found family. But, seeing him in moments like this, haunted from years of undeserved loneliness and cruelty... it hurt.

“Were they coming up tonight?” She asked, her throat feeling suddenly dry.

He nodded. “Which is why I was thinking of reasons I love Christmas. I was hoping…that if I could find a favorite memory, it would make all the Christmases fade into a grey haze just by remembering it.”

The words fell from his mouth like honey. Sweet, but heavy and laden with emotion. MC sucked in a sharp breath when a drop of moisture fell against her shoulder—and it wasn’t from her own eyes.

A pang bombarded her chest, and her fingers instinctually intertwined with his. She settled backwards against him, the nail of her thumb tracing along his calloused hand. “And did you find one?”

“That’s the thing. There were so many to choose from,” he chuckled. His head cocked to one side and his eyes travelled across the ceiling. ”Decorating our first tree. Dragging Saeran out of his room to help. The smell of cookies and pie in the bunker. Going Christmas shopping in those huge crowds, and seeing the smiling kids. Those Christmas carols that get on everyone’s nerves, but we hum them anyway.”

She couldn’t help but laugh then. He did too, until something tender overtook his features. His cool fingertips grazed across her cheek, and shivers ran down her spine. This time, not from the cold.

“But then I started thinking about you,” he said, his voice hushed. “And that’s when that pain started disappearing."

The comment was spoken with brazen honesty. It was a truth that caught MC’s heart in a vice grip, stifling her entire body with heat until she could barely breathe.

She tried to say something witty in attempts to alleviate it, but she was too enraptured by those two golden irises transfixed on her form. They burned straight through her with such intensity that it rivaled the fire in front of them and demanded her full attention.

When she couldn’t speak, Saeyoung went on.

“I think the reason I love Christmas so much...is because I finally see it,” he said, his sigh drenching her in the scent of peppermint. “As a kid, there were always the songs about joy and the feeling of home. But, I never found anything except emptiness. Until you…”

A strained chuckle erupted from his throat. MC touched the droplets dangling from his lashes, and her own heart quivered as they slid down her palm. She managed to look away from his coal like eyes long enough to release the tightness in her chest.

“Is that why you woke me from my precious sleep?” She breathed with a small laugh.

“Yes,” he returned with equal mirth. “I’m sorry for being selfish. I just needed you here to help me chase away the shadows.”

“I didn’t really do anything though,” she mumbled.

His nose brushed against her temple, and his mouth caressed the shell of her ear. “You did,” Saeyoung whispered, once again sending those delightful shudders down her back. “Your kindness is so inviting, that I just stumble into it and forget everything else. You...”

His hand pressed against her ribs, right over her thudding heart. His lips twitched upwards, expelling a breath that was both warm and chilling. “You are that feeling of home to me.”

Her breath hitched at the statement, and suddenly her chest was inundated with so many emotions, she didn’t know how to process them. MC wanted to cry and laugh and scream all at the same time. She did none, however, her tongue rendered useless in her mouth.

So she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him into a crushing embrace. He returned it equally as strong, and their bodies melded against each other as if they were handcrafted to do so. MC wondered if they hadn’t been.

Saeyoung pulled away only to close the distance between their lips a moment later. He reiterated every word he spoke with each one of his tender kisses, closing with a feverish, “I love you” against her forehead.

MC mouthed the words in return, hoping he would understand through her overwhelmed state. He did. Beaming with contentment, he buried his face into the crook of her neck just as she rested her head right over his heart.

They remained there, not bothering to count the hours. The fire dwindled down to embers, barely providing any more heat, but neither moved to rekindle it. They were warm enough in their little haven of cloth and limbs. MC didn’t know where her body ended and where his began—only that he was present with all of his affections radiating off of him in waves.

As the rising sun poured through the dusky windows, his fingers combed through her hair, rousing her from her silence. She leaned into his touch, intoxicated with every brush of his skin.

“MC,” he said, his voice a hoarse murmur. “I think I found that favorite Christmas memory."

“What is it?” she asked.

His mouth shifted in a smile against her collar, and his arms held her just a little closer. “This one."

“Mine too,” came her quiet agreement before they both returned to that tranquil quiescence.

If the feeling of home could ever be captured within a single moment, MC thought it would be something like this. Tangled blankets, tangled fingers, and the unspoken adoration of two people irrevocably fallen for each other. It was a little messy and scattered, but in that way—it was perfect.

#mystic messenger #mysme #mystic messenger fanfic #mysme fanfic #mysme fanfiction #mystic messenger fanfiction #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #choi twins #merry choimas #writing

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

Text

Out of the Frying Pan (25/?)

“You want me to climb out a window or something?” Killian asked, blue eyes flashing up at her. “Because I don’t know if I’m that coordinated.”

“You don’t have to climb out of anything. Although you should probably consider putting pants on before we go outside.” “I can do that,” he said softly, the emotion obvious in his voice as it settled into the pit of her stomach.

AN: Guys. Guuuuys. Emotions. EMOTIONS. Lots of them. And a hint of angst. And then more emotions. Thank you so much for your continued response to this story. It constantly blows my mind. As does that aesthetic because @distant-rose is the best.

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed up from the start on Tumblr.

“You have a scar here,” Emma said, finger tracing across the apple of his cheek, the light line barely visible unless she squinted at it.

Killian’s eyes darted towards hers, but he didn’t move his head, face trained towards the TV in her living room, hand resting on her shin. Her legs were perpendicular to his, resting on top of his thighs, and her entire body was pulled tight against his side.

They were supposed to go out.

She was wearing a dress. She’d done her hair.

That seemed like a lost cause now – several hours after he’d walked into the apartment and kissed her so thoroughly that Emma had lost track of time and possibly space and, certainly, any concern about the state of her hair on New Year’s Eve.

She should tell him.

It.

She should tell him it.

Because she was fairly convinced she was in love with him. Or loved him. Or whatever version of the verb fit best at the time. It was a bit all-encompassing.

No matter how the grammar played out, Emma loved him more than she thought she could – more than she had loved just about anything besides Henry in her entire life. She couldn’t quite figure out when it started – somewhere around being strapped to each other in the network kitchen, she thought – but she’d come to, finally, realize it completely when he showed up in front of David and Mary Margaret’s apartment door the week before, a pie in hand and that nervous, hopeful smile on his face.

The one that managed to work into every single one of her nerve endings.

And take up residence in the back of her mind like it belonged there.

She should tell him.

She hadn’t.

Because it was too soon or too improbable or a slew of other reasons that she listed to herself every night before she fell asleep. And there were a lot of them. There were plenty of reasons to believe it couldn’t be real.

But, for the first time, Emma wasn’t interested in any of them.

She wanted – needed – it to be real.

Killian finally turned his head, shifting next to her and, somehow, managing to pull Emma closer to him. “There are several different theories out on how that happened,” he said softly, smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Weren’t you there? Shouldn’t you know?” He laughed softly, lips brushing over the top of her head. “True, but the first theory is a bit murky. Liam claimed it happened when I about three, intent on trying to shave or something and I cut myself. But, the one I actually remember came a bit later.” “And?” “And I was fourteen and we’d just moved into the new apartment uptown and we went to Central Park and I tripped on one of those giant rocks and cut my face half open. Nearly scared Liam to death. I had to get stitches and it cost a fortune. I think Liam liked to pretend that didn’t really happen.” “Why?” Emma asked, tugging her long-forgotten hair over her shoulder and sitting up a bit straighter.

“We’d barely even been on our own a year and I was already in the hospital. He blamed himself. He always did that. Thought he had to make sure I was protected at every moment of every single day. That’s why he came up with the alternate scar theory. Or at least I think so. To take some of the pressure off.”

“It must have been hard,” Emma said, fingers threading through the back of Killian’s hair without so much as a second thought. Her dress was a wrinkled mess, one side pushed up as his hand trailed up and down her thigh. She’d never even put her heels on. “For both of you.” “Harder for him, I’m sure. You know he never complained once. Not to me at least. He just figured it out. Every single time. He’d mutter something about rising to the occasion and meeting challenges head on and then he’d just do it.” Killian took a deep breath, chest moving against Emma’s side with the effort of it, and he closed his eyes softly.

She should have told him then.

Should have promised he wasn’t alone and that he could have a family again and she understood what it was like to think you’d lost everything.

She didn’t.

Those walls were still, sometimes, even too tall for Emma to scale.

“I never understood how he didn’t hate me,” Killian muttered and Emma pulled her head away quickly, eyes wide. “At least not a little.” “Of course he didn’t,” Emma said, trying to infuse every single letter with all the faith she had in Killian Jones.

“You don’t know that, Swan.” “I do.” He raised one eyebrow quizzically, tilting his head and twisting his lips in a way that only made Emma want to push her mouth against them – hard. “And,” she added, trying to keep the shake out of her voice when she spoke. “You’ve done exactly what he would have done. You’ve met every challenge, risen to every occasion. You’ve got two restaurants! You’re probably going to win Cupcake Wars too.” His eyes darkened for a moment – and Emma got the distinct impression that she was missing something – but it was gone before she could question it completely. “What?” she asked. “All of that was true.” “That seemed dangerously close to a compliment,” he laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I think you almost believe in me, Swan.” Emma rolled her eyes – mostly to fight off the wave of emotion she was practically drowning in. “Yeah, something like that.” “Of course.” “Ruby’s going to kill us,” she said, fingers dropping to his neck and Emma absolutely appreciated the hiss of breath he took when that happened. “We were supposed to be uptown hours ago.” Killian laughed softly, leaning down to nip his teeth against the side of her jaw and that was hardly playing fair. No wonder they hadn’t left the apartment. It might have also had something to do with the fact that they hadn’t been completely alone since that night after the network holiday party and while Emma loved her kid more than anything else in the entire world, she also didn’t mind having an apartment to herself.

And her boyfriend.

“I think she’ll survive,” Killian mumbled, the words pressed into her skin. “Anyway, I doubt she’d be very happy if we did this at Dorothy’s gallery.” “Maybe we should have called.” “Do you want to move?” “No.” “Then Ruby can wait on that phone call. I’m sure she’s got plenty of other things going on.” “That’s probably true.” “It’s absolutely true.” She didn’t need much more convincing after that – although whether or not that had to do with the words or the way Killian’s lips felt against her neck, Emma wasn’t entirely certain.

It was probably the later.

Definitely.

“Weren’t Regina and Robin going to be there too?” Emma asked, words falling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to move an inch, didn’t want him to think that she wanted to move an inch – and yet she couldn’t stop the question, couldn’t quite stop the nagging worry almost teasing the back of her mind that this was too good to be true.

Killian hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating over Emma’s skin where his mouth was still pressed up tightly against her neck. It sent a shiver down her spine and he absolutely noticed that, laughing softly when he felt her shaking against him.

“Cold, Swan?” he asked, voice low and meaningful and maybe that would be what stayed in the back of her mind from now on.

It had for the last week, since he’d shown up for Christmas and brought pie and a present for her kid. He’d gotten Henry a video game – something he was thrilled about that Emma was certain meant something to someone who also played video games. David had been impressed when he saw it.

Emma didn’t answer before his hand made its way farther up her thigh, pressing past several layers of tulle and fabric and she had to bite back a groan at the feel of his slightly calloused fingers on her skin. He smirked at her and the look on his face should have been annoying – all cocky and confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing – but it was difficult to be frustrated when most of Emma’s concentration was focused on keeping oxygen in her lungs.

She sighed – a girlish, breathless sound that she was almost positive she’d never made before in her life – when his fingers pushed past one final layer of fabric and he was exactly where she wanted him, grinning and exuding confidence and twisting just above her on the couch in her living room.

And it took all of her willpower and then some to tell him they had to move.

“Killian,” she mumbled, struggling to say his name. He muttered against her again, fingers twisting up slightly and Emma’s sharp intake of air actually hurt. “Killian, we’ve got to move. We can’t...not here...Henry…”

She trailed off again – eyes squeezing shut when his thumb brushed across her and she was resting all her weight on her forearms now, leaning back at an angle that, in any other circumstance, would have been uncomfortable.

It was the opposite now.

And she needed him to move.

Killian stopped, pulling back slightly to stare at her and maybe they didn’t have to move – not when he was looking at her like that and everything felt so good and Emma was standing on some sort of metaphorical cliff, waiting for that one final push.

He kissed her again, teeth teasing her bottom lip and Emma’s hands dug into his hair like they were an anchor she was trying to cling to. Her hips moved of their own volition, pushing up in some desperate need for friction or something and Killian groaned into her mouth and, fuck, they needed to move.

He pulled away from her, moving off the couch in what looked like slow motion, knees bending when he stood up and tried to take a deep breath. And it seemed to put them on slightly more even ground that he couldn’t seem to do it either.

Emma stared up at him – eyes wide and mouth still slightly open – with her dress pushed up past the top of her thighs. Killian grinned at her, eyes roaming up her body and around her waist and back up to her lips with the kind of intensity Emma was fairly certain only existed in stories and movies and, certainly, not in real life.

Not in her life.

He held his left hand out to her, smile faltering for just a moment when she stared, but she felt him breathe easier when her fingers wrapped around the plastic, pulling herself off the couch and back in front of him.

She didn’t let go of his hand as she tugged him down the hallway, leading him to her room. Or at least she tried to lead him to her room. Killian stopped suddenly just outside the doorway, pushing Emma up against the hallway wall and resumed his previous goal of trying to kiss every inch of her neck.

Her leg wrapped around the back of his calf, tugging him closer to him and they were a jumble of hips and movement and hands trying to pull clothes off each other. She heard her zipper tug before she felt it, too preoccupied with yanking his shirt out of the tuck and pulling his belt out of the loops of his pants.

They’d pick it up later.

Emma’s dress pooled around her waist as Killian tugged the sleeves down her arms, sliding her against the wall and through the doorway of her room. She was nervous she was going to rip the buttons off his shirt, but managed to calm her very anxious fingers when she got the first few open without a causing some sort of sewing emergency.

She all but collapsed on the edge of the mattress, tugging on the cuffs of Killian’s shirt and he flashed a smile as he shrugged the fabric off, groaning slightly when her fingers danced along the top of his pants. “You are going to be the death of me, Swan,” he mumbled, practically sighing out the words as his teeth pressed into his bottom lip.

And that might be the death of her.

“Somehow I think you’ll survive,” Emma said, darting her eyes back up to him. Killian pulled one eyebrow up – an exercise in control she wasn’t entirely interested in at the moment – and bent forward, pressing her back against the bed with his shoulder until he was hovering over her again. She might not survive.

She felt like a live wire or a TV that couldn’t quite find the right channel, balancing right on the edge of something and she needed him to move again. Or move with her again.

And she needed to get this dress off.

“Maybe,” he said and his voice shot through her entire system, pushing her farther up the mattress and yanking on the dress twisted around her hips. “Although, I suppose, there are worse ways to go.” “What a charmer.” “Always.”

She saw the dress fly over his shoulder and she was almost worried about the state of his lower lip when he bit down again, head falling forward when Emma’s fingers popped open the button of his pants and slid underneath the fabric.

“Always?” Emma asked, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes meaningfully.

“I promise, Swan,” he said, hand moving back in between her thighs. And then he did start to move and Emma bit her tongue so hard it hurt.

And then nothing hurt and all she felt was him and how much she wanted him and how much he wanted her.

He moved next to her, tugging her flush against his side and kissing behind her her ear, thumb trailing across her jaw. “I”m glad we didn’t leave,” she whispered, muttering the words mostly into his hair.

“That so?” “You doubting me, Lieutenant?” “Never.” It seemed like a bigger promise than what he’d just promised and Emma’s heart thudded so loudly she was positive Killian could hear it in the otherwise empty bedroom. She trailed her fingers up his arm, hand lingering at the top of his brace and she could feel his eyes following each movement. “What are you doing, Swan?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t take it off.” “When?” “You know, before,” Emma said, hoping he wasn’t going to make her actually say it. “The, uh, the last time.” He cocked one eyebrow at her – and that wasn’t fair, this was supposed to be meaningful – laughing softly when Emma rolled her eyes at him. “Well, we were in a bit of a rush as I recall last time.” “True.” “I know there’s a ‘but’ to that sentence, go ahead and spit it out.” “But if we weren’t rushed and things were normal, would you have?” Killian pressed his lips together tightly and for one vaguely terrifying moment she thought he was mad – he was thinking. “Probably,” he said slowly, lips hardly moving like he was considering every letter in that one word. “It’s not always the most comfortable thing. I don’t sometimes though. It’s also a lot of effort.” “Yeah?” He nodded, leaning up on his elbow and glancing at her and if Emma didn’t know him better she’d assume he was actually being as sarcastic as he looked.

She knew him better.

“We’re supposed to be the most advanced medical society in the world and they can’t figure out a way to make not it feel like a vice at the end of my arm with no fewer than half a dozen different clips to hold it all together.” “I’m sorry,” Emma said, trying to infuse several tons of emotion and sentiment into two words and one sentence.

“Don’t be, love. It’s all almost second nature now.” “I just want you to be comfortable.” “I am,” he said, widening his eyes and glancing down at her less-than-fully clothed body.

“You’re still wearing pants.” “Does that somehow impede my comfort?” “You tell me.” His eyebrows did something ridiculous and his eyes flashed at her and he found a way to get her even closer to him, every inch of skin she had pressed up against his. And by the time his pants were actually gone, she wasn’t certain she could have come up with a single word let alone continue to have a meaningful conversation.

It felt like hours later – the quiet covering them both as much as the blankets they were wrapped in – and Emma was bordering dangerously close to the edge of sleep, doing her best to keep her eyes open because they absolutely couldn’t fall asleep here.

“You really wouldn’t mind?” Killian asked, chin tucked over the back of her shoulder and his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

She couldn’t have turned around if she wanted, eyes snapping open to stare at the wall on the other side of the room. “Mind what?”

“If I took it off.” She figured out a way to turn at that, twisting her body around until she was face-to-face with him, eyes dark and staring at the tiny space of fabric in between them. “Of course not,” Emma said, meaning it completely.

And it looked like he was breathing for the first time.

Killian shut his eyes lightly, nodding as he pulled his hand in between them. “It’s not exactly pretty.” “No one’s hands are pretty.” “Swan.” “Killian.” “I’m serious.” “So am I,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his brace and tugging his hand towards her. “Here, let me help.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second – all blue and nerves and hopeful – but he pressed his lips together tightly, the muscle in the side of his jaw ticking and didn’t say anything as she tugged and unclicked and tried not to let her frustration show on her face when medical science proved to be just a bit too advanced for her. She snapped the last clasp off and felt it loosen and Killian pulled his hand away, but Emma wrapped her fingers around his wrist, keeping him where he was. “Don’t move,” she said softly and he didn’t.

He didn’t even blink.

She pulled the hand away and Killian all but yanked it out of her grip, moving it to the nightstand next to him and Emma was positive he had drawn blood with how tightly he was chewing on his lip.

“Told you,” he said softly and her heart practically shattered at the sound of his voice.

Emma shook her head, fingers still wrapped around his wrist and he looked at her questioningly. She trailed her fingers over the end of his arm, feeling him stiffen underneath her, pulling him up to brush her lips over the scar that ran across his wrist. He muttered her name softly, pulling her flush against his chest and kissing her – hard.

And she was, suddenly, very grateful she’d made him take his pants off before.

They fell asleep together.

There was something pounding inside her head.

No.

That wasn’t right.

It wasn’t in her head. It was outside her head. And outside the room she was in.

She was still in her room – an arm wrapped tightly around her waist and a soft, steady breath against the back of her neck.

And it all came rushing back.

New Year’s Day.

It was New Year’s Day. And they hadn’t gone out the night before, hadn’t even made it out of the apartment before they’d started making out like teenagers. She’d have to call Ruby and explain later. Or at least come up with some sort of story that Ruby couldn’t make fun of her for over the course of the next twelve months.

They’d never left – and they’d never left the bed either. They’d fallen asleep.

Together.

He didn’t leave.

The pounding was back – threatening to break down her bedroom door at this point – and, suddenly, something else hit her. They’d never picked up Killian’s belt.

“Mom,” Henry yelled from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?” Killian moved behind her – woken up by the sounds of her twelve-year-old in the hallway – and Emma was nearly drowning in everything she hadn’t been worried about the night before. “Swan?” he asked softly. “What’s going on?” “Mom! There’s a belt on the floor out here. Is this yours? It doesn’t look like yours. Are you awake?” She knew her breathing was bordering on erratic and she felt Killian’s hand tighten around her hip slightly. “Breathe, love,” he said, whispering the words in her ear so Henry couldn’t possibly hear him a few feet away. “It’s fine.” It’s fine.

It was fine.

It was going to be fine.

Because if he could do this – could fall asleep with his hand off and his arm wrapped around her and every emotion laid bare in the middle of her queen-size bed – then so could she. Emma twisted back around, careful not to roll on top of his wrist and smiled at him.

“You want me to climb out a window or something?” Killian asked, blue eyes flashing up at her. “Because I don’t know if I’m that coordinated.”

He pulled his arm away, only after brushing his lips across hers and Henry pounded the door again. “Mom! I’m starving. Can we make pancakes? Or you could make french toast if you really want. Can we just eat? Soon?” “You have a very impatient kid, Swan,” Killian laughed, tugging his pants back over his hips. His eyes got wide as he pulled the button closed, glancing over at Emma as she pulled out a t-shirt out of her closet.

“What?” she asked, amazed at how quickly her whole body could seize up with nerves.

“I only have my clothes from last night. And a belt that is, apparently, still in the hallway.” “Oh,” Emma said, a totally unhelpful response. “Oh! Wait, here.” She reached back up in the top corner of her closet, grabbing a t-shirt she couldn’t believe she still had and tossing over her shoulder to Killian.

He picked it out of the air with ease – a move made all the more impressive by the fact that his prosthetic was still sitting on her nightstand – and shook it, staring at it. “What is this, exactly?” What it was exactly – was a Kingsborough College t-shirt she’d bought David as a Christmas present her first year in school. And one he’d left at her apartment six months ago after he and Henry had staged some of cooking fiasco in her kitchen that required him to hand wash the stupid thing in her sink.

“It’s a t-shirt,” Emma said simply, pulling the leggings she’d grabbed over her ankles.

“You just happen to have a guy’s t-shirt in your closet?” “Is that jealousy I hear?” Killian raised his eyebrows, taking two steps towards her and crossing the room in what felt like an instant, hands resting on her hips as he kissed her forehead. “Of course not, Swan, just pure curiosity.” “Yuh huh,” Emma mumbled, unconvinced, but not quite able to concentrate when he was standing shirtless in front of her. “I bought it for David and he left it here a couple of months ago and, you know, just put it on.” “Getting distracted?”

“I don’t have to answer that question.” “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, pulling her hair up into a ponytail that might help disguise what exactly had happened to it the night before. “Just put it on before you come out, ok?” The laughter fell off his face like it’d been dropped off the side of a cliff and he nodded seriously at Emma, pulling the shirt over his head and turning back towards the nightstand. “Give me a couple of minutes to put that on,” Killian said, nodding towards the prosthetic. “And then I’ll make food.” “You don’t have to make food.” “I think I did hear something about starvation in the hallway, love. Can’t have that.” “Of course not.” “Go, Swan,” he said, grinning at her from the edge of the bed and she heard the tell-tale clicks of his prosthetic moving back into place. “I’ll be out in a second.” Emma nodded slowly – nerves hitting in full force again.

It’d be fine.

It was fine.

It was good.

It was fine and good and Henry would be fine and good with all of it.

She repeated the mantra in her head for what felt like several hours as she walked down the hallway, Henry talking a mile a minute in the kitchen when her feet hit linoleum. “Hey,” he cried, turning as soon as he heard her approach, the refrigerator door still swung open. “Happy New Year! How was Ruby’s?” “Hey, kid,” she said, kissing the top of his head and earning a now-expected groan at the action. “Happy New Year to you too. Uh, we didn’t end up going to Ruby’s actually.” The refrigerator door slammed shut and Emma was, suddenly, meant with a very curious looking twelve-year-old. “What? Why not? Did something happen? Is something wrong?” “Slow down Henry,” Emma said and his eyes widened when she used his actual name. “Nothing’s wrong. But something did happen and, well, it’s a good thing. At least I think it’s a good thing.” “Mom,” he said, cutting her off quickly, reaching out to rest his hand on his forearm. And he suddenly looked so grown up – and so much like Neal – that Emma nearly broke down completely in the middle of her kitchen. “It’s fine.” “What?” “The belt in the hallway? Killian’s voice very clearly coming out of your room? I’m twelve. And I have eyes and ears. And I’m not stupid.” “I don’t think you’re stupid.” “Then you should tell Killian he can come out. He doesn’t have to hide.” “He’s not hiding,” Emma said quickly, arguing before she could stop herself. “He’s just, uh, getting ready.” Henry stared at her speculatively, waiting for an answer she wasn’t entirely ready to give. It didn’t seem right – to talk about his hand, or lack thereof, while he was just down the hall. Not when it had meant so much – to both of them – for him to take it off the night before.

“Getting ready for what?” Emma tried not to sigh too loudly, aware of the footsteps coming back down the hallway and the way Henry stood up a bit straighter in the middle of the kitchen, tugging on the ends of his fingers. “I was reliably informed that there were potentially starving human beings in this apartment,” Killian said, raising one eyebrow at Henry and resting his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

And it was so goddamn domestic.

And, possibly, perfect.

“There are Pop-Tarts in the cabinet,” Emma said and Henry’s eyes lit up as if a foil packet of Pop-Tarts was the peak of the culinary arts.

Killian groaned and Henry muttered what and Emma was practically bursting at the seams with something that might have been classified as happiness. “Alright, we’re putting an end to this now,” Killian said, laughter cutting away at the attempted edge in his voice. “No Pop-Tarts. Not now. Not ever.” “No Pop-Tarts ever?” Henry asked, entire body sagging at the declaration. “Seems a little extreme,” Emma mumbled, earning a surprised look from Killian. “I’m just saying, if we’re running late and he’s got to get to school or something...Pop-Tarts can be a reasonable breakfast option.”

“Fine,” Killian sighed. “But only that very specific situation. And, unless I’m mistaken, we aren’t currently in that situation. You’re not actually on your way to school are you, Henry?” “I don’t think so.” “Then we’re not eating Pop-Tarts.” Henry rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree. “We’re going to make something good. Go sit down Swan.” “What?” she asked, voice snapping on the word.

“Go sit down. We’ve got it, right Henry?” Her kid nodded enthusiastically, more excited to cook whatever with Killian than he’d ever been at the prospect of helping her. “Are you kicking me out of my own kitchen?”

“Of course not. We’re going to make you breakfast.” Emma gaped at both of them – each with matching smiles on their faces and Henry’s hands stuffed into his pocket like he was Killian – before shaking her head. “Henry can show you where some of the stuff is. The coffee’s in the cabinet above the pot.” “Was that a hint, Swan?” “Maybe.” “Wasn’t very subtle.” “It wasn’t meant to be.” Killian laughed, ducking his head to kiss her cheek lightly – and somehow that didn’t draw a groan out of Henry. “Sit down, love. We’ve got it.” He nudged her back towards the living room and it was difficult to be frustrated at the prospect of her kitchen being seized away from her at some still-unknown hour of the morning when she was so busy being charmed by her boyfriend and her son.

That was a much nicer sentence than she would have originally thought.

In the end, getting kicked out of her kitchen wasn’t half bad – Emma watched the Rose Bowl Parade without anyone questioning why she was watching the Rose Bowl Parade, a cup of hot chocolate-coffee hybrid in her hand and her legs pulled up tightly underneath her. And thirty minutes later when a plate was handed to her, she couldn’t quite keep the smile off her face.

Pancakes.

They’d made pancakes.

“With chocolate chips,” Killian added, one side of his mouth pulled up into a dangerously attractive grin as he sat down next to her on the couch.

“And?” Henry prompted.

“And peanut butter chips,” Emma said, mumbling over the words as she tried not to choke on the piece of pancake in her mouth. “Was that your idea, kid?”

Henry nodded emphatically and, somehow, her smile got bigger. “He was insistent,” Killian added. “And I don’t know what you’ve been talking about this whole time, Swan. You’ve got plenty of food in that kitchen. I think you might just like showing up at my restaurant.”

She glanced at him – a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face and she shouldn’t want to kiss him as much as she did when Henry was sitting in the only other chair in the living room. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

She did just want to show up at his restaurant – regularly.

And his food was also delicious.

But he didn’t need his ego stroked anymore.

“Thanks for the peanut butter,” Emma said, ignoring Killian’s comments entirely. He noticed, of course, smirk getting more pronounced by the moment, but didn’t say anything, just pressed his fork into the pancakes and kept eating.

“It’s your favorite,” Henry said, like it was obvious.

It was.

She just hadn’t realized Henry knew that.

Or that he’d make sure Killian knew that.

Their identical smiles were practically blinding her at this point.

“Peanut butter, Swan? Really?” Killian asked, resting his plate on his knee and staring at her with something like amusement in his eyes.

“I like it,” she shrugged. “When I was a kid, the one time I went trick or treating with David and his friends, I made him give me all the Reese’s he got. Even the king size one he got from the Blanchard’s house.” “M&M’s gave out king size candy bars?” Henry asked, eyes going wide at the idea of such a thing.

“Her dad did.” “No wonder they wanted to name tiny-Nolan after him.” “He’s got his priorities straight,” Killian muttered and Emma couldn’t help the laugh that practically bubbled out of her. Henry looked at her like she was crazy.

She might have been.

Or maybe she was just happy.

Completely and ridiculously happy.

She didn’t add that peanut butter was cheap – cheap enough that she could actually pay for it those few days in between running away from the family number four and finding David in the alley – and filling, so she didn’t really have to eat much more than a sandwich to keep herself from getting hungry.

That seemed like it would have killed the mood.

And no one wanted the mood to be killed with the Rose Bowl Parade on.

Or when your boyfriend and son made you breakfast.

After your boyfriend had spent the night.

On New Year’s.

“Mom,” Henry said and his tone made it obvious it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to catch her attention. Emma’s head snapped towards him, eyebrows shooting up and Killian laughed softly next to her. “Do we have to watch this?”

“It’s almost over,” Emma answered, only lying a little. It was the same argument every year, a dedication to the parade that had been so ingrained in her she couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t found a way to watch it. Like that was the start of the new year and not the clock hitting midnight.

The second family she’d lived with – the Swans – had watched it the only New Year’s Day she spent in their house.

And it stuck.

Henry sighed dramatically and Killian, somehow, seemed to pick up on the tension, glancing at the kid with something that must have been a lookbecause he didn’t say anything else about floats or over-the-top floral arrangements.

They watched the final thirty minutes of the parade together, eating pancakes with peanut butter chips in them and drinking coffee and/or hot chocolate.

It felt like a family.

Killian’s phone rang loudly – and, impressively, from Emma’s room – drawing a knowing look out of Henry and Emma did her best to silence him with an authoritative stare. Killian grinned at her, hand squeezing her knee when he stood up and jogged down the hallway, voice drifting through the apartment when he answered.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a little while,” Killian said. “I don’t know. When I get there. Tell Eric to start cooking. He’s got a degree from CIA, Ari. I think he can handle getting things started. Half an hour. Tops. Your shoes are back underneath the hostess stand. I put them back there myself. Relax.” He walked back down the hallway, stuffing his phone in his back pocket as he came into the living room. “You gotta go?” Emma asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Killian shook his head quickly. “Nah, just Ari’s freaking out because we do this kind of big prix fix brunch and dinner thing on New Year’s and people are showing up before their reservation and nothing throws her off more than people showing up before their reservation.” “She seemed concerned about her shoes.” He raised one eyebrow at her and he should enter that into some kind of talent competition because he was almost too good at it – or maybe it just worked really well with her. “She’s got her shoes back. It’s fine.” “So you’ve mentioned.” “You alright, Swan?” “Fine,” she said tightly, glancing towards Henry. “Why don’t you go get showered, kid? Maybe we can convince David and M’s to go get New Year’s ice cream later, ok?” Henry nodded, leaping off the couch and brushing past Killian with a quick smile.

“What’s the matter?” Killian asked as soon as he heard the bathroom door close.

“You didn’t say anything about prix fix.” Killian pursed his lips and shrugged and that only made her more frustrated. She wasn’t really sure why she was frustrated. Or, more to the point, she didn’t appreciate why she was frustrated – thoughts of the entire day spent with him and her kid and peanut butter, chocolate chip pancakes bursting in front of her.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” And it wasn’t really.

It wasn’t

Everything was fine. It was still fine – even with a prix fix menu and early reservations and Ariel worried about her shoes. She was being irrational and she knew it, but for a few minutes that afternoon it had felt like everything she’d ever wanted and that scared her just a bit. And she needed something to blame for that.

Prix fix fit that bill perfectly.

“It’s not really,” Emma sighed and Killian narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. “It’s not. And it’s not about prix fix. I just...I don’t know. You made breakfast and you put hot chocolate in my coffee without asking and I figured you’d just be here all day. It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. I’m sorry.” The couch creaked when he sank down next to her, smile on his face when his eyes flashed to her. “It’s not stupid,” he said softly, hand ghosting over her neck and across her shoulders.

“No?” “The opposite, in fact.” “Oh.” “For what it’s worth, I’d like to be here all day too.” “That’s worth a lot.” “Good,” he said and he sounded like he meant it. “You could come too, you know. Whenever you want. You don’t have to go uptown to get ice cream.” “I don’t want to throw off Ariel’s entire reservation schedule.” “Sit at the bar. Will misses Henry. Or we’ll kick somebody out of their table. Gina and Robin and Rol will be there later. You can even bring Mary Margaret and David with you if you want.” “You don’t have to kick anybody out of their table,” Emma said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I really don’t think Ariel would appreciate that.” “I’m willing to run that risk with you, love.” And everything was really as fine as she’d been telling herself it was all morning.

It was good – bordering on great.

“You also don’t have to offer let me bring M’s and David to everything you know,” Emma mumbled into the borrowed shirt he had on.

“It’s important to you.” She swallowed back the rush of emotion racing through her body and squeezed her eyes shut, thankful Henry was at the other end of the apartment for this conversation. “It is,” Emma said softly.

“Then tell them to come too. We’ll kick out half the restaurant if we have to.” Emma dragged in a deep breath and felt him tense up slightly underneath her. “Is that ok? I mean, if you’ve got other plans, it’s fine, honestly. I just thought you’d like…” She kissed him silent, surging up to catch his lips with hers and she swore she could feel his smile when her mouth met his. “I’m glad you stayed.” “Me too.” And the look on his face made it all but impossible to doubt him.

Emma nodded, only a few inches away from him, legs threatening to move back over his again – which was how he’d ended up staying overnight in the first place. “What time should we be there?”

His relieved exhale did something to her pulse and her own ability to exhale. “Whenever you want, love. We start serving the dinner menu at like six.” “We can be there a little after. So you’re already in service and, presumably, on schedule by that point.”

“That’s fine,” he said and there was that word again.

“You better go before Eric has some sort of prix fix meltdown in your kitchen.” “It’s ridiculous,” Killian sighed, rolling his eyes for added sentiment. “There’s three brunch options and one appetizer. He’ll survive.” “Go save The Jolly Roger.”

“I’m not saving anything.” “I expect an incredible dessert with my prix fix menu later.” “Naturally. Well you pay for what you get.” “Of course.” He waggled his eyebrows quickly at her, making Emma sigh dramatically – mostly to push away how much it all was working . “Go,” she said, pushing against his shoulder. “We’ll see you later, ok?”

“Ok,” Killian said, standing up and leaning over her still-sitting body in the corner of the couch. He bent down quickly, kissing her forehead lightly. “Happy New Year, Swan.”

And it felt like the start of something much more than just a new calendar.

#cs fic #cs au #cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfiction #ootfp #EMOTIONS #LOTS OF EMOTIONS #MORE EMOTIONS

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