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nerdzzone · 3 years

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Luckless Romance

Summary: When Whitney Taylor was lucky enough to get the job of a lifetime doing a photoshoot for Marvel Studios, she didn’t expect to come away from the experience with a new friend. Especially not a friend that she quickly fell head over heels for.

Convinced that those feelings were completely one sided, she kept them to herself - until one night changed everything.

Chris Evans x OFC

18+

Prequel to: Once Bitten - Twice Shy + -More Hearts Than Mine-

Note: While this is set before the other two parts of this story, I would definitely recommend reading the other two first if you haven’t already. I know that might seem odd, but I do think it flows better that way. This is more of an aside than an introduction, I think, but it could just be that I wrote them in this order so that’s how it makes sense to me.

Anyway! Thank you to everyone who has been eagerly awaiting this part of their story. The support has been so motivating and I’m already working on more little snippets of their lives together that should hopefully be posted soon.

Please let me know what you think!

_____

August 2015

Growing up in Los Angeles - especially with a rather well known uncle - I was very aware that celebrities were really just normal people who usually weren't deserving of the obsessive adoration they received from the general public.

That being said, it still felt very surreal when I found myself sitting around a table with some of Hollywood's biggest stars as we celebrated the end of a long and tiring photo shoot in which I was the photographer. Three weeks earlier, I had been slaving away at a department store portrait studio taking boring, uninspired family photos, so the contrast between that and where I was now - sharing drinks with the cast of Marvel's next big movie after wrapping my first real photography gig - would be enough to make anyone feel a tad awestruck.

It didn't help that it had all come together so quickly that I'd hardly had time to wrap my head around it. The photographer that they originally had lined up to do the shoot had some kind of family emergency and had to drop out at the last minute. They were going to postpone the shoot indefinitely, but my family connections with Iron Man provided another solution. My uncle Rob wasted no time in giving Marvel my name and portfolio and less than twenty-four hours later I was signing a contract for the biggest career opportunity I'd ever had.

I was endlessly grateful - the pay was far better than I was getting at the department store and there was plenty of potential for more Marvel related photo shoots in the future - but the pressure was nerve wracking. I'd hardly slept at all in the few days leading up to it and by the time we wrapped, I was exhausted. As the adrenaline faded and the relief that I survived kicked in, I was very much looking forward to crawling into my bed with a nice glass of wine to get a good night's sleep before I started the editing process the next day.

But there was no time for rest with this crowd and it was quickly decided that we were all going out for some kind of unofficial wrap party. The official one had been two weeks before when they'd finished filming in Georgia, but now that they were reunited in L.A., it seemed another celebration was necessary. I'd protested at first and tried to sneak off before they could realize I was gone, but my uncle thwarted my plan and, after a few minutes of heavy guilting about how long it had been since I'd spent any time with him, I reluctantly agreed.

Which was how I found myself sitting at a table in a private room of a popular bar with my uncle - Robert Downey Jr - my Aunt Susan, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Sebastian Stan, Scarlett Johannsen and Paul Rudd. There were other cast members and their friends dotted around the room, some sitting by the bar while others played pool, and I couldn't help but take a moment to be grateful that I'd been given a chance to join this team of incredibly talented people in some small way.

I was also taking a moment to be grateful that my placement in the booth we were sitting in gave me the opportunity to be sandwiched between the wall and Chris Evans - who smelt so good that it should probably be illegal.

There'd been a spark between us all day. He was attractive - I'd known that going in, it was a pretty beautiful cast - but seeing him in person with all his Captain America muscles was really quite a sight.

But it was more than just that.

There was something about the way he looked at me, flashing me those blush inducing smirks along side his teasing comments and the way he was so genuinely kind and polite to me throughout the whole day. I was sure that my uncle had warned them that this was my first high profile shoot, but Chris had been incredibly supportive and he never came across as condescending if he offered me any suggestions. He checked in with me throughout the day to make sure that I wasn't getting too overwhelmed and it was very much appreciated despite the fact that his effortless flirting often left me more distracted than productive.

Sitting next to him now, feeling his thigh pressed against mine due to the tight squeeze needed to fit our whole group around the table, had me very distracted again until my uncle dragged me back into the conversation.

"So, Whitney, how's Trent?"

His question, or more likely the displeasure in his voice when he asked it, captured the attention of the table and all eyes were on me as I shrugged.

"He's great as far as I know, but I haven't talked to him in a while," I admitted. "We broke up a couple of months ago."

"Thank god for that," Robert grinned. "It's about time!"

"Don't be insensitive," Susan scolded him, which probably would have been deserved if I didn't know how accurate of a statement it was. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I think she means 'what horrible thing did he do that finally made you come to your senses'?"

Susan swatted at her husband, but I cringed at the memory.

"It was really bad. I don't even want to tell you."

His jaw tightened at that remark as his glee shifted to something more like concern.

"What did he do? Do I need to assemble my team of Avengers and kick his ass?"

I giggled at the thought of that happening as all the men around the table voiced their willingness to help.

"Thank you, but no, I'd rather you didn't," I assured them. "It wasn't anything horrific, it's just embarrassing that I ever went out with someone as sleezy as he was."

Chris glanced down at me with a smirk on his face.

"Well, in that case, you gotta tell us now..."

The rest of the group nodded in agreement and I, rather foolishly, looked at my uncle for support, but all I received was a shrug and a raise of his eyebrow as if to say 'go on'. So, against my better judgment and with a sigh of shame and regret, I explained.

"He took me out for drinks on my birthday and invited some woman that he met on Tinder to join us," I informed them. "Apparently, without my knowledge, he'd advertised that we were looking for someone to join us for a threesome that night which was his birthday gift to me."

There was a collective widening of eyes and, after approximately two seconds of stunned silence, a howl of laughter came from my uncle. The rest of the group, however, seemed unsure what to say until Paul spoke up.

"Well, was that was you asked for?"

"No!" I shrieked in protest. "I mean, to each their own, but no! Absolutely not!"

My uncle looked like he was about to cry from laughter as the rest of the group joined in with him. All except for Chris, who was biting back a smile with what seemed to be a considerable amount of effort.

"Guys, c'mon, don't laugh at that!" He scolded them. "That's horrible!"

"Oh, don't feel too bad for her," Robert warned him, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "The guy took her to Hooters on their first date and she still agreed to see him again."

It was true and looking back, I had no way to justify such a poor choice. I felt my cheeks heat up as I took a long sip from the gin and tonic in front of me.

"Shut up," I huffed. "He said he just liked the wings there..."

"That's classic," Sebastian smirked. "That's what they all say!"

"Why did you even agree to go out with a man named Trent?" Anthony chimed in. "There's no way someone named Trent isn't going to be a douche bag."

Chris laughed then, throwing his head back as his hand came up to rest on his chest.

"That's true!" He howled and, as embarrassed as I was by the situation, I couldn't help but feel a different kind of flush at the sound of his heartfelt laugh.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Susan chimed in despite the smile on her face as well. "It sounds like poor Whitney has learned her lesson so there's no need to make her feel any worse."

Robert shrugged and gave me a pointed look.

"As long as she promises to make better choices."

I appreciated that he had my best interest at heart, but I rolled my eyes anyway in a show of annoyance.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I'm swearing off men for a while so there will be no choices made at all, good or bad, for the foreseeable future."

Susan frowned at that information, clearly displeased by my resignation to being alone, but luckily, a distraction arrived at our table and forced a change of subject - a distraction in the form of Jeremy Renner with a very full tray of shots.

Everyone cheered at the sight of him, but my uncle nudged me under the table to draw my attention back towards him.

"This is why I call him the Lord of the Underworld," he warned me. "Be careful..."

"Don't listen to him!" Jeremy insisted, handing out two shots to everyone except my aunt and uncle who weren't drinking. "I just know how to encourage everyone to have a good time."

"Does this group need any encouragement?"

Scarlett's question earned a laugh from the crowd, but Jeremy nodded his head.

"Apparently so or you wouldn't all be sitting in a corner, nursing your first drinks!" He pointed out. "So, drink up!"

He lifted a shot glass in the air and we all copied the action, giving a 'cheers' before tossing back the sharp tequila he'd chosen. The second shot went down almost immediately after and as I felt it burning down my throat, I knew we were in for quite a night.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Chris asked as we stood around a ping pong table with Anthony and Scarlett a bit later in the evening. "Girls against boys?"

"No way, man," Anthony shook his head, putting his arm around Scarlett's shoulders. "I want this one on my team."

"Ouch," Chris smirked. "But whatever, I was just trying to make it fair. If you want to play against the two best players then that's your choice."

"You literally met her today," Scarlett reminded him with a laugh. "How would you know what her ping pong skills are like?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but my uncle beat me to it as he chimed in from where he sat at a nearby table.

"She's terrible at almost every sport, but what she lacks in skill, she makes up for with competitive spirit."

"Terrible is harsh!"

My protest did nothing to reassure Chris though as he shook his head.

"Good thing I have enough skill for the both of us then."

"I have skills!" I insisted. "Let's stop messing around and I'll prove it."

Anthony joined in the laughter at my expense as he bounced the ball on the table.

"Alright, do we all know the rules?" He asked. "The ball has to bounce once on your side of the table before you can hit it back."

"First to ten?" Chris suggested. "We'll let you guys go first."

We all agreed and Anthony bounced the ball again as he prepared to serve. He started off slow and gentle, lobbing it over slowly enough that I returned it with no trouble. However, when Scarlett hit it back, Chris made it clear he was here to play as he hit it with enough force that Scarlett had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit.

"Yes!" I cheered, reaching over to high five Chris. "Nice one!"

"Okay, I see how it is," Anthony shook his head as he tossed the ball back to us for our serve. "No holding back now."

Chris smirked as he easily caught the ball. He didn't waste any time before throwing it back with a hard serve, but this time they were ready for it and Anthony hit it back easily. He aimed it at me, which I could only assume was deliberate due to my uncle's doubts of my abilities, but I managed to send it straight back. His surprise at my success was clear as he was unprepared for it to be heading back in his direction and we scored another point.

"Beginners luck!"

Robert's interjection from the sidelines earned him a rude gesture from me, but I knew he was probably right - unless the last couple of drinks had somehow sharpened my reflexes and I seriously doubted that as I was already well on my way past tipsy.

However, the next few rounds showed that my uncle had been wrong and I, apparently, had quite a knack for table tennis. Chris and I worked together like a dream and were absolutely decimating Scarlett and Anthony. The game was almost over as fast as it started, but when we only needed one more point Chris suddenly appeared to give up. He missed shot after shot and we were quickly losing our lead which was making me lose my temper.

"Dammit, Chris," I huffed, trying to suppress my annoyance as he missed a very easy ball. "Get it together over there!"

"Me?!" He gawked. "I thought you were going to get that one!"

"It was clearly on your side!"

"If that's what you think," he started as he picked up the ball and came back to the table. "Then you need to get your eyes tested, sweetheart."

"Don't 'sweetheart' me," I shot back. "Start paying more attention before you make us lose."

"Whatever you say," he smirked at me before adding: "Sweetheart."

I shot him a glare and - without thinking - I swatted his very hard to ignore, perfectly sculpted bum with my paddle. He yelped, catching the ball that he'd just thrown into the air with the intention of serving and stared at me wide-eyed. I was almost as surprised by the action as he was and I opened my mouth to apologize, but I was interrupted before I could.

"Careful there, Whitney," Sebastian warned from where he sat with my uncle at the spectator's table. "That's Marvel property!"

"They're very protective of it too," Anthony joked. "It's one of their best assets."

"Yeah, so show it some respect," Chris demanded, looking cocky despite the slight red tint to his cheeks. "And anyway, if you're trying to get me to focus then I don't think making me think about spanking is a great strategy."

"Ooh," I giggled. "Someone get me the number for TMZ! I've got tomorrow's headline ready for them: 'Chris Evans likes to be spanked'!"

Chris barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he gently served the ball.

"Who said I like to be the one receiving?"

My mouth went dry when I realized what he was implying and several uncalled fantasies flashed through my brain. With that short little sentence, images filled my mind of him using his large hands for something entirely different to what they were currently doing - something that perhaps involved bending me over his lap. I felt a wave of heat wash over me at that thought as my gaze was drawn to him while I wondered if he was aware of the effect that he had on me. I was so pathetically distracted that I didn't even see the ball coming back towards us until it hit me on the side of my head.

Despite my embarrassing blunder, Chris and I managed to get ourselves together quickly enough to still win the game and our victory was promptly celebrated by another round of drinks.

My aunt and uncle left not long after that as they were eager to get home to their young children, but my uncle couldn't go without a few parting words when I hugged them goodbye.

"Chris is a good man," he informed me. "I'm not sure what his stance is on threesomes, but he wouldn't take you to Hooters on a first date, that's for sure."

I could tell what he was implying, but I questioned him anyway. The only answer I could pull out of him was a teasing wink and Susan ushered him out the door with a roll of her eyes and firm instructions for me to call them soon.

I tried to push his comment from my mind because the thought of a man as handsome, funny and intelligent as Chris Evans even considering the idea of taking me on a date seemed like insanity, but I would have been lying if I said it didn't instill a tiny flicker of hope in me. I was fairly certain that he had been flirting with me so maybe it wasn't entirely as far-fetched as my low self-esteem would have me believe.

I tried not to dwell on his words too much through the rest of the evening, but it was hard to shake the idea from my mind. Especially with how tactile he was with me. Whether it was when we moved on to dancing and he pulled me close, whenever we were walking to the bar and kept his arm draped around my waist or when we eventually settled on a pair of bar stools, sitting close enough that my knees were tucked between his.

That was how we were sat, tucked together at the bar, when I finished another drink and realized that the fuzziness in my head and the weight of my eyelids were telling me that it was time to head home. I wasn't eager for the night to end, I wanted to stay in this little flirtatious bubble as long as possible, but I could feel the alcohol induced fatigue hitting me and I knew I needed to leave before I no longer had the energy.

"How are you getting home?" Chris asked when I announced my departure. "Do you want some company while you wait for a cab?"

"Oh, that's okay," I assured him as I slid off the bar stool I'd been sitting on. "I'm just gonna walk."

"Walk?" He raised an eyebrow. "Where do you live?"

"Only about twenty minutes away," I shrugged. "It's no big deal."

I was being purposely vague, but Chris' questions persisted until I finally confessed what neighbourhood I lived in. Once I did, a worried look clouded his face.

"Really? That's not a great area..."

"It's not that bad!" I insisted. "I mean, I'll definitely move once the photography thing picks up and I would appreciate if you don't tell my uncle, but it's not that bad."

"He doesn't know?" Chris raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that could only be interpreted as one of judgment. I nodded in answer to his question and he sighed, tossing back the last of the beer in front of him before standing up as well. "Just let me say goodbye and I'll walk with you."

"No, no, you don't have to do that! Stay with your friends."

"My Ma would kill me if she found out I let a woman walk home alone and I'm guessing Robert would have something to say about it too from what you just said," he insisted, flashing me one of his dazzling smiles. "Besides, I was gonna head out soon anyway."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded in response.

"Absolutely."

I felt bad that he was leaving because of me, but I had a feeling that any arguments would be futile. I followed him around the room, saying goodbye to the few people who were still at the bar before we headed outside. As soon as the fresh air hit me, I really felt the full affects of the several drinks I'd had throughout the night and I was quite grateful for Chris' company on my walk.

"Thanks for doing this. I'm sorry you had to leave early."

Chris had pulled his baseball hat lower on his head, probably in an attempt to hide his identity a bit more, but the people bustling in the streets were too oblivious or drunk to pay much attention.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled down at me. "It was time for me to go anyway. I've had enough wild nights with Renner to know that nothing good happens after midnight."

"Oh, I see how it is," I smirked. "I thought this was a chivalrous gesture, but it's just an act of self-preservation."

Chris laughed, a deep laugh that made my smirk slide into a grin, as he held out his arm for me to take which I happily did.

"Can't it be both?"

"I suppose. I guess you must be pretty chivalrous to take on a role like Captain America." As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt my cheeks heat up. "Sorry, that was dumb. I sound like some shitty interviewer. Like, 'tell me what aspects of the character you see in yourself'."

I'd put on a bad, faux news anchor voice for the last part of that sentence and I felt Chris' arm shake as he chuckled, but he shook his head.

"Nah, it's fine. It's a fair question," he assured me. "I think I've always been pretty chivalrous. I'm close with my mom and two sisters so they made sure I knew how to treat a lady. But that is one bonus of playing a character like Cap, he has such strong morals and such a steady sense of right and wrong, it inspires me to be as much like him as I can be."

Just as he finished his thought, I stumbled over an uneven part of the sidewalk and was only saved from face planting by his grip on my arm. I flushed with embarrassment again, but the alcohol in my system had me dissolving into giggles.

"Sorry, thank you. Wow, I'd say you really do have some Captain America traits." I flashed him a smile. "Was it like a lifelong dream for you? If you don't mind me asking, last question about it, I promise."

"You can ask all the questions you want," he shrugged and it seemed genuine, not just an expected assurance. "But no, it wasn't. I actually turned it down several times."

"Really? You did? Isn't a role like that every actor's dream?"

"Probably," he nodded. "But I did the Marvel thing with Fantastic Four and even that little taste of fame was almost too much for me. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do and I'm so grateful for all the opportunities I've been given, but it can be a lot to deal with."

"Those obsessive fangirls too much for you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. " I was already having panic attacks, so I wasn't sure that I could handle taking that next step. But it's more just the total lack of privacy that comes with fame. Not just for me either, I knew it would affect my whole family."

"That makes sense," I nodded, knowing from my own experience that he was absolutely right. There'd been a few unfortunate incidents on slow news days where articles about 'Robert Downey Jr.'s niece' had popped up after some of my poorer choices in life. "Are you glad that you went for it now?"

"Absolutely! It was the best thing I've ever done. There are times when I still struggle, I don't do well at the premieres with all the pressure and the people, but the whole cast is like a family so the support is amazing."

"It's really sweet how close you guys all seem to be."

"It makes a big difference," Chris agreed as we turned off the main street in the direction of my neighbourhood. "But what about you? Have you always wanted to be a photographer?"

I paused for a moment as I tried to get my rather tipsy brain to figure out the simplest response to his question.

"Yes and no," I finally answered. "I've always loved photography, but I never really considered it as a career until about two years ago. I actually went to university to study accounting."

"Accounting? Wow, so you're a math wiz?"

"Hardly," I giggled. "It was what my dad wanted me to do to guarantee myself a solid career, but I hated it. I flunked out within a year. I'm not entirely sure that my dad has ever forgiven me for it, he was really disappointed in me."

"But surely he just wants you to be happy, whatever job you have..."

"You would think so," I shrugged. "Doesn't feel like it all the time though. He's very against the whole starving artist thing. He's not a bad person, but he's very practical and just can't understand how suffocating an office job would be for someone who likes to be creative. I get the impression that just being around me these days exasperates him."

I felt another blush cover my cheeks as I realized I was over-sharing. It could easily be blamed on the alcohol, but Chris was a good listener and I found him very easy to talk to.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "That was more information than you probably needed."

"You don't need to apologize so much," Chris assured me. "I wouldn't have asked the question if I didn't want to hear the answer."

"Sor-" I paused. "Bad habit, I guess."

Chris squeezed my arm and shot me a reassuring smile before getting our conversation back on track.

"So, what made you persevere with photography in the end?"

"I just really enjoy doing it. I love capturing those unexpected moments, like the awkward laughter in between poses, the moments when people have their guard down and don't realize how beautiful they look. Then, when I get to share the photos I've taken with people and they see themselves in a different way, the joy it brings them makes it worth any financial struggles." As I finished my explanation, a thought struck me. "I actually got some good ones today, just on my phone when you guys first came in, not doing the planned and posed stuff."

They'd all been so excited to see each other even though it was just a few short weeks since they'd wrapped the film. It was sweet and I hadn't been able to resist capturing their reunion.

"Really? Could I see them?"

"If you give me your phone number, I can send them to you," I smiled up at him. "That would actually be helpful. They're obviously different than the ones I took for the actual shoot, but you can tell me if they're any good or if you think I just got the job because of my connections."

I reached into my bag and handed my phone to Chris so he could type in his number which he did before shooting me a skeptical glance.

"Do you really think your connection to Robert is the only reason you got the job?"

"Well, it was all so last minute. I can't help, but assume it's a mix of desperation and some pulled strings," I admitted. "But I know this is my one shot. Robert really believes in people making their own way in life so if I totally blow this opportunity, I know he won't fight for them to have me back again and I wouldn't want him to."

We turned another corner, taking us just a few blocks from my apartment building as Chris answered.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have gotten you the job if there was any chance that he thought you would fail," Chris assured me. "But he is a good person to have in your corner. I probably wouldn't have taken the Captain America gig at all if it wasn't for him convincing me I could do it. He can be very persuasive."

I smiled at that information. I knew my uncle didn't like to take no for an answer so I could imagine how that conversation went.

"He can be very encouraging when he needs to be," I agreed. "Even if that encouragement sometimes comes out in the form of publicly shaming someone for their taste in men."

Chris let out another deep laugh and shook his head.

"C'mon, you gotta admit you deserved that."

"I did not!"

"He took you to Hooters and you didn't run away as fast as possible," Chris reminded me as if I could have forgotten such an embarrassing decision. "If that's not deserving of some public shaming then I don't know what is."

"Dating is hard these days," I huffed. "Maybe it would be easier if I had giant muscles like you, but it's hard to meet people."

"I think having muscles the size of mine would actually make you less hot."

I couldn't bite back the giggle that slipped from my lips as I looked up at him with a questioning raise of my eyebrows.

"Less hot?" I asked. "That would imply that you think I'm hot now."

"I do," Chris smirked confidently. "I think you're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words instantly made my cheeks heat up again. I'd baited him into the compliment, but I didn't expect his blunt and honest answer. I was stunned into a momentary silence that only made Chris' smirk grow wider until I giggled once again.

"You're just drunk."

"I am not," Chris chuckled. "Well, maybe a little, but that doesn't change the facts."

There was a grin on my face and I felt like a little schoolgirl with a crush. Chris Evans just called me gorgeous. Any woman who said they didn't swoon in that situation was probably lying.

"That's very sweet of you to say," I told him, trying to play it cool. "You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself."

Chris squeezed my arm again as he flashed me a smile.

My apartment building was in sight now, just half a block away, and I was disappointed that our evening was about to end.

I was comfortable with Chris. He was nice and easy to talk to and I'd had more fun and laughs with him in the last few hours than I'd had throughout most of my last relationship. But despite our harmless flirting, I knew he was too good for me. I knew that I didn't stand a chance with him and that when the alcohol wore off and the sun came up, he would see that. As much as I wasn't ready to say goodbye, I could hardly keep us walking in circles around the block without him noticing so I reluctantly slowed to a stop outside my building.

"This is me..."

Chris looked up and nodded slowly.

"It doesn't look so bad."

"Because it's not!" I insisted. "Honestly, this isn't that bad of a neighbourhood."

"Well, it's not that great either, Whitney."

Another giggle slipped from my lips as I pulled my keys out of my purse, reluctantly slipping my arm from his.

"Your accent makes my name sound funny," I teased. "You don't say Whitney, you say Win-ney."

Chris laughed, but shook his head.

"Now who's drunk."

"Oh, definitely me," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"Okay, Winnie, whatever you say."

He said my name wrong on purpose that time, but there was something about it that put a smile on my face. Emboldened by the alcohol and by his flirtatious nature, I decided to take a chance.

"Do you want to come up for a bit?" I asked. "One last drink maybe?"

Chris hesitated, but after a moment of thought, he shook his head.

"Nah, I should probably get home. I think I've had enough drinks for tonight." His solid reasoning eased the blow of rejection slightly, but it still burned me up inside. "Thanks for the invite though, maybe I'll take you up on that offer another time."

"Sure," I nodded, hoping I was masking my disappointment. "That would be nice."

"Great," he grinned before pulling me into a hug. "It was nice to meet you, Winnie. I have a feeling that we're going to be good friends."

Friends.

Good friends.

His words echoed in my head as I agreed and slipped out of his grasp. We said our goodbyes, I thanked him for escorting me home and I watched as he walked back down the street before I went inside.

Friends. F-R-I-E-N-D-S.

At least he'd made himself clear and subtly let me down easy before I had chance to form any wrong ideas about what our relationship was or could be. It hurt and I would be lying if I said it didn't feel a bit like a stab in the heart, but I was glad that he'd put me in my place before I made a fool of myself by making a move.

I knew I'd been getting ahead of myself anyway. I knew he was way out of my league, but he'd called me gorgeous and walked me home. He'd even given me a nickname. Maybe I'm just easy to impress, but it felt like he was interested. I guess being a big star in Hollywood requires a certain level of charm though and he was probably just used to being naturally flirtatious with most of the women he encounters.

I sighed as I let myself into my apartment and tossed my bag on the table by the door. I'd felt like the luckiest girl in the world only moments earlier and now I was back to feeling like I was a romantic lost cause. I dragged myself through the motions of getting ready for bed and flopped down on top of the blankets - it was too hot to be under them and I didn't have the luxury of air conditioning.

Perhaps it was for the best that Chris declined my invitation to come upstairs, I thought to myself. This apartment was hardly up to Hollywood standards, it was hardly up to my own standards even if it was all that I could afford.

As my head laid on the pillow and my heart sat heavy in my chest, I told myself that it was fine. If Chris wanted to just be friends then I would be grateful that he even wanted that. I made a mental note to send him those pictures in the morning - because I'd promised to and not because I was curious to see what kind of response I would get when he was sober - and fell into a restless sleep filled with dreams of my new friend.

---

July 2016

And so, we were friends. Good friends, maybe even great friends.

I sent Chris the photos he’d asked for the day after we met and we spent most of that day messaging back and forth. Our friendship only grew from there and, whenever he was in town, we spent as much time together as we possibly could.

But we kept things very much friendly.

There was some flirtatious exchanges, but I respected his wishes and kept the feelings that I'd developed to myself.

My career really took off in the year after we met as well. That first Marvel photo shoot had gone incredibly well which led to several more contracts with them as well as other high profile jobs. It was a long, busy year, but I was grateful and relished in my success.

I'd even managed to move into a new apartment in a much nicer neighbourhood which felt like quite a big achievement and had finally silenced Chris' fretting about my safety. I moved in May, but our busy schedules kept him from seeing my upgraded home for himself until that summer, almost a year after we met. He was returning to L.A. from a trip home to Massachusetts and we hadn't seen each other in months so I was very eager for our reunion. Despite the fact that were still in constant communication, I'd missed him terribly and had been counting down the minutes until he would be arriving at my place.

"So," My friend's voiced echoed through my phone from where it sat on the bathroom counter while I finished curling my hair into beachy waves. "Are you going to finally make a move tonight?"

"No," I scoffed. "Of course not, Hannah. I've not seen him in a while now, I want us to have a good time. I don't want to make him uncomfortable and ruin everything."

"I will bet you a thousand dollars that it wouldn't ruin everything," she insisted. "Honestly, I will give you a thousand dollars if you make a move tonight and it goes badly."

I rolled my eyes as I finished the last curly wave and reached for my hairspray.

"You can't put a price on my friendship with Chris."

"Oh my god," she groaned. "He's told you that he thinks you're gorgeous, he makes time to hang out with you whenever he can and he texts you every single day. He treats you better than any boyfriend you've ever had. How can you think he doesn't have feelings for you?"

I took a moment to spray my hair and give myself one last look over before taking her off speaker and answering the question as I walked towards my kitchen.

"Because he straight up told me that he wants to be friends," I reminded her. "And he's never given me any other signs that he's interested in anything more."

"He doesn't need to give you any signs. When someone looks at you the way that he looks at you that says enough."

"Well, I'm going to need him to say a little more."

Another groan came through the phone as the buzzer to my apartment rang.

"You're impossible."

"I know, I know, and my lack of self-esteem will make me die alone," I said, repeating the words she'd told me a hundred times. "But he's here now, so you're going to have to save your criticisms for another time."

"Just tell him how you feel," she huffed. "I expect a full report in the morning."

The buzzer rang again as I agreed and said my goodbyes to my friend. I took a deep breath and a moment to push Hannah's words from my mind before pressing the button on the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Win, it's me! Let me up."

I pressed the button to unlock the door and felt my lips slide into a cheek aching grin just from the sound of his voice. It had been too long since we'd had a chance to hang out and I was very much looking forward to a nice evening together.

It took him barely a minute to get up to my apartment, knocking twice before letting himself in.

"Hey!" I grinned, rushing towards him as he held his arms open. I threw mine around him as soon as I was close enough and squeezed him tightly. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too," he smiled. "Nice place you got here, someone's doing well for themselves."

"Oh, please," I giggled, slipping out of his arms. "I've seen your house, Mr. Evans. This is a dump compared to where you live."

"Nah, this place is great!"

"It's definitely an improvement," I admitted as I led him towards the kitchen. "Would you like a drink? I bought that beer you like."

"You didn't have to do that. I would have been fine with whatever you have in," he chided me, but I waved him off and assured him it was fine. "What's the plan for tonight anyway?"

I shrugged as I opened the fridge to get a beer out for him and a bottle of wine for myself.

"I don't mind. Do you want to go out for drinks later or just stay here? It is a Saturday so everywhere around here will be packed with women in their early twenties if you'd like your ego stroked a bit."

I was referring to the last time we'd gone out and made the mistake of going to a bar that turned out to be pretty unfriendly to celebrities. A lot of places in L.A. made it easy for celebrities to go under the radar, but the place we'd gone to apparently wasn't one of them. There was a steady stream of beautiful young women trying their luck with Chris all night until we eventually fled and went back to his place just to give him some peace.

Chris laughed, clearly understanding what I was referencing, but he shook his head.

"Honestly? I'd prefer to stay in tonight," he admitted, but a smirk slid onto his face as he very obviously gave me a once over. "But you got all dressed up and it would be a shame to waste an outfit like that on a night in."

"Oh, this old thing?" I glanced down at the short black sundress I was wearing, a blush covering my cheeks from his compliment. "I just put this on in case we did decide to go out, but staying in sounds good to me. I'm well stocked with supplies."

I gestured to the wine and beer on the counter and the few bottles of hard liquor behind them.

"Then we'll stay in?"

"Sure," I nodded as a thought hit me and I gasped with excitement. "Oh, we can sit on my balcony! It over looks the park and I just got a new little couch for it."

"Very fancy," Chris laughed. "You really are doing well for yourself."

"Shut up," I rolled my eyes. "I don’t think Ikea patio furniture is a particularly high aspiration for anyone."

"Don't sell yourself short! You're finally getting recognition for your talent and that's worth celebrating."

I smiled as I led him through the living room and opened the door to my balcony with a flourish. The heat of July in California hit us immediately, but the balcony was shaded which made it a more reasonable temperature.

"This is nice," Chris nodded approvingly. "Well done, Winnie."

He sat on the couch and held his beer up towards me. I gently clinked my glass against it before sitting next to him. I thanked him once I was settled, hiding the width of my grin with my glass as I took a sip.

"So, how was Massachusetts?" I asked, curling my feet underneath me. "Do you have much more time off or are you back at it pretty quick?"

"I've actually got some time off," Chris informed me. "I think I'll probably spend most of it back home. It was great being there the last few weeks. It just feels better than L.A."

"Most places probably feel better than L.A.," I pointed out with a scoff. "This place is exhausting."

"You should come visit some time," Chris suggested before flashing me a smirk. "I feel bad leaving you here when I'm clearly your only friend."

"Excuse me, that is not true!" I protested, my jaw dropping at his insult as he chuckled at his own joke. "I have plenty of friends, thank you very much. All those liquor bottles on the counter are leftover from my very crowded house-warming party."

"Oh, no, Winnie," he laughed, his hand coming up to his chest. "Don't try and provide evidence that you have friends. That makes you seem even more pathetic."

"More pathetic than what? I have friends!"

"Imaginary ones don't count."

I couldn't help, but laugh at that insult as I shook my head.

"You're so rude. I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you have no one else." He shot me a very over the top look of pity until I swatted his arm and he dissolved into laughter again. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Seriously though, you should come out to Massachusetts sometime. I'll show you around."

"That would be fun," I agreed. "I'm pretty busy with work over the summer, but I think I'm in New York for a shoot in September. I could maybe tie a trip in with that if you're still out there."

"I should be if nothing else comes up," Chris nodded. "And fall is a great time to come. It's gorgeous."

"I bet. It would be nice to experience a season instead of just this sweltering L.A. heat all the time."

I made a face to emphasize my point as I sipped my drink and Chris eyed me suspiciously.

"I can't help, but get the impression that you're not loving it here at the moment..."

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Not really. I thought moving into a better apartment would help, but I'm just kinda tired of it, I guess."

"It can be draining here," he nodded. "Have you thought about moving somewhere else?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"Not really. I'd miss my family too much. I'd have to have a good reason, I think, or know someone wherever I was going."

"Well, you'll always know someone in Massachusetts," he smiled. "And my Ma would love you. I'm sure she'd take you in right away."

"Awe, Mama Evans. I'd love to meet her...Mostly so I could demand an apology for her part in raising such a horrible man."

Chris threw his head back with another chest grab worthy laugh.

"Oh man, I know. My brother is pretty awful."

I snorted a laugh at his comeback, but shook my head.

"Scott was delightful the few times I met him," I informed him. "I was clearly talking about you."

"Me?!" He gasped dramatically. "What are you talking about? I'm a total gentleman."

"Imaginary friends don't count," I repeated his words back to him in a very bad impression of his deep voice and Boston accent. "Yeah, you're such a gentleman."

"It's called a joke, Winnie," he teased. "Try having a sense of humour."

I stuck my tongue out at him in response, but I had to admit that the teasing was nice. I really had missed him while he was away and I was relieved that we fell back together so naturally that it was like we'd never been apart.

Our conversation continued to flow well into the night and so did our drinks. A few hours later and several alcoholic beverages down, the temperature was starting to drop a bit as the sun set, but our conversation was just starting to heat up.

"So," Chris turned to me with a smirk as he sipped the tequila sunrise I'd just made for him. He'd sworn he wouldn't like it, that it would be too sweet, but apparently he was too tipsy to really care. "How's your love life these days? Any more trips to Hooters?"

I snorted a laugh as I shook my head.

"I need more alcohol if we're going to delve into my love life."

Mostly because the biggest detriment to my romantic life was currently sitting on the couch with me, but I wasn't going to volunteer that information. Chris nudged the bottom of the glass in my hand, gently enough not to spill any but firmly enough to lift it slightly.

"Drink up then because I'm curious. Especially after a statement like that."

The irony of someone who was very vocal about how much they hated being constantly interrogated and harassed about their love life trying to do that exact thing to me wasn't lost on me, but I knew he'd keep pestering me until I opened up. I did as Chris suggested and took a large swig of my drink before answering him.

"No, there hasn't been any more dates at Hooters lately," I assured him. "But I did go on a date last week that was disappointing in it's own way."

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How so?"

"He turned out to be a Robert Downey Jr. fanboy," I admitted, rolling my eyes as Chris let out a laugh. "It was going well until I made the mistake of mentioning that he's my uncle. He wouldn't shut up about him - stop laughing! - It was awful. Honestly, he went on and on! I eventually asked him if he'd rather be on a date with my uncle than me."

"And what did he say?"

I scowled at the memory.

"He said yes and asked for his number." That admission drew another howl of laughter from Chris and I couldn't help, but giggle along with him despite my shaking head. "Honestly, Chris, it's not funny. I have the worst luck."

"You have the worst taste in men." He corrected and I wondered briefly if he'd be less confident in that statement if he knew that he was my taste, even more so when he continued. "You're only interested in the douchey guys and then you're always shocked when they act like assholes."

"That is so not true!" I protested. "How am I supposed to know they're going to be douche bags? We talk for like two days on a dating app before we meet up and they always seem normal!"

"What was this one's job?"

I cringed and took another big swig of my drink.

"A club promoter."

"Exactly!" Chris groaned. "And hadn't the one before him quit his job to try and get famous on YouTube?"

"Instagram," I corrected. "But, so what? I struggled for a long time before my career went anywhere. You can't judge people by something like that."

"For the most part, I agree with you," Chris nodded. "But there are some careers that only attract a certain kind of person."

I huffed at his logic, but there was some truth to what he was saying.

"Dating is just hard these days," I insisted. "Besides, from what I've seen online lately, you're one to talk about messy relationships."

Now it was Chris' turn to take a gulp of the drink in his hand as he raised an eyebrow at my claim.

"Everything you read about me is bullshit, you know that. I haven't dated anyone lately, people just like to make things up."

"Oh, what I was reading the other day wasn't really about who you were dating."

That got his attention as he shot me a surprised look.

"What was it about then?"

"I thought it was all bullshit?" I smirked. "Does it matter what it was if it's not true?"

Chris shrugged.

"Even if it's not true, I like to know what people are saying about me."

"And you don't have a team to provide you with that information?"

"I do," he nodded. "But they don't tell me everything so I'd love to know what you read."

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling shy about disclosing what I'd seen. I took a moment to figure out how to say it before telling him.

"I stumbled across an article that claimed an anonymous source, who recently spent the night with you, told them that you are not particularly skilled at going down on a woman."

Chris' jaw dropped and I couldn't help, but laugh again at the outrage on his face.

"That's fuckin' bullshit!" He protested. "Why would anyone believe an anonymous source? It's obviously not true! Why would they even write that?"

I smirked again as I tried to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside me. Of course, I didn't believe an anonymous source and I felt bad for Chris that mean rumours like that were being spread around the internet, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to tease him about it anyway.

"I don't know. She must have had some kind of proof, they wouldn't have published it without fact checking."

"They absolutely would!" Chris laughed incredulously. "They publish anything that gets clicks!"

I shrugged and tried to stifle the giggles still fighting to come out.

"It seemed pretty believable to me. I'm not trying to be mean, but maybe just take the criticism and use it to grow."

"I don't need to use it to grow!" He insisted. "I have plenty of skills in that area, I've never had any complaints."

"Until now."

"It's not true!"

"Unfortunately, I'll never know..."

I froze, hearing my words echo through my head as Chris' eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before a twinkle appeared. It was a simple statement, but we both picked up on what it implied, especially with the hint of intrigue, almost challenge, in my voice.

Chris tossed back the last of his drink and then shifted, sitting up a bit straighter as the look of annoyance on his face had changed into something almost cocky. I took a sip of my own drink, hoping to drown the nerves that were bubbling in my stomach as the cool evening breeze suddenly did nothing to ease the heat that surrounded us.

"Well, how am I suppose to prove it to you?"

He moved his hand until it was resting on my knee and I had to stifle a gasp at the sensation. We were fairly affectionate and much more touchy with each other than many friends were, but this felt different. There was a tension between us now and I swallowed hard, not wanting the alcohol in my system to make me misinterpret anything.

"I don't know." I bit my lip as he stared me down, a smirk back on his face now. "Why don't you de-describe it?"

Demonstrate.

Demonstrate was the word that I was looking for, the word that was on the tip of my tongue.

Describe was not quite as flirtatious. It was like I'd just set him some kind of essay assignment. I cringed, but Chris was unfazed as he chuckled and nodded his head.

"Alright," he shrugged. "Where should I start?"

Before I even had time to answer, he began his explanation.

His voice was low as he spoke, sparing no detail. He described every kiss, every touch and every little tease. By the time he was describing how much he liked to watch whoever was he was pleasuring, looking up from where his face was buried to see her orgasm roll through her body, I was almost shamelessly panting. His hand was still on my leg, stroking higher and higher on my thigh and I felt more aroused from his words than I had from the last few sexual encounters that I'd had.

He was watching me when he finished speaking, a smirk on his face and his eyes narrowed in a seductive stare as I took a shaky breath.

It was now or never.

Tossing back the last of my drink, I put my glass on the table. Then, I took the glass in his hand and did the same.

He was watching me the whole time, meeting my eyes as I sat back on the couch. My mind was running a mile a minute as the gravity of the situation hit me, but I tried to push all thoughts of doubt from my head as I bit my bottom lip in anticipation. His eyes flicked down to watch the movement and that was all the confirmation I needed.

I darted forward fast enough that I wouldn't have time to change my mind and pressed my lips against his.

There was a brief moment when he froze. I felt his hand tense on my thigh and his body seemed more rigid than it had moments ago, but he recovered quickly and a low growl came from his throat before his hands moved to my waist and effortlessly lifted me into his lap.

I gasped at the movement, momentarily taking my lips away from his, but before I could even mumble out any comments on his strength, he'd pressed our lips together again.

It was a sloppy kiss. Spurred on by our mounting tension and the panic bubbling inside me that any minute now he would change his mind and push me away in disgust, our movements were frantic and desperate. My hands slid around his neck, one moving up to the back of his head as if I needed to hold him in place, but his fingers digging into my waist made me think that he was having the same thought.

Eventually though, the need for air forced us apart and I rested my forehead against his as we fought to catch our breath. The pause in our actions gave my brain time to catch up to my body and I immediately felt the nerves kick in.

Logically, I knew we should slow things down and talk about what this meant. My feelings for Chris went deeper than a drunken hook up and I was setting myself up for heartbreak if he wasn't on the same page. However, there was a more impulsive part of my brain that didn't care. I'd wanted this for so long, surely I deserved a chance to just enjoy it.

As if Chris could read my mind, his deep voice cut through my thoughts.

"Are we really doing this?"

I bit my lip, knowing this was the time to voice any concerns that I had, but as I stared into his eyes, I couldn't make myself jeopardize the moment.

"Yes," I nodded. "I'm in if you are?"

A smirk slid onto Chris' face as he nodded as well.

"I've been waiting almost a whole fuckin' year for this," he admitted. "I'm absolutely in."

I felt my heart flutter at his confession. If he'd been waiting for this as long as I had then that must have meant that we were on the same page. No one waits that long for a meaningless fuck, he would have made a move by now if there wasn't more to it.

In an effort to silence my overactive brain, I pressed my lips back against his which proved to be the perfect distraction. All worries and cares slipped from my mind as his tongue slipped back into my mouth and his hands drifted down to cup my ass. I could practically feel them burning through my thin dress and as they squeezed slightly, pressing my hips closer towards his, I could tell that my panties were already much damper than was probably reasonable.

But the anticipation was practically killing me.

My body felt like it was on fire as every brush of his tongue, every caress of my skin, every sigh that fell from his lips against my mouth, had me writing against him like a cat in heat. Often, when I'd imagined what this moment would be like, I'd assumed it would be slow - we'd take our time and savour every touch - but I hadn't factored in just how desperate we'd both be or how quickly I would be filled with the absolute need for there to be less layers of fabric between us.

Chris sucked in a deep breath as his lips moved from mine, sliding lower to kiss along my jaw. I could feel a bulge growing between us, telling me that he was as overeager as I was so, as shivers tingled down my spine from the trail his mouth was taking, I fought through the distractions to speak.

"Chris," I panted. "Let's go inside."

His lips paused their movement as he nuzzled into my neck.

"Not much of an exhibitionist?"

"Not on the first date."

My words were teasing and a shrug of my shoulders accompanied my response, earning a chuckle from Chris.

"Alright, that's fair."

I nudged his head away from my skin so I could press another soft kiss to his lips.

My intention was to then climb off of his lap and lead him into my apartment, but he had other ideas as his hands slid under my thighs and his grip tightened. With one smooth motion and an impressive show of strength, he stood from the couch and lifted me up with him. I gasped and rushed to wrap my legs around his waist for stability, but the smirk on his face and the bulge of his bicep told me that it probably wasn't necessary. He was incredibly strong and it sent another flush of arousal through me at the thought of the beautifully sculpted physique under his clothes.

"Are you bulking up for Cap again?"

I mumbled the words in an attempt to keep my mind busy and stop myself before I started rubbing myself against his stomach. With the way my legs were positioned there was merely a shirt and my panties between us and it was entirely too tempting.

"Nah, got a month or two before that starts again," he informed me, quirking an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

I pointed him towards the door of my bedroom before answering as I tried to keep the shock out of my voice.

"So, you're like, always this strong?"

Chris chuckled slightly as he kicked my bedroom door open.

"Well, I'm no club promoter," he teased. "But I do tend to stay at a certain level of fitness for when the job does require it."

My jaw dropped at his audacity to bring that up again at a moment like this, but I couldn't stop the snort of laughter that slipped out.

"Shut up," I demanded, letting my thumb stroke against the soft skin on the back of his neck. "Before I come to my senses and ask you to leave."

Now it was Chris' turn to laugh as he gently tossed me onto the bed before crawling over me like a lion stalking it's prey.

"C'mon," he smirked as he hovered over me. "I think we both know that the last thing you want me to do right now is leave."

With that, he pressed his lips back against mine before I had chance to argue. Not that I would have, because he was absolutely right. There was a long list of things I wanted him to do, but leaving was not one of them. In fact, as I let my arms slid over his toned shoulders, I pulled him even closer.

I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted to hear every little grunt and moan, I wanted to feel every inch of his body against mine, I wanted to see his muscles quiver and twitch with pleasure, I wanted him inside me and we'd barely even started. A year of waiting would make anyone desperate and, as much as I was revelling in his talented mouth as it moved against my own, I was eager to see what else he could do with it.

Sliding my hands down along his back, I ran them over his waist until they were at the hem of his shirt and, in an attempt to move things along, I slid them back up over his stomach, bringing his shirt with them. I paused, taking a moment to trace over his abs and he chuckled, moving his lips down to nuzzle them into my neck.

"That tickles," he mumbled against my skin as I smiled.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that these muscles are real."

"They are," he smiled up at me. "Are you impressed?"

"Maybe a little," I admitted with a smile of my own. "I'll be more impressed if you get these clothes out of the way and let me admire you properly."

He chuckled again, but didn't fight as I pulled his shirt over his head. The light in the room was dim and the way we were positioned didn't give me an optimal view, but what I could see was enough to draw a soft gasp from my lips.

I'd seen him shirtless and in even less from a few sneaky Google searches and watching his old movies, but seeing it all right in front of me was quite a treat. I had to double check that I wasn't drooling at the sight as I openly stared, my mouth slightly agape.

I realized I was probably ogling him a little too long when a faint blush covered his cheeks and he ducked his head back against my neck. He placed another soft kiss against my skin before he spoke.

"Now, it's your turn."

"Okay," I agreed, swallowing hard. "But just keep in mind that I don't look like that."

I ran my hands up and down his sides to emphasize what I was referring to and I felt more than heard him chuckle as he peered up at me once more.

"I'd be disappointed if we had the same upper body," he teased. "I mean, if I'm being honest."

I rolled my eyes despite the smile on my face.

"You know what I mean," I insisted. "I'm not sculpted by the Gods like you are."

His head fell back against my shoulder as he shook with laughter before shaking his head.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured me. "You're too hard on yourself. You're fuckin' gorgeous."

His words took me back to the first night we met as the sincerity in his voice was the same as it had been back then. And there was something about the confidence with which he spoke that had me believing him.

So, as his hands slid under my dress - teasing the outside of my thighs in a way that had me biting my lip to force back a moan - I pushed any negative thoughts or doubts about myself from my mind. I even felt a hint of pride when my dress was discarded, exposing my lack of bra, and making Chris' eyes darken as they scoured over my body.

"Fuck, Winnie," he groaned as he soaked in the sight of my exposed chest. "You're beautiful."

I felt my heart flutter at the genuine awe in his voice and at his word choice. Gorgeous, hot, sexy - those are all compliments I would have loved to receive from him, but beautiful. It seemed deeper, more romantic. There was a brief reminder from the voice in my head that perhaps the importance of such a simple word was a signal I shouldn't be moving forward with this without having a very serious conversation about feelings first, but I was quick to ignore it as I pulled Chris back to my lips.

It seemed he was as desperate to move things along as I was though as his mouth didn't linger against mine for very long before it was trailing a path down my neck. He paused when he got to my chest, letting out a groan as he nuzzled the skin before sucking it just hard enough to leave a faint mark when he moved back. The sight had me squirming beneath him and he shot me a smirk before moving his lips to my nipple.

Gasping at the sensation, I arched up towards him as he continued to nip and tease me. If his current actions were anything to go by then whoever wrote the article that I read was very sorely mistaken. He appeared to be incredibly talented with his mouth and by the time he moved away from my nipple to continue his path down my body, my chest was heaving and I was sure that I was just one gentle touch away from my peak.

However, I was disappointed when he got to the top of my panties and, after licking along the skin of my lower stomach, pushed himself up and moved off of me to stand at the foot of my bed. I whined in protest, wanting him as close to me as possible, but all I got was a smirk in response.

"Patience," he mumbled as he unbuttoned his jeans.

I wanted to pout, to argue that I'd been patient enough in the last year, but any complaints died on my tongue as he pushed his jeans to the floor. As he stood in front of me, only in his underwear, my sense of urgency was replaced by an appreciation for the chance to admire his chiselled body. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better view and he chuckled at the look of wonder that I was sure was on my face.

His underwear was the next thing to go and the anticipation turned quickly to shock as my jaw dropped at what he revealed. I could have assumed from the large bulge that he was quite well-endowed, but seeing it confirmed sent a whole new flush of arousal through me. I mumbled out a 'wow' as I bit my lip and tried to take it all in - he truly was a gorgeous man.

"Like what you see?"

His question snapped me out of my daze as he knelt back down on the end of the bed.

"Very much so," I nodded, desperate to feel his body over mine once again. "Come back up here."

"No," Chris grinned as he ducked down to place a kiss on my ankle. "Not yet."

Again, part of me wanted to argue and demand that he return his mouth to mine and get things moving, but before I could even open my mouth, he made his intentions clear - by tracing his fingers up my leg with his lips close behind.

I was quivering under his touch, still leaning up on my elbows when he reached the edge of the panties I was wearing. He glanced up at me as he licked along the lace before he bit into the material and tugged. I lifted my hips to ease his struggle as he yanked my panties down my legs with his teeth. The sight of it had me squeezing my thighs together, desperate for any kind of friction, but as soon as my underwear joined the rest of our clothes on the floor, he was quick to pull my legs apart again.

"Keep 'em open for me," he demanded, that damn smirk still firmly on his face. "I've got something to prove."

I giggled at that statement, but did as he asked. I was still watching his movements, until he dipped his head forehead and pressed his lips against me. That first moment of contact was enough to have my head flopping back against the pillows as my hands shot down to grip his hair. I was vaguely aware of him mumbling something about how wet I was, but my brain was too busy trying to process the pleasure he was giving me to take in his words.

He wasted no time demonstrating everything that he'd described to me earlier that night. His tongue was focused and precise in its movements and, contrary to what I read, he clearly knew what he was doing as he easily narrowed in on my clit. It wasn't enough though. I needed more pressure, more friction, and I pushed up towards him with a moan on my lips to urge him on. He wasn't having any of that as his hands looped under my thighs to settle on my hips, holding me in place, but he increased the pressure as he apparently understood what I needed despite my lack of ability to verbalize it.

I immediately felt a familiar feeling starting to build.

He sucked and licked with an urgency that I very much appreciated, flicking his tongue in just the right spot at just the right speed to have me trembling beneath him. I managed to gasp out a warning 'oh god' as my hands gripped his hair even tighter and I fell apart into a puddle of whimpers and moans. My orgasm hit me more fiercely than I'd imagined in my wildest fantasies of this moment and I arched up against him, his name pouring from my lips like a chant as he continued his efforts with a low groan of his own only adding to my pleasure.

As my breathing started to slow, Chris gently ceased his movements and moved his head back before resting his chin on my thigh. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked up at me.

"Well?"

"I'm going to write my own article," I told him, feeling that wonderful post peak bliss wash over me. "Because someone was obviously very misinformed."

Chris chuckled before pulling his hands from my hips to plant them on the bed and drag himself back over me.

"I'm glad I exceeded expectations."

"Mhmm," I hummed in agreement as his lips hovered above mine. "Now, let's see what else you can do."

Chris flashed me a smile and kissed me briefly before leaning back just enough to reach down and take his cock in his hand. Another moan fell from my lips as he rubbed it against me for a moment before nudging against my entrance and finally pressing inside. He moved slowly, but even so, I winced at the sensation. The slight burn as I stretched around him felt good but there was an undeniable ache as well. Sensing my hesitation, Chris paused and dropped his head for another soft kiss. I waited a moment, until the initial spark of discomfort had passed before pressing my hips up towards him.

He took the hint and continued his slow, almost torturous, movement until he was fully inside. The burning pain returned as it felt like he was taking up every inch of space I had to offer, but it felt incredible.

"Fuck," he breathed against my neck where his head had settled again. "You're tight..."

He shifted his hips pulling another gasp from my lips.

"Only because you're huge."

I felt a puff of laughter before he nipped at my shoulder.

"Thank you."

I would have smacked him for his cocky tone, but he moved then and suddenly my mind was blank of anything other than how good it felt. His movements were slow at first, every thrust dragging every inch of him against every nerve inside me, but his restraint quickly waned as his pace increased.

I let out a moan as my head fell back against the pillows and I hitched my leg higher on his hip. He moved his hand to the back of my thigh to hold it in place as he built a steady rhythm that had us both panting as I fought to match his thrusts. My fingers dug into his shoulders as his short beard rubbed against my skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was like he was completely encompassing me, smothering all of my senses and I could feel the pressure building again in the pit of my stomach in a way that it all felt like too much, but not enough all at the same time. I clenched around him, earning a groan of approval from Chris as I swore I could feel him twitch inside me. The pleasure was building quickly and his thrusts got sloppier and more frantic until suddenly he pulled out of me completely.

I felt empty and immediately wanted him back inside of me, my disappointment only growing as he pushed himself up to kneel back on his heels. The only compensation was how good he looked, muscles tight and his cock hard, practically throbbing and shiny from my being drenched in my wetness.

"Turn over," he instructed, his raspy voice bringing me back to the task at hand.

It took a moment for me to process his words, but I giggled as soon as I did.

"What?" He asked, a smile on his face.

"Nothing," I laughed again as I pushed myself up to do as he asked. "You just really are 'clearly' an ass man."

A look of realization crossed his face as he cringed slightly, his hand pausing from where he had reached down to stroke himself. I settled on my knees with my back to him as he answered.

"You heard about that?"

He was referring to the comments that he made on Anna Faris' podcast and I nodded my head.

"Everyone heard about that," I teased.

He chuckled, but didn't deny it as I leaned forward to rest on my hands. The wetness between my legs felt cool from the air in the room and I suddenly felt very exposed, knowing what the view must look like from his position. Again, my worries were brief though as his hands settled on my ass, kneading and squeezing as he let out a low groan.

"With an ass like this though, can you blame me?" He asked, sliding the fingers of one hand down towards the part of me that was practically throbbing with need. My head fell forward as he gently brushed over my clit before sinking two fingers inside me. It wasn't enough, not after the stretch of his cock, but he moved them with almost criminal precision against a spot that made me tense as I moaned with pleasure. "You've been drivin' me wild ever since that night we met. Those black jeans were so tight, it was like you were poured into 'em."

His words were muttered low and quiet and as much as I appreciated the compliment, I was such a puddle of mush from the movement of his fingers that I couldn't string together a sentence in response. He kept talking, whispering words of encouragement and adoration and it only added to my pleasure, but it wasn't until his thumb pressed against my clit that I felt myself start to bubble over. With a cry that I hoped served as a warning of my impending climax, I arched my back to press myself further towards him.

"Atta girl, Winnie..."

His breath was hot against the cheek of my ass and he continued his actions, placing a soft kiss on my skin. I was close, so close, but just not quite there until he did something that surprised me and sank his teeth into the spot his mouth was resting on. It wasn't enough to break the skin, but it was enough to leave a mark and it was definitely enough to send me over the edge. Moaning out his name again as I pressed back towards him, I felt myself quivering around his fingers as the pleasure tore through my body.

My elbows were quaking with effort as they tried to hold me up while he kept his fingers gently working until my orgasm came to an end. I wasn't sure how much more I could take, but I knew I wanted him inside me again so I shot him a look over my shoulder.

"Chris," I panted. "Fuck me, please."

His eyes darkened at my request, but he wasted no time, quickly shifting until he was positioned behind me and sliding himself back inside. He felt even bigger in our new position and his need was made clear as his hands settled on my hips to use them as leverage, thrusting into me at a much more frantic pace than he had before.

The stretch and feel of him deep inside me had me moaning and arching my back once again, but I was doubtful that I would reach another peak - until Chris slid one of his hands from my hip, over my stomach and back down to my clit. The sensation combined with his movements and all the noises pouring from his mouth had a tightness in my stomach forming again with shocking speed. It was just shy of overwhelming as my two previous orgasms had left me feeling rather sensitive already, but when Chris picked up the pace even more, his grunts and groans getting more desperate, I leaned into the sensation. It only took a minute or two more before he finally pressed himself deep inside me, stilling as he let out a low moan and I followed him over the edge once more.

After a few final thrusts through his release, Chris leaned forward to press his chest against my back. I could feel how hard he was breathing and soaked in the moment of bliss until my arms finally gave out underneath me. We landed in a heap face down on the bed, but Chris quickly rolled off of me before pulling me tight against his side.

"Wow," he breathed out. "Winnie, that was...wow."

I smiled as I rested my head on his chest.

"It was," I agreed. "I take back any doubts about your abilities."

He chuckled and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"Thanks," he smiled as I peered up at him until he let a yawn slip out. "Mind if I stay here tonight?"

His question made my own smile widen even more.

"Of course not!"

He breathed out a sigh of relief at my words as I felt a wave of reassurance myself. He wanted to stay. He wasn't about to rush out the door the moment we were done and I filed that information away as more evidence that we were on the same page.

I felt like I should get up - to use the bathroom and offer my guest some water - but our activities had my whole body feeling like jelly. I was vaguely aware of a mumbled 'goodnight' from Chris, but I found myself drifting off to sleep before I could even respond.

The next morning as I slowly woke up, it took me a moment to remember why I was naked and why there was a pleasant, but very noticeable ache between my thighs. As the memory came back to me, a smile slid onto my face, but when I rolled over to find the bed empty, a flicker of worry sparked in the pit of my stomach. Especially when a glance at the clock told me that it was only seven in the morning. We couldn't have fallen asleep much before one so there was no good reason for him to be out of bed already.

I called out his name, hopeful that he would respond, but I wasn't entirely surprised when he didn't. The dread I was feeling intensified at the silence around me and I dragged myself out of bed with the intention of checking if he was in the bathroom or perhaps back out on the balcony. However, the sight of what was on the floor, or more accurately what wasn’t on the floor, made me pause. My dress and panties were laying where they'd been tossed, but his clothes were no where to be seen.

Trying to keep a level head, I quickly pulled on the oversized shirt that I usually slept in and ventured out of my bedroom, but my fears were quickly confirmed. My apartment was empty.

At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt as I desperately tried to rationalize his disappearance. Maybe he woke up early and went out to get us breakfast and coffee? The dull throbbing in my head told me that I could certainly use a good shot of caffeine and it was a pretty safe bet that he was feeling the same. But, when he didn't return after half an hour, I assumed that theory was just an optimistic wish.

After forty-five minutes of sitting on my couch, watching the door - willing it to open and for Chris to appear - I sent him a text. I tried to keep it low key and chill, but after another hour of staring at my phone, the words "Hey, where'd you go?" started to seem more and more desperate.

By ten o'clock with no response and no sign of Chris returning, I accepted the situation for what it was.

He wasn't coming back.

It was a drunken mistake that he clearly regretted.

We'd risked our entire relationship for one night of wonderful, incredible, but meaningless sex and he didn't even have the guts to stick around long enough to talk to me about it.

One stupid night and I'd lost one of my best friends.

The thought brought tears to my eyes and, before I could stop myself, I was blubbering like a baby as I curled up on my couch. I was devastated and heartbroken. I'd let myself believe that maybe he wanted me the same way that I wanted him because we were so close and I never would have imagined that he would let it go that far just to ditch me in the morning without even a goodbye. Surely, after a year of such strong friendship, I deserved more than that.

But no matter how stupid and naive I felt in that moment, nothing would compare to the level of utter foolishness I felt later that day when I was tiding up and realized that there wasn't a condom in sight.

Part Two

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fic #chris evans one shot #once bitten/more hearts

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chaoticpuff17 · 3 years

Text

When the Chips Are Down

part 1

masterlist

Hello, my darlings. I feel so bad. I haven’t been updating, so I decided to do something that will likely make you all come for my head since this really won’t be updated for a good while. But for now, it’s all I’ve got for ya, but I do have a chapter of SW over half way done, but for now enjoy the first chapter of ADG’s sequel even if the rest won’t be coming for a while.--- chaotic puff

The ride to the airfield was nothing if not awkward. Namjoon sat on his side of the car and Y/N on the other. Namjoon was trying to reign in his temper, and Y/N simply didn’t want to talk. There were so many thoughts bouncing around her head, so many things they needed to talk about. She didn’t want to though. She wanted to pretend that he’d never come at all. She wanted to go back to her little cottage with Mark. She wanted him to hold her and talk to the baby like he always did, but that wasn’t an option anymore, not with Namjoon back in the picture.

“Where are we going?” She asked after a while. The tense silence was killing her.

“The airport at Pisa. I have a private jet waiting there to take us back to Seoul.”

“I can’t fly. I’m in my third trimester.” She murmured wincing as the baby sent a particularly hard kick to her stomach immediately catching Namjoon’s notice.

“Are you alright, jagi?” He asked moving to her side in a flash, hovering over her eyes darting over her worriedly looking for signs of distress.

“I’m fine.” She groaned pressing a hand to her belly. “The baby’s kicking.”

His face immediately lit up with a smile as he pressed his hand to her belly waiting intently for another kick. None came though. He looked back up at her disappointed, and she sighed moving his hand to press against different spot on her belly one where he was more likely to feel something.

“Give him a second. Little pest loves pummeling my insides.” She grumbled sinking back into the seat.

Just then the baby sent another kick landing it just under where Namjoon’s hand was pressed. He jumped at the odd sensation turning his awed gaze on her before looking back down at her belly in wonder. “Does it hurt?” He asked voice barely above a whisper.

“When he kicks like that? Yes.”

“It’s a boy?” He asked excitedly already imagining a little boy with her eyes and his dimples, a little heir for his empire.

“I don’t know actually.” She mused looking down at her bump fondly. “I never found out.”

“Jin can tell us later.” He grinned turning his attention back to her belly rubbing soft circles across its surface. “All that matters is that you and the baby are healthy.”

“I still can’t fly.” She reminded him. “It’s not good for the baby.” There was a hope, however small, that if she could stall him, then she could slip away.

He smiled at her fondly. “I have Jin waiting at the jet. He’ll monitor you throughout the flight.”

“Oh,” She breathed disappointed by the development, but of course he had thought of everything. He was always a step ahead no matter how hard she tried.

The ride was not long. It less than a two hour drive to Pisa, and as promised Jin was waiting on the plane for them. He smiled at her and settled her into one of the cushy seats.

“Can you lift up your dress for me, sweet girl? I can pull out the pajamas too if you’d prefer. They may be more comfortable for the long flight.” He asked.

“The pajamas please.” She nodded tiredly, and Jin happily went to fetch them for her, ushering her up and into a small bedroom at the back of the plane where she was able to change in peace.

Jin helped her back to her seat when she emerged in a pair of silky pajamas and slippers. He had been right. It was going to be much more comfortable for the flight, and if she could avoid Namjoon by sleeping for most of the flight, she would.

“I’m going to attach a fetal monitor to your belly so we can keep an eye on the belly. I have a labor and delivery nurse on the flight as well to help keep an eye on mom and baby.” He grinned gently pressing the little stickers onto her belly as he addressed both her and Namjoon who was hovering nearby. “It’s good to see you, Y/N. How far along are you now?”

“Thirty-four weeks.”

“Not long till the little one arrives then.” He nodded giving her one last smile and moving away to sit elsewhere as Namjoon settled in next to her for the long flight, taking one of her hands in his frowning at the simple gold wedding band that rested there.

Namjoon slipped it off with a frown pocketing the ring before bringing out the one she had left behind all those months ago with all its glitz and glory.

“I’d prefer if you wore your ring, jagi, and not some trinket from that pest.” He sighed slipping it on her finger. “You’ve cut your hair.” He noted equally displeased by the drastic change in length as he was with the ring he had just confiscated.

“It’s easier to hide when you don’t look the same as when you ran.” She huffed brushing a stray lock behind her ear, though it slipped out again shortly after. It was a major disadvantage to the shaggy pixie cut she now sported. She couldn’t tie her hair up, and she couldn’t get it to stay behind her ear either. She didn’t have any headbands on the flight to keep it out of her face either. Those were all back at the cottage.

“I don’t like it.” He grumbled. “I liked your hair before. Oh well. It’ll grow.”

“You have no say over how I wear my hair.” She snapped snatching her hand back.

His grin was sharp and wolf like as he stared her down. “I think you’ll find I have a say over a great many things, jagi. You’ve caused so much trouble. I can’t have you putting yourself or the baby in danger any longer. You’ll behave or you’ll find yourself in much more trouble than you’re already in.” He warned before turning his attention back towards her belly. “Is the baby still kicking?”

“He’s always kicking.”

She flinched as Namjoon laid a hand back over her belly again leaning down to whisper to her bump. “You have to be nice to your eomma. She needs her strength to make sure you’re healthy.”

Namjoon had missed her more than he liked to admit, but seeing her heavy with his child filled him with pride. He only wished that he could have been there for the entirety of the pregnancy. He wanted to be there for it all, the morning sickness, the cravings, the doctor’s appointments. He wanted to be there to watch her belly grow, but that had all been taken away from him. He would be there for the next one though. He was going to fill their home with children.

Yoongi already had a son. Jin was working on getting Hayan healthy enough to support a pregnancy. The younger boys were also beginning to express interest in starting families of their own. Taehyung was even beginning to talk about ending his seemingly never ending game of cat and mouse with his ‘little bird’, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Hoseok was already planning a family with Iyla.

Iyla. That was another variable he would have to deal with. Y/N didn’t yet know that her dear younger sister was in his hands, or more accurately, Hoseok’s hands. That was a surprise he was going to leave for when they arrived home, and Y/N was well rested from the journey. She had been right when she’d warned him that flying was dangerous for her at this point in the pregnancy. It was why he had Jin and two labor and delivery nurses on the flight. He was taking every precaution to make sure that both she and the baby would be safe. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to either of them.

Y/N was extremely uncomfortable with Namjoon’s show of affection and his interest in her belly, but she allowed it, too tired to really fight back for the moment as well as knowing better than to push him too far at the moment.

“He or she will be out soon enough.” She sighed moving his hand off her belly and curling up in her seat. “I can deal with a few kicks to the kidneys until then.”

Namjoon sighed before moving up the seat divider and pulling her into his arms resting both of his hands on top of her belly. “Don’t push me away. I’ve missed so much of our child’s life. Let me have this.”

“We can’t sit like this for takeoff.” She reminded him beginning to pry his arms away again.

“Just let me hold you till then.” He pouted placing a soft kiss on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. “I’ve missed you, jagi.” He murmured placing another kiss further up her neck.

“Please don’t.” She sighed squirming in his arms.

“I haven’t held you in months, jagi.” He released a sigh of his own letting her go so she could settle back in her own seat as the flight attendants readied them for takeoff.

As the plane took off climbing higher into the sky, her heart sunk further and further. She didn’t want to leave Italy behind. She didn’t want to leave Mark behind, but she didn’t have a choice. Even if it wasn’t for the baby, she wouldn’t have had much of a choice. Namjoon was a sneaky bastard, and he always seemed to be a ten steps ahead of her. She had been lucky to have so much time away from him, but all good things come to an end eventually.

She knew there wasn’t much hope for her, not anymore, but maybe there was a chance for Mark. Namjoon was a sadistic bastard, and Mark had had the audacity to take her away from him. It wasn’t something that Namjoon was going to treat lightly. Death would not come swiftly for Mark, but perhaps that would be his saving grace. The longer Namjoon waited to get rid of Mark, the better chance there was of Mark finding a way to escape. The man was a veritable magician. She was constantly amazed at his ability to get in and out of sticky situations. If there was anyone that could slip away from Namjoon, it was Mark.

“What’s going to happen?” She asked softly once the seat belt warning had been lifted and Namjoon had reverted to holding her in his arms absent mindedly rubbing senseless patterns into her belly.

“What do you mean, jagi?” He hummed smiling as he felt the baby kick lightly against one of his hands.

“What’s going to happen when we get back to Korea?”

His arms tightened around her slightly. “We’re going to go home, jagi. You’re going to need lots of rest with your due date so soon.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She grumbled pushing back slightly as she struggled to get comfortable. She was finding it harder and harder to be comfortable as her due date approached, and Namjoon’s proximity wasn’t helping.

Her discomfort was clear, and it wasn’t something Namjoon could allow. He needed her calm and rested for the flight, for the next few weeks really. “Jin!” He called bringing the doctor running. “Can we move Y/N to the bedroom? I think she’d be more comfortable lying down.”

Jin nodded with a smile helping Namjoon to move the heavily pregnant woman and the monitors to the back of the plane, getting them all settled before leaving the couple to their privacy.

Namjoon was careful to get her settled with pillows piled up at the headboard for them to lie against. He had her nestled against him despite her grumbling, but he knew despite her grumpy attitude, the new position was far more comfortable for her, and it gave her more room to adjust herself than the chairs in the front did.

“You never answered my question.” She reminded him with a sigh.

“You mean your punishment for leaving me? For taking our child and running off with that pest?” She nodded stiffly, waiting for his answer. “For the sake of the baby, I’m willing to overlook your little moment of insanity, but it all depends on how well you, jagi. I can be very forgiving, or I can make life very hard. I’d prefer to be forgiving though. We should be focusing on our baby after all.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to keep your promise.” He chuckled. “I want you to be a good wife and mother. No more running. No more hiding.”

“And all is forgiven? Just like that?”

She couldn’t believe that. Namjoon was not a forgiving man. He was a shark. He would never forget, and he’d take into account every variable to keep her firmly in her grasp this time. She had one shot, one real shot, and she had used it already. Namjoon wasn’t likely to let her slip away again, especially not with a child in the mix.

“Not just like that, but it’s a start.” He leaned in nudging his nose against the spot just below her ear. “And after all, doesn’t our baby deserve the best start we can give them?”

“And you’re the best thing for this child?” She scoffed squirming in his arms again.

“I know I am. And what other choice do you have?” He chuckled nipping lightly at her ear. “You’re never leaving me again.”

part 2

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tamakiuwwdweeb · 2 years

Text

🔥🔥 Dabi 🔥🔥

Sleeping touch~

Summary; A nurse with a relieving touch and a body that always felt pain, fate knocking on her house door in the middle of the night brought the troubled to her.

TW; blood, scars (Dabi), stitches, talks of experiencing high intensities of pain.

Y/n’s quirk was sleeping touch, her body produces a sedative that either puts said victim under sleep if she touches them and uses enough energy. Yet her mere touch acts as a an anxiety relevant, able to make the victim feel calm and relaxed.

Hero’s nor villains necessarily held a particular place in her heart, y/n could understand both sides equally. So she just became a nurse to heal the citizens of her city. Often she worked long night, and tiresome hours, arriving back sometimes at midnight days after she left home initially. But her quirk was too beneficial to just send her home, constantly she’d be called to help sedate or relieve a patient.

Y/n had just made it back home only to flop onto the living room sofa, face first. Completely exhausted, she failed to even flip herself over before drifting off to sleep. All the days patients discomfort seemed to linger in her mind, something about seeing someone in such a state that y/n was needed made her heart break. Though her body wanted rest so badly, y/n couldn’t just leave people to suffer. So with the bit of energy she still possessed, y/n dragged herself to go make some tea before opening the hospital files, marking which patients need which treatment, a task usually she’d do on the job but couldn’t anymore since the increase in wounded coming in.

The steady beat from a LoFi song in her headphones let her relax while drinking the tea and doing her work. Music seemed to make y/n lose herself into a peaceful and happy place. So after another hour of work, she glanced down to the clock to see her next shift was in a matter of hours again. Maybe if lucky, she’d have a two hour nap and get by the next few days on coffee and energy drinks.

But a sound in the background of the song made her head tilt. The sound of knocking wasn’t something she’d noticed before in the song. Ignoring it since she figured it was just something she’d missed in the playing song. Right after the song ended, a more rapid and urgent banging sound meant it definitely wasn’t in the song, it was someone at the door of her house.

Usually a knock at the front door in the middle of night was odd, but this was even more strange since it was the back door that was being hit repeatedly, the glass of the door being marked by red. Her blood went cold when she noted it to be a smear of blood. A part of y/n said not to open that door, that danger was lurking near by obviously… yet of course there was that nurse mentality overtaking that someone needed help regardless of her own safety.

With a deep breath, y/n opened the door ready to put the person outside to sleep without questioning who they were or what they wanted. Lucky for y/n the man stood hunched over, easy enough for y/n to instantly touch his forehead. But before he passed out, she pulled away. I’m case this was too serious, she didn’t want to put him under and make it so he couldn’t wake again.

“What happened?” Y/n questioned as she helped the random man into her living room, blood dripping on the floor as she struggled to keep his weight up.

The man said nothing as he took his jacket on, stitches on his arms bled as they ripped his skin, a large gash shown when he lifted the white shirt up slightly.

“Oh g- Okay, it’s going to be fine. Just lay down here, keep your upper torso elevated. I’ll be back with some stuff to clean you up.” She went to move but his wrist gripped hers tightly.

“I need pain meds.” He seethed out, her heart hurting from the strain in his voice. It was obvious he was use to pain, but the fact that he was in so much made y/n just want to take it all away from the man.

“Okay, I can use my quirk. Is that okay?” She moved to hover her hands over his better arm which didn’t have as much bleeding.

“…” without saying anything, he eyed her while she gently held his arm, as if he’d break like fine China under her touch.

“If you still feel pain after this, just tell me.” Her grey eyes completely whitened as she used her quirk, hoping she had enough energy left to held him.

“… How?” His voice came after a few seconds, the strain now gone as he leaned his head back, completely relaxed without any pain.

“My quirk… just stay here, let me get you a drink and some supplies. My names y/n, just shout if it comes back. I’ll be quick.” Y/n pushed his hair back in a soothing manner, a action his mother used to do to sooth him. The content man rested his eyes as he basked in the feeling of relief.

“Here you go, drink, I’ll help you…” y/n spoke quietly while she held his head up to drink, her hands alone made him feel at ease.

“Aren’t you scared I’m a bad man? I mean I come banging on the door at midnight bleeding and covered in scars.” He chuckled a bit while y/n bandaged and cleaned his scar wounds, taking care to clean his wounds gently in order to not hurt him more.

“Well of course, but I can’t leave you for dead. I’m a nurse, I doubt I could’ve left you out there even if I tried. Plus, seeing how my quirk helped you feel a relief is all I care about, makes the risk worth it even if it’s my last.” Y/n spoke but her eyes remained fixated on stitching his stomach wound together, it looking so perfect that it was unlikely it would scar him more.

“Pfft… imagine if I had you stitching me up all along, wouldn’t be looking like this, would I.” The man joked, a sad smile on y/n’s face.

“I know this is painful, I feel your pain… a secret of my quirk I suppose. The pain is reflected onto me instead of the person… I’m sorry I wouldn’t help sooner…” y/n finished stitching as she felt a tear leave her eye, surprising even herself. “Sorry, I get emotion when I feel someone’s pain, it’s like being in their shoes for five minutes, feeling what they do.”

“Why do that for a random person, it’s not like they’d do anything in return.” The man questioned with his eyes closed, completely relaxed.

“Don’t need anything in return though, the fact I could do something impactful means more to me, even if it’s just in one persons life. Guess that’s why I’ve never hated hero’s or villains, I see them as people. That’s it. If that person needs help, I’ll do it.” Y/n explained further walking into kitchen to clean up.

“Come here.” His voice was demanding but not in a harsh manner, more of a friendly tone. So after washing y/n’s hands, she walked and squatted in front him to sooth him again, figuring that was surely it. “I go by Dabi.”

“I go by y/n.” She smiled at him as she soothed him further while brushing her hand on his head, comforting him the best she could for the time being. “You’re always welcome here, Dabi. You get hurt or anything, my house is open. I know you are a villain, so I understand the whole not wanting to go to a hospital.” Y/n kept her voice low, his breathing slow and steady.

“Alright… thanks.” He answered back but grabbed her wrist before she could get up. “Do you constantly release that- your quirk?”

“Mhm, my whole body natural produces the ability but I just can focus it when I use energy. So when someone hugs are touches me at all, they usually become relaxed almost instantly.” Y/n laughed at memories of her friends yawning and falling asleep on dinner days out after accidentally touching her.

“So if I do this,” Dabi pulled y/n into his arms carefully, y/n not attempting to move, his embrace was so warm it made y/n relaxed instead. “It’ll just passively do that?” His body started getting comfortable made his guess correct.

“Mhm.” Y/n already felt her body give up, exhaustion was beyond after her forty hour shift at the hospital.

“Just… Just stay like this for a bit.” He mumbled, not admitting how much he had began to like y/n, her caring and loving nature was so different to what he had become normalized to.

“I’d like that… just no moving, let’s not open the stitch up…” y/n mumbled into his chest as she laid beside him on the couch. “Though I did make it pretty sturdy…”

“I like this… could get real use to sleeping like this.” He smirked looking down at her.

“Well I usually make dinner to feed two and just put the other half for the next day, so next time if you were to pass by uninjured would be best but still, there would be another plate for you. I can help you relax after again if you’d like of course.” She turned to look away after realizing what she was saying.

“Heh, alright then, don’t be surprised when I hold you up to that.” He smirked while placing his hand on her back, beginning to drift off asleep as well.

“I look forward to it…” the sound of soft snoring was a sign that they’d both passed out, that forty hour shift she had coming up in a few hours meant she’d have to call in sick. But then the idea of falling and being around villains came into mind, a smile on her face as she slept just thinking of all the people she could help that were too afraid to go to a hospital to get treated.

Once again she’d faced the next part of her life, maybe it was time to treat those that really need it, maybe the villains were more appreciative of someone with her quirk.

That night she’d signed herself mentally to helping Dabi with his wound, and maybe eventually helping the rest of his group. Unknowingly to her, Dabi was thinking of ways he could convince y/n to come join the league of villains. His determination to not let her go meant she’d have to one day be his, the first time he’d ever felt cared for and he wanted more moments that felt as good as they did now.

~~~~~~~~~

Hi! So of course characters rights are to MHA, if you have inspiration from any of my stories you’re welcome to write your own short/normal stories, just please give credit where it’s due! Copyrights of story line is my own, so again if you create something from inspiration this posts gives, just please tag and credit me <3

☁️ Much love to everyone. Stay healthy and safe out there bby ☁️ ~ H.N

Also if you know me, you don’t. ;-;

#mha #boku no hero academia #ao3 dabi #dabi fluff #dabi imagine #mha dabi #dabi my hero academia #dabi x you #dabi todoroki #mha x y/n #mha fluff

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

Text

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid.

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be.

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you.

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right?

Wrong.

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital.

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath.

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Not obvious.”

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.”

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in.

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.”

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.”

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity.

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?”

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it.

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing.

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.”

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.”

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.”

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents.

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator.

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him.

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.”

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens.

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.”

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.”

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending.

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt.

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him.

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree.

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?”

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!”

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin.

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.”

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.”

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.”

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops.

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges.

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed.

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.”

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.”

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.”

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!”

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!”

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.”

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.”

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.”

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?”

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.”

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to.

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.”

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?”

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing.

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house.

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

taglist: @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bakugou series #bnha fic #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #mha fic #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Debris

Characters: Jaehee, Yoosung, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,755

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: In which Rika’s apartment blows up and the reader’s s/o evaluates their emotions.

Author’s Note: I haven’t played Yoosung’s and Jaehee’s routes in about a year so this probably won’t be too canon compliant. That being said it felt great to get back to my fic roots. I Hope y’all enjoyed this nostalgic journey! I especially tried to distinguish their personalities in writing style.

Also, if a whole apartment blew up the building would collapse and most likely everyone inside it and immediately around it would die but we’re going to pretend certain laws of physics and stuff don’t work. Idk maybe Mint Eye used a low explosive like gunpowder.

Jaehee

She hadn’t meant to forget about it, she really hadn’t. It was only, well, life was so complicated at the moment. Work, contemplating what she wanted to do with her life, surely it was enough for one person; even more so for an overworked secretary. Besides, she didn’t want to think about the terrors of the world when she thought of you. Indeed, what did she want to think of when she thought of you?

All these questions swirled around her head. Earlier Jaehee might’ve dismissed such foolish questions. After all, thinking about such things didn’t get meetings done or stop Mr. Han from doing something idiotic again. Jaehee didn’t have the time or the privilege to think about what she wanted in life. It was enough to be here, to have a good paying job and a roof over her head and some semblance of freedom from what she’d left behind.

Maybe it was for that reason that she had forgotten about the apartment situation. Her horizons had already been broadened so much, perhaps there simply wasn’t room for anything else. Even if that anything else included your own safety.

Getting calls from Seven wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar, but nevertheless Jaehee still felt a sense of unease at the number that suddenly appeared right as a company meeting was about to begin. Luciel knew the RFA members’ schedules like the back of his computer, more than the members themselves in the case of Yoosung most likely. Besides, Jaehee had told him this coffee situation was proving to be incredibly important. Why then was he calling her now?

“Luciel, I don’t know what you want, but I have urgent matters to attend to. Could you please call back in about an hour and fifteen minutes?”

“Jaehee, I think you’ll want to hear about this.”

“What, what is it?” Sometimes Seven’s tendency towards cryptic messages was truly too irritating. Still his voice was certainly more agitated than the normal, joking tone that he took. Already Jaehee could feel the familiar tendrils of anxiety.

“You know how I told you guys about the hacker, right?”

“Yes, the one that was trying to get into Rika’s apartment. Didn’t you say that you had taken care of it?”

“That one. Well, I thought I had, or at least, it certainly looked that way. I didn’t, damn, I didn’t think that the bastard would be able to hide what he was doing from me. Who on Earth is that man I don-”

“Luciel, please keep this short.”

“O-oh. I’m sorry. Well, apparently, he wasn’t done. I got a notification, or, well, more like I saw it on the news. The apartment complex, uhm, well, haha…”

“Seven!” Jaehee had the sneaking suspicion she knew what was about to be said. Still a distant part of her brain retained the calm of denial.

“Sorry! I, what I mean to say is, the apartment. The apartment got, set off.”

“Set off?”

“Blew up. Boom. The bomb, I don’t know how, but it was triggered. And now, yeah. The whole block is half covered under rubble, and we don’t, I don’t, have a lot of information about the people inside the apartment. I’m doing the best I can, trying to get into the CCTV footage outside. But, uh, yeah. I thought you should know. Since, y’know, I know that you seemed really close wi-”

Maybe it was unpardonably rude for Jaehee to hang up on Luciel, but in that moment she could think of nothing else to do. It was as if, in letting the line die, she was rewriting time, so that nothing had happened.

Jaehee made it as far as the doors of the conference room before turning around and dashing towards the staircase. Taking the stairs two at a time she didn’t bother to clock out or tell Jumin about what was going on. It wasn’t important after all. How could it be? The explosion, that was what took precedence in her mind. More than work, more than these strange questions, all she could think about was you. She had to find out if you were okay, had to contact you in some ways. If not, if not. If not then what?

“Seven, I need the address to Rika’s apartment.”

“What? No are you crazy? You can’t just go to the place the hacker blew up. Besides, the location is confidential.”

“Not when it’ll be on every television station in Korea. I need to find out if they’re okay.”

“You can’t just go rummaging through wreckage on your own, you won’t even get past the yellow tape. It’s better to wait.”

“I’m going.”

“Wait! At least let me try to call them first, okay?”

“It would be faster if I went.”

“No. No it wouldn’t. Just give me a second. I’m already trying to figure out where their phone is. I’m almost done.”

For once Jaehee didn’t even question the legality, or morality, of Seven’s actions.

As it turns out you had been going grocery shopping – against Seven’s recommendations – and as such were at the tail end of the blast radius. Staring intently at the hospital address Seven had texted her, Jaehee quickly made her way over to the front desk. Having finally messaged Jumin, she made it through the entrance quite easily – sometimes being the secretary to a well-known CEO-to-be paid off.

Your room was in a quieter corner of the hospital, away from the groaning and shrieking of those who hadn’t been as lucky. The bomb had been a small sort of one, made up of a low explosive. Apparently V and Seven’s reservations truly hadn’t been feigned. Perhaps Jaehee should’ve felt grateful that they had made a bomb that was relatively ineffective. In that moment however she couldn’t bring herself to feel relief.

The soft smile that illuminated your face as Jaehee walked into your room was enough to make her heart ache.

“Hey Jaehee. Hope I didn’t cause too much work for you.”

“Work for me? How could you think of something at this time? What about you? Are you too badly hurt? What happened? Is there something I can do for you?”

“Jaehee please! Calm down. I was basically fine. A few cuts and bruises are nothing to worry about.”

“Did they check and see if you inhaled anything? What about your head, did anything hit it?”

“Hey,” you replied softly. Taking Jaehee’s wildly fluttering hands in yours you smiled softly. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I’m fine. Really. Don’t make yourself sick over me. You already work too much.”

“I’ve informed Mr. Han I’m going to take a few days off. I want to make sure that there are no side effects to what just happened.”

“Well, I’m very flattered, happy even. But you have to take care of yourself too Jaehee. It’ll just make me unhappy if you get sick over me. Besides, there are other things to worry about. Like what you’re going to do about your work and what you love and stuff. Don’t bury that stuff, alright?”

“Think of me still, how odd you are,” Jaehee let out a sigh. Nevertheless, she said nothing more. It wouldn’t do to make you worry about her after all.

Though you couldn’t exactly call it nursing you back to health Jaehee was certainly attentive in the week and a half to come. All throughout the time she kept thinking, about you, about her, about what all this meant. In truth it was only after you were safe that Jaehee could acknowledge how terrified she had been, enough to consider diving through the wreckage of an apartment. You had opened up a whole new world to her, without you Jaehee would’ve never begun thinking about herself, about her own happiness. She had so much to thank you for. Even more, Jaehee had the sneaking suspicion that she would want to thank you even if you had done nothing.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh?” You smiled, puzzled by the sudden conversation.

“I’m going to attempt to start again, to start doing something I want to do. I hope that you’ll join me in this endeavor.”

Your smiled was blinding.

“Of course, I will!”

Perhaps now Jaehee could acknowledge the love that bloomed within her at your assent.

Yoosung

He knew it was going to happen. He knew that there was no way of escaping it. Maybe that’s why he almost felt like a burden had been lifted when he finally heard that the inevitable had happened.

Ever since Seven had first revealed the bomb in Rika’s apartment Yoosung knew it was going to go off. It wasn’t some weird dream thing like Zen, or some calculation the way Jumin or Seven might do. Yoosung just knew, somehow, he really did just know it. He tried to put it off, tried to stop it even. If he could go with Seven to find out about the hacker, if he could stop this weird organization, if he could get V to finally tell the damn truth, then maybe, maybe he’d be able to prevent it.

Luck was never on his side though, this Yoosung had learned long ago. He wasn’t strong enough to stop the bomb from going off, he wasn’t strong enough to keep you safe. All these things that he wanted, needed to be, and he couldn’t do any of those things. You were the first person he had formed any sort of deep connection with since Rika. Maybe that’s why he kept mixing you up in the beginning; after all, it was the first time he even began to feel a similar amount of happiness since her death. And now you were in danger of going away as well. It haunted Yoosung. He never thought that he’d ever use that word to describe, he found it sort of pretentious, but really it was the only word he could think to describe the situation. Every text, every voice call, every reminder that you were alive, that you were somewhere on this Earth, it was like a lifeline, one he was desperately grabbing onto.

“Hey, Seven?”

“What?” Seven’s reply was muffled by the cheap sandwich shoved into his mouth. Secretly Yoosung found the convenience store sandwich bread disgusting, but right he wasn’t thinking about that.

“Something’s blinking.”

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“Something on the monitor, it just started blinking red in the corner, one of the tabs in the bottom, it might’ve just opened too I don’t know.”

“Let me check,” Seven replied, ambling his way over to the monitor. Once he saw the icon though he let out a loud series of curses. “Shit, shit, shit, shit. Yoosung?”

“What?” Yoosung already knew that something had gone wrong. Adrenaline began to race through him, and the world suddenly seemed both all too fast and all too slow.

“Grab my phone and go to the RFA app. My version has a tracker on all the RFA member’s phones. I want you to make sure that there’s one around Rika’s apartment.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yup and sleazy. Now look.”

Yoosung tapped on the app with trembling fingers. Seeing the icon, he paused. He needed to know. Before he looked, he needed to know.

“Hey, Seven.”

“What.”

“Did, did something happen to the apartment.”

“Yoosung, I need you to understand that it’s probably fine.”

“Probably, Seven what are you talking about?”

“It’s, it’s, something went wrong.”

“Went wrong? What went wrong? Seven, stop being so damn cryptic!” Yoosung’s voice was shaking by now, but he pressed forward.

“Fine.” Seven let out a long sigh, before breathing in deeply once more. “The apartment, it blew. I don’t know how or why or what but the bomb went off. And now we need to make sure that all the members of the RFA are safe.”

That they’re safe. Yoosung knew what Seven was trying to say, what he refused to say. Still the words seemed so odd. Of course Yoosung knew it was going to happen, knew that he wasn’t going to be that lucky, knew that V and Seven’s secrets would eventually fuck something up. But still, it was too soon, it was not right. Just because he had seen it coming didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt any less. Letting the phone drop from his hands Yoosung drifted down the hall towards the bathroom; where he promptly crumbled into a ball and let the tears flow.

Yoosung didn’t know how long it took to figure out you were alright, didn’t know how far away the hospital was or how much Seven stepped on the gas. His mind was surprisingly blank, wiped free of any sense of time or space. Even learning you had survived – by climbing on the neighboring fire escape and running like hell when the warnings started going off – didn’t clear the fog around his brain. Wandering down the hospital, half pushed by Seven, he wondered when this odd nightmare was ever going to end.

The moment he saw your face the world sped up again. Not realizing that Seven had decided to stand outside instead of watch the scene in front of him, and frankly not caring, Yoosung catapulted himself towards you. Crushing you in a hug he buried his face in your neck, trying to convince himself that you were real, that you were alive, that you weren’t going to be put in the ground and have dirt shoved upon you. That you were really, truly, still here.

“I should’ve been there to protect you.”

Night had fallen, and visiting hours were almost over at the hospital. At first Yoosung had been all smiles, all very teary smiles. Fussing about you, fluffing your pillow, yelling at Seven about what food would be appropriate to give you, Yoosung had ridden the wave of manic relief that kept him from thinking about everything that he’d been beating himself up about for the past, who knew how long. Now that things had slowed down however, he found himself thinking about them again.

Talking to you was the only way Yoosung knew how to make all the doubts and worries go away. He wasn’t cool like Zen or in control like Jumin. He desperately wanted to talk to you, wanted to know what you thought about everything and anything. And this was part of that. Now that he was here, in the quiet of the evening, Yoosung realized that he couldn’t bring himself not to talk to you about it.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that Yoosung,” you replied softly. “It wasn’t something you could predict. Besides, you could’ve gotten hurt, and then where would we be?”

“I know, but still! I, I really like you, I want to be your boyfriend when this is all over. But I can’t even protect you. I couldn’t save Rika, and now you almost died!”

“I didn’t almost die, Yoosung you’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not!” Frustration and fear combined in Yoosung’s voice, and he found his words cracking pathetically. “I’m not even mature enough to protect you, I’m not strong enough to be someone, someone worth something.”

“Yoosung, please listen to me,” your voice was soft but firm. Yoosung quieted, staring at your linked hands. “There are different kinds of maturity in the world,” you continued. “Sometimes being mature means not giving into emotions, or being really strong, or really good at doing all the things you’re supposed to do when you grow up. But you can be mature in other ways. Yoosung, I think you’re really matured when it comes to being kind. Not a lot of people are kind like you, or care about people a lot. And I really love that about you. So, I hate when you act like it’s a bad thing, or like you’re weak or something. You aren’t weak because you can’t control the world or because you aren’t ‘cool’ or something. In fact, you’re one of the strongest people I know!”

Yoosung was silent, trying to let your words sink in. He wasn’t good at accepting compliments, he never had been. Still, in that moment, he felt unbelievably light.

Smiling softly, finally letting himself look you in the face Yoosung felt his heart flutter as you smiled back. He didn’t quite believe in you, or himself, yet. But in that moment, he couldn’t deny how much he loved you.

And how much it meant to him that you loved him back.

#sorry this is a day late #mystic messenger #jaehee x reader #jaehee kang #yoosung x reader #yoosung kim #mystic messenger fanfiction #scenarios #my writing #requested

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years

Text

casualty report

my entry for @queenangst‘s bnha gen contest! Link to AO3, but also contained below the Keep Reading.

WC: 2,454

Summary: Hospitals are supposed to be places of healing. Yet whenever Toshinori sits in one with Gran Torino, it seems that Toshinori is always clawing at his own heart. Spoilers up to C305.

The air is cold, sterile, and silent, save for the low hum of machinery and intermittent beeping of the heart monitor.

Yagi Toshinori enters Gran Torino’s assigned room in a similarly muted fashion, sliding the door open and shut with barely a click. He finds the chair where he left it; the old man hasn’t gotten any visitors besides him and the nurses. Like Midoriya, Torino teeters on the knife edge of survival, and like Midoriya’s classmates, Torino’s colleagues are swamped with work.

Toshinori has the privilege to visit them both. So he splits his time between his teacher-mentor-father and his student-successor-son and waits. They are similarly stubborn about clinging to life; Toshinori is confident they will wake.

Whether they will be happy about it…

As he sits, Gran Torino’s eyes crack open. His already labored breathing stutters, resulting in a full-body twitch that eventually culminates in a pained groan.

“Take it slow,” Toshinori advises.

“Stupid lesson from a stupid teacher,” Torino snaps. Toshinori looks away to focus on the bright yellow fabric bundled on top of a cabinet, neither laundered nor repaired. He’ll have to do it later.

The silence between them is tense. Surprisingly, it’s Torino who breaks it.

“Izuku?”

“Coma,” Toshinori says, fingers curling into fists. Before Torino can curse, Toshinori adds, “I think he’s talking to the predecessors of One for All.”

“Not something you could do,” the old man comments. He’s peering down at his injuries with a detached fascination: the maimed leg, the thick compress hiding beneath his bandages. Toshinori is uncomfortably reminded of his own injury, and of his own convalescence. He had recovered quickly, and privately, though he suspects that One for All had assisted with the process.

However lucky Torino is to have survived, Toshinori thinks the aftermath will be so much messier.

“It’s not,” he agrees.

“How can you tell?”

“A feeling,” says Toshinori. He forges on despite Gran Torino’s disbelieving eyebrows. “I think oshishou had a point, about the predecessors’ spirits living on in One for All. I’m not able to channel One for All anymore, but I think I still have some connection to the Quirk.”

“Ghosts in the machine,” says Torino dryly. He studies Toshinori. “Oh. You’re not joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

Honestly, Toshinori had thought Torino would be ecstatic (as ecstatic as the old man ever got, as he swung between smugness, serenity, and seething fury) at the possibility of reconnecting with Shimura Nana. He had also quailed at the thought of telling Gran Torino that Toshinori’s own connection seemed to be a one-way thing.

And Toshinori doesn’t know how to tell Torino that he feels betrayed, in a way.

When he was researching the previous users of One for All, an alien-like urgency had pushed him past investigating to obsessing. As though a whisper had filtered through his head and said: what else, what more, why now?

Shinomori’s case. The hypothesis that Toshinori’s Quirkless heritage had protected him from the pitfalls of a stockpile Quirk.

The harsh intake of multiple people breathing in at once, even though Toshinori had been alone, with only stacks of heavily-redacted reports to keep him company. All of Toshinori’s devotion, and it had earned him nothing but sleepless nights and silent vigils.

Torino sighs then, heavy with resignation. And just like that, he moves on. “Shigaraki?”

“Escaped,” Toshinori reluctantly says. He doesn’t want to talk about the current situation of society and its failure to stabilize in the wake of so many terrible revelations and events. He really doesn’t want to talk about Tartarus. Except, it will be impossible to keep Torino in the dark about it forever. “Don’t have a heart attack on me, but—All for One’s back on the field.”

One heartbeat. Then two.

Something like forty years ago, Gran Torino and Toshinori had sat in a hospital room, numbed to the core by the very real confrontation and consequence of baiting All for One into the light. The superficial injuries belied the grief suffusing Toshinori’s body, and although he hadn’t recognized it at the time, the terror in Torino’s.

White-faced, Gran Torino had told Toshinori that they could not afford to stop moving.

Sleep. Wake up. Go to school. Your internship hours are going to be spent sparring with me.

For the rest of the year?

Until I’m goddamn satisfied.

It was a miracle they had survived the first week without killing each other. In retrospect, Toshinori could see the value in Torino’s decision to forgo the mourning period. Toshinori had still ended up sobbing on the ground, confessing to his father what he could not to his mother.

And of course, without dwelling on Toshinori’s admission, Gran Torino moved on to the next point of business.

“Cockroach,” Torino says through gritted teeth. The heart monitor stays impressively calm. “Third time’s the charm, then?”

“Torino-sensei, the third time was Kamino Ward. It’s safe to say the odds are against us.”

Toshinori’s bleak assessment earns him a narrowed glare, and it’s a sign of how exhausted and bitter Toshinori feels that he is unfazed. He can afford to be scared of Torino when Torino is walking of his own volition, cursing up a storm about the fact that he can no longer eat a whole box of microwaved taiyaki.

“Casualties?”

“Multiple civilians,” says Toshinori. “Multiple pro-heroes. None of the students, thank goodness.”

Torino stares at him. “There were no students at the hospital.”

“Many were… encouraged to participate in the mansion raid.” It still leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Terrible, yes, to see Eraserhead bandaged up yet again due to Toshinori’s failures, but it was even worse to see his students file back into U.A.’s dorms, eyes shadowed with something more than grief. Midnight’s death haunts them still.

The old man breathes.

“What else?”

“A loss of trust,” Toshinori says, leaning his elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together like a prayer. “Civilians want to protect themselves, and the remaining pro-heroes of Japan are stretched thin. Some died, and many are retiring.” He offers Torino a mirthless smile. “Yoroi Musha is out.”

“Twenty years too late,” Torino responds.

“You never liked him.”

“Gimmicky cowards with a chip on their shoulder shouldn’t be in this line of work.”

Well. Either Toshinori takes that as a personal insult, an unintentional dig, or Gran Torino’s acerbic sense of humor. He goes quiet anyway. Now is a good time as any for a lull in conversation to occur, but Toshinori doesn’t get long to contemplate his next move.

“What’s eating you up,” Torino demands flatly.

“Nothing.”

“Pull my other leg.”

“It’s nothing,” Toshinori stresses. “And if there was something, I wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Toshinori. When you bottle up your specific brand of guilt, it has a tendency to backfire on you spectacularly,” says Torino. “I’m not walking away for a long time, so get it off your chest right now while I’m wired to half a dozen machines.”

Toshinori interlocks his fingers.

“Toshinori.”

“The Public Safety Commission has been disbanded,” he tries. “Their headquarters were attacked the same time the raids occurred.”

“Unsurprising,” says Torino.

“I don’t think anyone could have anticipated a direct attack, Torino-sensei.”

“I’m not talking about the Commission. I’m talking about you. Deflecting.”

Hospitals are supposed to be places of healing. Yet whenever Toshinori sits in one with Gran Torino, it seems that Toshinori is always clawing at his own heart.

“Do I disappoint you?” Toshinori asks, resigned to hearing an answer he already knows, staring hard at his hands. He’s pushing the wrong side of his fifties, less grizzled and more gaunt, more of a beanpole and less of a pillar. It’s impossible to remember all the things he did right when all Toshinori can see is where he went wrong.

And even though Gran Torino looks so fragile, tiny and bedridden, bandaged and hooked up to more machines than Toshinori can count on one hand—he still has the strength to look ahead.

Toshinori didn’t learn that. He had thought he did, those six years ago when he survived the fight with All for One, because in spite of the grievous injury, All Might had forged on.

“You can be honest,” Toshinori says. “Just like in U.A.”

“We’re a long way from that time,” says Gran Torino. His expectant and unimpressed expression hasn’t changed.

“It was a yes or no question, Torino-sensei.”

“No, then.”

He says it so simply. Toshinori blinks. Torino tips his head to the side, watching with half-lidded eyes how Toshinori processes his answer. Except Toshinori cannot fathom when this change of perception happened, because just as recently as Kamino Ward, Toshinori had still been reduced to sitting on his ass, listening to Gran Torino’s instructions.

“You’ve done more than anyone should have asked of you,” Torino says. “And you did it well.”

“I overlooked so many problems,” Toshinori protests. “So many people didn’t feel safe.”

“Brat,” says Gran Torino fondly.

“Torino-sensei.”

“There’s something more than that. You’ve been dealing with that insecurity for decades, and you know as well as I do that even a Symbol of Peace can’t catch everything. What’s going on?” Torino is ruthless when he wants to make a point; Toshinori circles back to his original impulsive question and thinks—

“Midoriya-shonen,” says Toshinori in a soft voice. “He’s talking to the predecessors.”

“So you said.”

“And I couldn’t. I can’t, even now, even though I’m connected to One for All still.” From there, the words come spilling out. “Oshishou told me from the beginning that One for All had some kind of spiritual essence. She might not have said outright about the voices, but she hinted at it. That we could meet again, somehow. And all those years… forty years, Torino-sensei, and—and nothing. Not a word, not a vision.”

Midoriya’s crybaby genes must have bounced over the connection, because horrifically, Toshinori can feel his face contort and his eyes water. He hasn’t cried in front of Gran Torino in decades.

“Like I wasn’t worthy,” Toshinori concludes, choking on the last word.

Here is what Toshinori learned on his own, independent of Gran Torino’s teachings: don’t cry. Smile through the fear and the pain, and don’t cry.

Conveniently, Toshinori has forgotten that all those decades ago, Gran Torino never censured him for his tears. So it is now, that Toshinori feels the unfamiliar prickle and the cooling trails sliding down his face, and Gran Torino says nothing.

Until he does.

“You’re everything Shimura stopped hoping for. Did you know that?” Toshinori jerks his head up from its bowed position; he can hear oshishou saying in her wry tone, typical Torino. Can’t make eye contact when communicating an emotion. “I saw her through almost every big milestone in her life. Her pro-hero license, her marriage, her pregnancy. The loss of her husband, and then her son.”

“You didn’t try and stop her.”

“She knew best.” Torino’s grin is painful. “I believed that then, and I believe it now. Kotarou survived longer than he would’ve if he stayed in her custody, which was ultimately her goal. So Shimura was right on that, never mind what Kotarou did with his life after. And you… I told you already.”

“You know me,” Toshinori jokes. He recalls his rusty impression of Torino’s lecturing tone, perfected during those golden hours of patrol with oshishou. “‘It takes twice as long for me to tell you something, versus me beating the lesson into you once.’”

“Then listen,” says Torino. “When Shimura met you, she was still hurting from giving up Kotarou. She couldn’t stop being a hero, but she didn’t want to stop being a mother. And every day, the news cycle spoke of a crime wave, fueled by something bigger than the injustices of the world.

“I was enough to keep her from drowning in work. It wasn’t until she met you that she started smiling again. That she had a son again.”

Toshinori scrubs his eyes. “Really could’ve used this talk forty years ago,” he manages.

“I wasn’t this emotionally intelligent forty years ago.”

“If Hound Dog ever managed to sit us down for therapy, he’d diagnose us both as emotionally-stunted,” he tells Torino. “You probably perpetuated a family cycle, Torino-sensei.”

“One of us cries, and it isn’t me,” Torino shoots back waspishly.

“It’s Midoriya-shonen,” Toshinori agrees.

Torino’s laugh comes out as a wheeze, and Toshinori winces in sympathy. The exhaustion that comes out of crying begins to settle in; he hasn’t allowed himself to cry for a while. Not in front of the students, and not in front of his colleagues. Gran Torino is situated in that blurred zone of family and teacher and co-worker.

Gran Torino is tiring as well. The conversation’s taken a lot out of him, and it surely doesn’t help that he was treated to a hint of Toshinori’s resurfacing insecurities.

“You asked if you disappointed me,” the old man says quietly, hoarsely. “Didn’t I disappoint you?”

His throat sticks.

Torino smiles, wry. “I know,” he says.

“Torino-sensei,” Toshinori attempts, horrified at his slip. He should fix this. He has to make sure Gran Torino knows that the past is past, and that his efforts haven’t been wasted on an ungrateful child. As Toshinori opens his mouth to reassure Torino, an urgent flicker of something calls out to him.

His head jerks to the door. Outside, down the hallway, in another room—

“He’s waking?”

Toshinori looks back to Torino, distractedly saying, “Yes,” before he freezes. Gran Torino has propped himself up halfway, teeth gritted with the effort it takes. He has reached out and clumsily pressed his hand against Toshinori’s forehead, fingers dipping into his hair.

It feels like a benediction.

“I am,” Torino forces out, “so proud of you. I could not be prouder. You were worth it, do you hear me, Toshinori? You are, still.”

The moment doesn’t last forever. Whatever burst of adrenaline fuels Torino, it dwindles with emotional vulnerability. He pats the top of Toshinori’s head and slumps back into his pillow, looking gray with exhaustion.

For his part, Toshinori stares, wide-eyed, like he’s fourteen years old again, meeting Gran Torino for the first time.

“Go,” says Torino. “Izuku shouldn’t wake up alone. He should have his family with him.”

There is a weak grin pulling at Torino’s mouth, familiar in its toothiness. Toshinori gets to his feet. He’s unable to return the smile, because he is suddenly terrified that if he leaves this room, Torino will somehow find a way to escape the hospital, hole up in his apartment, and—and—

“He’ll need you too,” says Toshinori. “Get better soon, tou—Torino-sensei.”

Gran Torino closes his eyes, and Yagi Toshinori moves on.

#queenangst gen contest #bnha #torino sorahiko #gran torino #yagi toshinori #all might #shih.txt #/DIVES THROUGH THE FINISH LINE/ TOUCHDOWN #found family feels #except the found family won't/can't acknowledge it #this is a long overdue conversation i hope we get in canon

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pinkoptics · 3 years

Text

Cherik ‘Fallen Angel’ Fic

Part 1 (of Chapter 1) here.

Part 2 (of Chapter 1) here.

I haaaaaate keeping track of a fic on tumblr but I’m not ready to post to Ao3 just yet.

Chapter 2 (Part 1)

Charles is a guardian angel. He loves his charge, Erik. He saves Erik. Oops. Bad Angel. God takes issue with that. Hilarity and adorableness (with a smidge of angst) ensues. In this part, Charles contemplates his new (and oh so strange) humanity.

Charles was back in his room. He’d been drugged, poked, prodded, set, bandaged, and stitched for a length of time he had no hope of determining. Beyond the fact that he was unconscious or doped up for parts of it, skewing his perspective, time had never held any meaning for him. He had always been and would always be. How was he meant to interpret its passage now?

In the aftermath of all that activity, it was also odd to be alone. No doctors, no nurses, no staff, no Erik. Everything was eerily still and quiet— just him in his room, in his new (achey) body. Charles had never had anything before, not in the human sense. No rooms, no home to have rooms in, no possessions to keep in his nonexistent rooms, nothing. Now he had this room, if temporarily, and this body, also temporarily— a few decades, were he so lucky. He very nearly hadn’t been.

He also had Erik, because Erik had said he would return. As the man had himself pointed out once already, he didn’t make promises lightly. Charles knew this more completely than he knew anything about his new life, so if Erik said he would return, he would. However, how long did he have Erik? Hopefully longer than the hospital room, but likely not as long as this body. He didn’t care to dwell too long on the likely temporariness of Erik in his life, so he turned his attention to his body.

Toes.

They were peeking out from where the blanket on his hospital bed had come untucked. He wiggled the strange little protrusions that facilitated bipedal locomotion. Then laughed as he realized he hadn’t really had the opportunity to test them out yet. He had spent the short span of his new life on gurneys or in bed. What if, when he stood, he promptly collapsed into an embarrassing heap? Being incorporeal, Charles had never needed to learn how to walk. Human infants were taught, but he’d never been an infant. Did newly corporealized adults come with an instinctual user guide? Both millennia old and utterly new, and stuck in the body of a... Charles blinked, realizing.

He had no idea what he looked like.

As with walking, Charles hadn’t yet found himself in front of a mirror, and certainly no one had thought to bring him one— “Here, we realize you only popped into being a few hours ago. Take a look! What do you think?”

Was he handsome? Ugly? Average? Disfigured? Though curious, Charles made no move to find out. He rather thought the doctors who had just finished tending to his ribs might take issue with him moving about for any reason. He didn’t wish to appear ungrateful of their efforts. Further, even when he did get the chance to check his new appearance, he was hardly best positioned to be the judge of its quality. His perception was markedly different than a human’s. In his eyes, all of God’s creatures were beautiful.

Charles had never had looks to be concerned about. Whenever he’d had to assume human form, it had never been the same form twice. It was always in the eye of the beholder, whatever they needed to see, whatever would help fulfill the purpose of his mission. The rest of the time he... well... even ‘incorporeal’ was a poor choice. There really were no human terms to describe something humans had never witnessed, let alone experienced. How strange that now that he had a human mind he couldn’t even explain himself to himself in his own head.

Dizzying.

More than once, Erik had commented favourably on his looks, but Charles didn’t put much stock in it. He was humouring a man who had just saved his life and who he thought to be dying, so any number of white lies would have been acceptable. Charles hadn’t much hope Erik’s words were true for an entirely different reason. His presence on earth, his mortality, it was one of the most severe punishments God could meet out. Why would He choose to make Charles’ human form attractive?

Charles ran his fingers over each slope and plane of his face. Everything seemed to be in the proper place and of the proper amount (two eyes, one nose, one mouth). Furthermore, nothing seemed hideously misshapen, but it gave little clue of how attractive he was or wasn’t.

He let his hands drop.

Did it matter?

It shouldn’t.

All God’s creatures were beautiful.

That being said, he longed to be beautiful in the eyes of one creature in particular.

Foolish.

Newly human, already vain.

His head sank back into the pillow and Charles stared up at the plain, white ceiling. What did he think was going to happen? Even if, and that was a big if, Erik found him appealing, it didn’t mean anything. Erik had been understandably kind and grateful— Charles had saved his life after all. He’d joked about taking him out on a date, but that’s all it was— a joke. After he’d helped Charles sort out his hospitalization, he would probably feel his debt to Charles had been repaid. He would then disappear from Charles’ life for good.

Erik didn’t form attachments.

Then what?

Charles knew both more about humanity than any human living and less about it at the exact same time. He had no money, no home, no job. How did he go about getting one? Perhaps that was part of the cruelty of his punishment. No identity. No qualifications. ‘Served at the right hand of the Lord’ did not qualify as work experience he could put on a resume. He was more likely to end up homeless. Destitute. He was all too aware of the suffering that entailed. Was this God’s design for him? At one time, not so long ago, he would have known. He had been connected to all things— to his brethren, to God.

And now?

Nothing.

How much he had understood and how little. To be human was to be utterly alone. Trapped inside one body, one way of being, feeling no one and nothing else. The weight of it settled over him.

And for what?

For Erik.

Somewhere out there in the city Erik was breathing, eating, talking, smiling (well, perhaps, not smiling), sleeping— living.

It was enough.

Thanks for reading despite the delay. I’ve started the next bit of this already. Erik gets even more protective of Charles at the hospital, and Charles continues to befuddle and endear poor Erik as he continues to make virtually no attempt to hide his newly human status. Bahaha. I live for it.

#cherik #cherik fanfic #cherik fan fic #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #fallen angel fic #pinkoptics fic

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justforbooks · 3 years

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The many lives of John le Carré, in his own words.

An exclusive extract from his new memoir, The Pigeon Tunnel.

How I write

If you’re ever lucky enough to score an early success as a writer, as happened to me with The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, for the rest of your life there’s a before-the-fall and an after-the-fall. You look back at the books you wrote before the searchlight picked you out and they read like the books of your innocence; and the books after it, in your low moments, like the strivings of a man on trial. ‘Trying too hard’ the critics cry. I never thought I was trying too hard. I reckoned I owed it to my success to get the best out of myself, and by and large, however good or bad the best was, that was what I did.

And I love writing. I love doing what I’m doing at this moment, scribbling away like a man in hiding at a poky desk on a black clouded early morning in May, with the mountain rain scuttling down the window and no excuse for tramping down to the railway station under an umbrella because the International New York Times doesn’t arrive until lunchtime.

I love writing on the hoof, in notebooks on walks, in trains and cafés, then scurrying home to pick over my booty. When I am in Hampstead there is a bench I favour on the Heath, tucked under a spreading tree and set apart from its companions, and that’s where I like to scribble. I have only ever written by hand. Arrogantly perhaps, I prefer to remain with the centuries-old tradition of unmechanized writing. The lapsed graphic artist in me actually enjoys drawing the words.

I love best the privacy of writing. On research trips, I am partially protected by having a different name in real life. I can sign into hotels without anxiously wondering whether my name will be recognised, then, when it isn’t, anxiously wondering why not. When I’m obliged to come clean with the people whose experience I want to tap, results vary. One person refuses to trust me another inch, the next promotes me to chief of the secret service and, over my protestations that I was only ever the lowest form of secret life, replies that I would say that, wouldn’t I? There are many things I am disinclined to write about ever, just as there are in anyone’s life. I have been neither a model husband nor a model father, and am not interested in appearing that way. Love came to me late, after many missteps. I owe my ethical education to my four sons. Of my work for British intelligence, performed mostly in Germany, I wish to add nothing to what is already reported by others, inaccurately, elsewhere. In this I am bound by vestiges of old-fashioned loyalty to my former services, but also by undertakings I gave to the men and women who agreed to collaborate with me. It was understood between us that the promise of confidentiality would be subject to no time limit, but extend to their children and beyond. The work we engaged in was neither perilous nor dramatic, but it involved painful soul-searching on the part of those who signed up to it. Whether today these people are alive or dead, the promise of confidentiality holds.

Spying was forced on me from birth much in the way, I suppose, that the sea was forced on CS Forester or India on Paul Scott. Out of the secret world I once knew, I have tried to make a theatre for the larger worlds we inhabit. First comes the imagining, then the search for the reality. Then back to the imagining, and to the desk where I’m sitting now.

My Father: conman and inspiration

It took me a long while to get on writing terms with Ronnie, conman, fantasist, occasional jailbird, and my father. From the day I made my first faltering attempts at a novel, he was the one I wanted to get to grips with, but I was light years away from being up to the job. My earliest drafts of what eventually became A Perfect Spy dripped with self-pity: cast your eye, gentle reader, upon this emotionally crippled boy, crushed underfoot by his tyrannical father. It was only when he was safely dead and I took up the novel again that I did what I should have done at the beginning, and made the sins of the son a whole lot more reprehensible than the sins of the father.

With that settled, I was able to honour the legacy of his tempestuous life: a cast of characters to make the most blasé writer’s mouth water, from eminent legal brains of the day and stars of sport and screen to the finest of London’s criminal underworld and the beautiful creatures who trailed in their wake. Wherever Ronnie went, the unpredictable went with him. Are we up or down? Can we fill up the car on tick at the local garage? Has he fled the country or will he be proudly parking the Bentley in the drive tonight? Or is he enjoying the safety and comfort of one of his alternative wives?

Of Ronnie’s dealings with organised crime, if any, I know lamentably little. Yes, he rubbed shoulders with the notorious Kray twins, but that may just have been celebrity-hunting. And yes, he did business of a sort with London’s worst-ever landlord, Peter Rachman, and my best guess would be that when Rachman’s thugs had got rid of Ronnie’s tenants for him, he sold off the houses and gave Rachman a piece. But a full‑on criminal partnership? Not the Ronnie I knew. Conmen are aesthetes. They wear nice suits, have clean fingernails and are well spoken at all times. Policemen in Ronnie’s book were first-rate fellows who were open to negotiation. The same could not be said of “the boys”, as he called them, and you messed with the boys at your peril.

Ronnie’s entire life was spent walking on the thinnest, slipperiest layer of ice you can imagine. He saw no paradox between being on the wanted list for fraud and sporting a grey topper in the owners’ enclosure at Ascot. A reception at Claridge’s to celebrate his second marriage was interrupted while he persuaded two Scotland Yard detectives to put off arresting him until the party was over – and, meanwhile, come in and join the fun, which they duly did. But I don’t think Ronnie could have lived any other way. I don’t think he wanted to. He was a crisis addict, a performance addict, a shameless pulpit orator and a scene-grabber. He was a delusional enchanter and a persuader who saw himself as God’s golden boy, and he wrecked a lot of people’s lives.

Graham Greene tells us that childhood is the credit balance of the writer. By that measure at least, I was born a millionaire.

Sixty-something years back, I asked my mother, Olive, how prison changed Ronnie. Olive was a tap you couldn’t turn off. From the moment of our reunion at Ipswich railway station, she talked about Ronnie nonstop. She talked about his sexuality long before I had sorted out mine, and for ease of reference gave me a tattered hardback copy of Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis as a map to guide me through her husband’s appetites before and after jail.

“Changed, dear? In prison? Not a bit of it! You were totally unchanged. You’d lost weight, of course – well, you would. Prison food isn’t meant to be nice.” And then the image that will never leave me, not least because she seemed unaware of what she was saying: “And you did have this silly habit of stopping in front of doors and waiting at attention with your head down till I opened them for you. They were perfectly ordinary doors, not locked or anything, but you obviously weren’t expecting to be able to open them for yourself.” Why did Olive refer to Ronnie as you? You meaning he, but subconsciously recruiting me to be his surrogate, which by the time of her death was what I had become.

There is an audiotape that Olive made for my brother Tony, all about her life with Ronnie. I still can’t bear to play it, so all I’ve ever heard is scraps. On the tape she describes how Ronnie used to beat her up, which, according to Olive, was what prompted her to bolt. Ronnie’s violence was not news to me, because he had made a habit of beating up his second wife as well: so often and so purposefully and coming home at such odd hours of the night to do it that, seized by a chivalrous impulse, I appointed myself her ridiculous protector, sleeping on a mattress in front of her bedroom door and clutching a golf iron so that Ronnie would have to reckon with me before he got at her.

Ronnie beat me up, too, but only a few times and not with much conviction. It was the shaping up that was the scary part: the lowering and readying of the shoulders, the resetting of the jaw. And when I was grown up, Ronnie tried to sue me, which I suppose is violence in disguise. He had watched a television documentary of my life and decided there was an implicit slander in my failure to mention that I owed everything to him.

For the last third of Ronnie’s life – he died suddenly at the age of 69 – we were estranged or at loggerheads. Almost by mutual consent, there were terrible obligatory scenes, and when we buried the hatchet, we always remembered where we’d put it. Do I feel more kindly towards him today than I did then? Sometimes I walk round him, sometimes he’s the mountain I still have to climb. Either way, he’s always there, which I can’t say for my mother, because to this day I have no idea what sort of person she was. I ran her to earth when I was 21, and thereafter broadly attended to her needs, not always with good grace. But from the day of our reunion until she died, the frozen child in me showed not the smallest sign of thawing out. Did she love animals? Landscape? The sea that she lived beside? Music? Painting? Me? Did she read books? Certainly she had no high opinion of mine, but what about other people’s?

In the nursing home where she stayed during her last years, we spent much of our time deploring or laughing at my father’s misdeeds. As my visits continued, I came to realise that she had created for herself – and for me – an idyllic mother–son relationship that had flowed uninterrupted from my birth till now.

Today, I don’t remember feeling any affection in childhood except for my elder brother, who for a time was my only parent. I remember a constant tension in myself that even in great age has not relaxed. I remember little of being very young. I remember the dissembling as we grew up, and the need to cobble together an identity for myself and how, in order to do this, I filched from the manners and lifestyle of my peers and betters, even to the extent of pretending I had a settled home life with real parents and ponies. Listening to myself today, watching myself when I have to, I can still detect traces of the lost originals, chief among them obviously my father.

All this no doubt made me an ideal recruit to the secret flag. But nothing lasted: not the Eton schoolmaster, not the MI5 man, not the MI6 man. Only the writer in me stuck the course. If I look over my life from here, I see it as a succession of engagements and escapes, and I thank goodness that the writing kept me relatively straight and largely sane. My father’s refusal to accept the simplest truth about himself set me on a path of enquiry from which I never returned. In the absence of a mother or sisters, I learned women late, if ever, and we all paid a price for that.

A trip to Panama

In 1885, France’s gargantuan efforts to build a sea-level canal across the Darien ended in disaster. Small and large investors of every stamp were ruined. In consequence there arose across the country the pained cry of “Quel Panama!” Whether the expression has endured in the French language is doubtful, but it speaks well for my own association with that beautiful country, which began in 1947 when my father, Ronnie, dispatched me to Paris to collect £500 from the Panamanian ambassador to France, one Count Mario da Bernaschina, who occupied a sweet house in one of those elegant side roads off the Elysées that smell permanently of women’s scent.

It was evening when I arrived by appointment on the ambassadorial doorstep wearing my grey school suit, my hair brushed and parted. I was 16 years old. The ambassador, my father had advised me, was a first-class fellow and would be happy to settle a longstanding debt of honour. I wanted very much to believe him.

The front door to the elegant house was opened by the most desirable woman I had ever seen. I must have been standing one step beneath her, because in my memory she is smiling down on me like my angel redeemer. She was bare-shouldered, black-haired and wore a flimsy dress in layer after layer of chiffon that failed to disguise her shape. When you are 16, desirable women come in all ages. From today’s vantage point, I would put her at a blossoming thirtysomething.

“You are Ronnie’s son?” she asked incredulously. She stood back to let me brush past her. Laying a hand on each of my shoulders, she scrutinised me playfully from head to toe under the hall light and seemed to find everything to her satisfaction.

“And you have come to see Mario?” she said.

If that’s all right, I said.

Her hands remained on my shoulders while her eyes of many colours continued to study me. “And you are still a boy,” she remarked, as a kind of memo to herself.

The count stood in his drawing room with his back to the fireplace, like every ambassador in every movie of the time: corpulent, in a velvet jacket, hands behind him and that perfect head of greying hair they all had – marcelled, we used to call it – and the curved handshake, man to man, although I’m still a boy. The countess – for so I have cast her – doesn’t ask me whether I drink alcohol, let alone whether I like daiquiri. My answer to both questions would anyway have been a truthless “yes”. She hands me a frosted glass with a speared cherry in it, and we all sit down in soft chairs and do a bit of ambassadorial small talk. Am I enjoying the city? Do I have many friends in Paris? A girlfriend, perhaps? Mischievous wink. To which I no doubt give compelling and mendacious answers that make no mention of golf clubs or concierges, until a pause in the conversation tells me it’s time for me to broach the purpose of my visit which, as experience has already taught me, is best done from the side rather than head on.

“And my father mentioned that you and he had a small matter of business to complete, sir,” I suggest, hearing myself from a distance on account of the daiquiri.

I should here explain the nature of that small matter of business which, unlike so many of Ronnie’s deals, was simplicity itself. As a diplomat and a top ambassador, son – I am echoing the enthusiasm with which Ronnie had briefed me for my mission – the count was immune from such tedious irritations as taxation and import duty. The count could import what he wished, he could export what he wished. If someone, for instance, chose to send the count a cask of unmatured, unbranded Scotch whisky at a couple of pence a pint under diplomatic immunity, and the count were to bottle that whisky and ship it to Panama, or wherever else he chose to ship it under diplomatic immunity, that was nobody’s business but his.

Equally, if the count chose to export the said unmatured, unbranded whisky in bottles of a certain design – akin, let us imagine, to Dimple Haig, a popular brand of the day – that, too, was his good right, as was the choice of label and the description of the bottle’s contents. All that need concern me was that the count should pay up – cash, son, no monkey business. Thus provided, I should treat myself to a nice mixed grill at Ronnie’s expense, keep the receipt, catch the first ferry next morning and come straight to his grand offices in the West End of London with the balance.

“A matter of business, David?” the count repeated in the tone of my school housemaster. “What business can that be?”

“The £500 you owe him, sir.”

I remember his puzzled smile, so forbearing. I remember the richly draped sofas and silky cushions, old mirrors and gold glint, and my countess with her long legs crossed inside the layers of chiffon. The count continued to survey me with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. So did my countess. Then they surveyed each other as if to compare notes about what they’d surveyed.

“Well, that’s a pity, David. Because when I heard you were coming to see me, I rather hoped you might be bringing me a portion of the large sum of money I have invested in your dear father’s enterprises.”

I still don’t know how I responded to this startling reply, or whether I was as startled as I should have been. I remember briefly losing my sense of time and place, and I suppose this was partly induced by the daiquiri, and partly by the recognition that I had nothing to say and no right to be sitting in their drawing room, and that the best thing I could do was make my excuses and get out. Then I realised that I was alone in the room. After a while, my host and hostess returned.

The count’s smile was genial and relaxed. The countess looked particularly pleased. “So, David,” said the count, as if all were forgiven. “Why don’t we go and have dinner and talk about something more pleasant?”

They had a favourite Russian restaurant 50 yards from the house. In my memory, it is a tiny place and we are the only three people in it, save for a man in a baggy white shirt who plucked at a balalaika. Over dinner, while the count talked about something more pleasant, the countess kicked off a shoe and caressed my leg with her stockinged toe. On the tiny dance floor she sang Dark Eyes to me, holding the length of me against her and nibbling my earlobe while she flirted with the balalaika man and the count looked indulgently on. On our return to the table, the count decided that we were ready for bed. The countess, by a squeeze of my hand, seconded the motion.

My memory has spared me the excuses I made, but somehow I made them. Somehow I found myself a bench in a park, and somehow I contrived to remain the boy she had declared me to be. Decades later, finding myself alone in Paris, I tried to seek out the very street, the house, the restaurant. But by then no reality would have done them justice.

Now I am not pretending that it was the magnetic force of the count and countess that half a century later drew me to Panama for the space of two novels and one movie; merely that the recollection of that sensuous, unfulfilled night remained lodged in my memory, if only as one of the near-misses of interminable adolescence. Within days of my arrival in Panama City, I was enquiring after the name. Bernaschina? Nobody had heard of the fellow. A count? From Panama? It seemed most improbable. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing? I hadn’t.

I had come to Panama to research a novel. Unusually, it already had a title: The Night Manager. I was looking for the sort of crooks, smooth talkers and dirty deals that would brighten the life of an amoral English arms seller named Richard Onslow Roper. Roper would be a high-flyer where my father, Ronnie, had been a low one who frequently crashed. Ronnie had tried selling arms in Indonesia and gone to jail for it. Roper was too big to fail, until he met his destiny in the shape of a former special forces soldier turned hotel night manager named Jonathan Pine.

Working with Sir Alec Guinness

“We are definitely not as our host here describes us,” says Sir Maurice Oldfield severely to Sir Alec Guinness over lunch. Oldfield is a former chief of the secret service who was later hung out to dry by Margaret Thatcher, but at the time of our meeting, he is just another old spy in retirement. “I’ve always wanted to meet Sir Alec,” he told me in his homey, north country voice when I invited him. “Ever since I sat opposite him on the train going up from Winchester. I’d have got into conversation with him if I’d had the nerve.”

Guinness is about to play my secret agent George Smiley in the BBC’s television adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and wishes to savour the company of a real old spy. But the lunch does not proceed as smoothly as I had hoped. Over the hors d’oeuvres, Oldfield extols the ethical standards of his old service and implies, in the nicest way, that “young David here” has besmirched its good name.

Guinness, a former naval officer, who from the moment of meeting Oldfield has appointed himself to the upper echelons of the secret service, can only shake his head sagely and agree. Over the Dover sole, Oldfield takes his thesis a step further: “It’s young David and his like,” he declares across the table to Guinness while ignoring me sitting beside him, “that make it that much harder for the service to recruit decent officers and sources. They read his books and they’re put off. It’s only natural.” To which Guinness lowers his eyelids and shakes his head in a deploring sort of way, while I pay the bill.

“You should join the Athenaeum, David,” Oldfield says kindly, implying that the Athenaeum will somehow make a better person of me. “I’ll sponsor you myself. There. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And to Guinness, as the three of us stand on the threshold of the restaurant: “A pleasure indeed, Alec. An honour, I must say. We shall be in touch very shortly, I’m sure.”

“We shall indeed,” Guinness replies devoutly, as the two old spies shake hands.

Unable apparently to get enough of our departing guest, Guinness gazes fondly after him as he pounds off down the pavement: a small, vigorous gentleman of purpose, striding along with his umbrella thrust ahead of him as he disappears into the crowd. “How about another cognac for the road?” Guinness suggests, and we have hardly resumed our places before the interrogation begins: “Those very vulgar cufflinks. Do all our spies wear them?” No, Alec, I think Maurice just likes vulgar cufflinks.

“And those loud orange suede boots with crepe soles. Are they for stealth?” I think they’re just for comfort actually, Alec. Crepe squeaks. “Then tell me this.” He has grabbed an empty tumbler. Tipping it to an angle, he flicks at it with his thick fingertip. “I’ve seen people do this before” – making a show of peering meditatively into the tumbler while he continues to flick it – “and I’ve seen people do this” – now rotating the finger round the rim in the same contemplative vein.

“But I’ve never seen people do this before” – inserting his finger into the tumbler and passing it round the inside. “Do you think he’s looking for dregs of poison?”

Is he being serious? The child in Guinness has never been more serious in its life. Well, I suppose if it was dregs he was looking for, he’d have drunk the poison by then, I suggest. But he prefers to ignore me.

It is a matter of entertainment history that Oldfield’s suede boots, crepe-soled or other, and his rolled umbrella thrust forward to feel out the path ahead, became essential properties for Guinness’s portrayal of George Smiley, old spy in a hurry. I haven’t checked on the cufflinks recently, but I have a memory that our director thought them a little overdone and persuaded Guinness to trade them in for something less flashy.

The other legacy of our lunch was less enjoyable, if artistically more creative. Oldfield’s distaste for my work – and, I suspect, for myself – struck deep root in Guinness’s thespian soul, and he was not above reminding me of it when he felt the need to rack up George Smiley’s sense of personal guilt; or, as he liked to imply, mine.

Lunch with Rupert Murdoch

One morning in the autumn of 1991, I opened my Times newspaper to be greeted by my own face glowering up at me. From my sour expression, I could tell at once that the text around it wasn’t going to be friendly. A struggling Warsaw theatre, I read, was celebrating its post-communist freedom by putting on a stage version of The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. But the rapacious le Carré [see photograph] wanted a whacking £150 per performance: “The price of freedom, we suppose.”

I took another look at the photograph and saw exactly the sort of fellow who does indeed go round preying on struggling Polish theatres. Grasping. Unsavoury appetites. Just look at those eyebrows. I had by now ceased to enjoy my breakfast. Keep calm and call your agent. I fail on the first count, succeed on the second. My literary agent’s name is Rainer. In what the novelists call a quavering voice, I read the article aloud to him. Has he, I suggest delicately – might he possibly, just this once, is it at all conceivable? – on this occasion been a tad too zealous on my behalf? Rainer is emphatic. Quite the reverse. Since the Poles are still in the recovery ward after the collapse of communism, he has been a total pussycat. We are not charging the theatre £150 per performance, he assures me, but a measly £26, the minimum standard rate. In addition to which, we’ve thrown in the rights for free. In short, a sweetheart deal, David, a deliberate helping hand to a Polish theatre in time of need. Great, I say, bewildered and inwardly seething.

Keep calm and fax the editor of the Times. His response is lofty. Not to put too fine an edge on it, it is infuriating. He sees no great harm in the piece, he says. He suggests that a man in my fortunate position should take the rough with the smooth. This is not advice I am prepared to accept. But who to turn to?

Why, of course: the man who owns the newspaper, Rupert Murdoch, my old buddy!

Well, not exactly buddy. I had met Murdoch socially on a couple of occasions, though I doubted whether he remembered them. I have three conditions, I say: number one, a generous apology prominently printed in the Times; number two, a handsome donation to the struggling Polish theatre. And number three, lunch. Next morning his reply was lying on the floor beneath my fax machine: “Your terms accepted. Rupert.”

The Savoy Grill in those days had a kind of upper level for moguls: red-plush, horseshoe-shaped affairs where in more colourful days gentlemen of money might have entertained their ladies. I breathe the name Murdoch to the maître d’hôtel and am shown to one of the privés. I am early. Murdoch is bang on time. He is smaller than I remember him, but more pugnacious, and has acquired that hasty waddle and little buck of the pelvis with which great men of affairs advance on one another, hand outstretched, for the cameras. The slant of the head in relation to the body is more pronounced than I remember, and when he wrinkles up his eyes to give me his sunny smile, I have the odd feeling he’s taking aim at me. We sit down, we face each other. I notice – how can I not? – the unsettling collection of rings on his left hand. We order our food and exchange a couple of banalities. Rupert says he’s sorry about that stuff they wrote about me. Brits, he says, are great penmen, but they don’t always get things right. I say, not at all, and thanks for your sporting response. But enough of small talk. He is staring straight at me and the sunny smile has vanished.

“Who killed Bob Maxwell?” he demands.

Robert Maxwell, for those lucky enough not to remember him, was a Czech-born media baron, British parliamentarian and the alleged spy of several nations, including Israel, the Soviet Union and Britain. As a young Czech freedom fighter, he had taken part in the Normandy landings and later earned himself a British army commission and a gallantry medal. After the war, he worked for the Foreign Office in Berlin. He was also a flamboyant liar and rogue of gargantuan proportions and appetites who plundered the pension fund of his own companies to the tune of £440m, owed around £4bn that he had no way of repaying and in November 1991 was found dead in the seas off Tenerife, having apparently fallen from the deck of a lavish private yacht named after his daughter. Conspiracy theories abounded. To some, it was a clear case of suicide by a man ensnared by his own crimes; to others, murder by one of the several intelligence agencies he had supposedly worked for. But which one? Why Murdoch should imagine I know the answer to this question is beyond me, but I do my best to give satisfaction. Well, Rupert, if we’re really saying it’s not suicide, then probably, for my money, it was the Israelis, I suggest.

“Why?”

I’ve read the rumours that are flying around, as we all have. I regurgitate them: Maxwell, the long-term agent of Israeli intelligence, blackmailing his former paymasters; Maxwell, who had traded with the Shining Path in Peru, offering Israeli weapons in exchange for strategic cobalt; Maxwell, threatening to go public unless the Israelis paid up. But Rupert Murdoch is already on his feet, shaking my hand and saying it was great to meet me again. And maybe he’s as embarrassed as I am, or just bored, because already he’s powering his way out of the room, and great men don’t sign bills, they leave them to their people. Estimated duration of lunch: 25 minutes.

A meeting with Margaret Thatcher

The prime minister’s office wished to recommend me for a medal, and I had declined. I had not voted for her, but that fact had nothing to do with my decision. I felt, as I feel today, that I was not cut out for our honours system, that it represents much of what I most dislike about our country. In my letter of reply, I took care to assure the prime minister’s office that my churlishness did not spring from any personal or political animosity, offered my thanks and compliments to the prime minister, and assumed I would hear no more.

I was wrong. In a second letter, her office struck a more intimate note. Lest I was regretting a decision taken in heat, the writer wished me to know that the door to an honour was still open. I replied, equally courteously I hope, that as far as I was concerned the door was firmly shut, and would remain so in any similar contingency. Again, my thanks. Again, my compliments to the prime minister. And again I assumed the matter was closed, until a third letter arrived, inviting me to lunch. There were six tables set in the dining room of 10 Downing Street that day, but I only remember ours, which had Mrs Thatcher at its head and the Dutch prime minister Ruud Lubbers on her right, and myself in a tight new grey suit on her left. The year must have been 1982. I was just back from the Middle East, Lubbers had just been appointed. Our other three guests remain a pink blob to me. I assumed, for reasons that today escape me, that they were industrialists from the north. Neither do I remember any opening exchanges between the six of us, but perhaps they had happened over cocktails before we sat down. But I do remember Mrs Thatcher turning to the Dutch prime minister and acquainting him with my distinction. “Now, Mr Lubbers,” she announced in a tone to prepare him for a nice surprise, “this is Mr Cornwell, but you will know him better as the writer John le Carré.”

Leaning forward, Mr Lubbers took a close look at me. He had a youthful face, almost a playful one. He smiled, I smiled: really friendly smiles. “No,” he said. And sat back in his chair, still smiling. But Mrs Thatcher, it is well known, did not lightly take no for an answer.

“Oh, come, Mr Lubbers. You’ve heard of John le Carré. He wrote The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and…” – fumbling slightly – “… other wonderful books.”

Lubbers, nothing if not a politician, reconsidered his position. Again he leaned forward and took another, longer look at me, as amiable as the first, but more considered, more statesmanlike.

“No,” he repeated.

Now it was Mrs Thatcher’s turn to take a long look at me, and I underwent something of what her all-male cabinet must have experienced when they, too, incurred her displeasure. “Well, Mr Cornwell,” she said, as to an errant schoolboy who had been brought to account, “since you’re here” – implying that I had somehow talked my way in – “have you anything you wish to say to me?”

Belatedly, it occurred to me that I had indeed something to say to her, if badly. Having recently returned from South Lebanon, I felt obliged to plead the cause of stateless Palestinians. Lubbers listened. The gentlemen from the industrial north listened. But Mrs Thatcher listened more attentively than all of them, and with no sign of the impatience of which she was frequently accused. Even when I had stumbled to the end of my aria, she went on listening before delivering herself of her response. “Don’t give me sob stories,” she ordered me with sudden vehemence, striking the key words for emphasis. “Every day people appeal to my emotions. You can’t govern that way. It simply isn’t fair.”

Whereupon, appealing to my emotions, she reminded me that it was the Palestinians who had trained the IRA bombers who had murdered her friend Airey Neave, the British war hero and politician, and her close adviser. After that, I don’t believe we spoke to each other much. Occasionally I do ask myself whether Mrs Thatcher nevertheless had an ulterior motive in inviting me. Was she, for instance, sizing me up for one of her quangos – those strange quasi-official public bodies that have authority but no power, or is it the other way round? But I found it hard to imagine what possible use she could have for me – unless, of course, she wanted guidance from the horse’s mouth on how to sort out her squabbling spies.

• This is an edited extract from The Pigeon Tunnel: Stories From My Life, by John le Carré, published next week by Viking at £20. Order a copy for £15 from the Guardian bookshop.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #John le Carré #The Pigeon Tunnel: Stories From My Life

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mar-iiposa · 4 years

Text

"You're What?"

prompt: How would the Bayverse boys react to their s/o finding out that she is pregnant, and she is afraid/scared to tell them? The pregnancy was not planned. Hope you're having a great day/night <3

a/n: this was requested by an anonymous user as a bit of a long story, meant for all four turtles, but I'm deciding on separating it so it looks better on my masterlist later on. hope that enjoy, and make sure to read the tags I have included down below, just in case !

warnings: slight mention of abortion but that's it, mention of needles drawing blood (not too graphic of course), unplanned pregnancy, mentions of unprotected sex.

word count: 2.6k

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Your roommate, April's, voice rang out when she saw you hurry towards the bathroom in such a rush, for the third time today, and it was just barely 2 pm. She was concerned that you weren't doing so good, never having seen you in a peculiar state like this before. As late of this past week, you've started to show signs of illness and restlessness, constantly moody, which we knew was odd for you at times. "Do you need anything?" She gently knocked on the bathroom door, hearing the faucet run on the other side before it was turned off. "I'm good, thanks," You murmur, loud enough for her to at least comprehend what you're saying. Outside of the restroom, April looked down for a moment, hesitant on whether to truly believe you or not. However, she didn't bother to really question it. "I'll be out, text if you need me."

After getting up a little too fast, you feel a small, sharp pain in your breasts, causing you to wince and cup them lightly out of instinct. Over the last few days, you've been noticing some changes. Weird ones too. For starters, you missed your period, it was supposed to roll around about, what, three/four days ago. You kept it tracked monthly on your phone, and by now, it would seem to probably come later than usually expected. Never did you have an irregular menstrual cycle, sometimes periods tend to come a little bit late but this was still odd enough. Not to forget, you had been vomiting like crazy at times, especially in the mornings and early afternoons of the day, sometimes at night if you're "lucky" enough. Topping those off, you felt fatigued, you were bloated, strangely moody, and you really needed to pee way more. A lot more, actually.

You had turned off the faucet in the bathroom, hunching over the sink, still with little droplets of water sliding down and into the drain. You look into the mirror, bags under your eyes have started to form from lack of sleep after literally vomiting your guts out in the middle of the night, having to hold your own hair back yourself if April would be completely knocked out from work. It wasn't a rare occurrence for her to be passed out on her bed or the couch, after a long day of working. You were employed, too, it was just that you took a day off to find out what the hell these symptoms were. Who knows, maybe you were falling sick?

You do your hair and style it just a little, unbothered by if you looked like crap or not, you could care less. You were throwing up and felt almost sick, why wouldn't you look unappealing at the very least? Grabbing your keys and things, you make your way towards the subway almost downtown, avoiding eye contact with almost anyone and everyone, not feeling at your best. It felt like your self-esteem had taken a downwards decline in the last couple of days prior. Not that you never got irritated or anything, but it was peculiar to you that all of a sudden, you had mood swings that changed from one mood to another like a bolt of lightning. Hell, even your boyfriend, Leo, noticed fairly quickly, but he decided not to press on you too much about it.

Getting off of the subway train, you head to your physician's office, opening the door of the building, the cooled atmosphere of the room hitting you within seconds of your entrance of the room.

"Hello, Ms. L/N, are you here for your appointment today?" The female receptionist gazed up at you from her glasses, frames pink, wearing a light shawl over her arms and shoulders. "I am," You give her a nod, her gaze traveling back to the computer screen as she typed away, the sound of her dark red acrylics hitting the smooth black keys. "Sure does get cold in here," She chuckled, a small short in the middle of her laugh, "take a seat, miss."

Doing so, you sit near the TV of the waiting room, the magazines on the table ahead stared back at you, the words 'VOGUE' written on the modernistic cover. The television was of bland taste, just going over the weather expected for today and the rest of the week and into the weekend. You cradle yourself slightly, your e/c eyes flickering down to your fingers and nails. About fifteen minutes or so later, the door to the back of the office opened, a nurse appearing in her scrub, "Y/N L/N?" Perking up at the mention of your name, you both make eye contact and she steps aside for you to walk in, giving a nod before directing you to a nearby room. Taking a seat, you wait until the doctor comes into view, greeting you with a friendly smile. "Ms. L/N, hi," She shook your hand, holding a clipboard under her left arm as she entered, "how are you? Is there a reason as to why you made an appointment for today?" Seconds after listing off your symptoms, she eyed you a bit suspiciously, writing down with her pen. "I'll send one of the nurses in for a blood test, I'm sure you'll be free to go then," The doctor pursed her lips in a tight smile, looking as though she had something on her mind as to what you could've had.

You sit there, for what feels like hours upon hours of silence, and you don't even notice the nurse coming in through the door at some point. "Alright, just relax for me." A pinching at your skin came from the needle, and the nurse draws some blood from your arm. Closing your eyes and glancing away from the view, the needle is drawn away from your arm after a while, patching the spot up with a band-aid. "You should get your answers shortly," 'Angela Bardot' (the nurse) states with a small, friendly smile as you give her a nod for a reply in return.

The receptionist sends you a wave goodbye as you approach the door on the way out, nodding your head and giving a wave back. Traveling home among the streets of New York, your mind is constantly filling up to the absolute brim of what the results would be. What if you were terrible sick? Had an illness that was incurable or deadly? How would you tell the ones you loved? Always tending to think of negative outcomes was a habit of yours, for as long as you can remember. You're so deep into your thoughts as you don't realize your boyfriend had called you a couple of times already. You unlock your phone after typing in the digits of your password, tapping onto his contact. "Hey," His voice rings from the other side, "I was trying to call you, is everything alright?" You can hear the worried tone through his end.

You run a hand through your hair as you neared the corner, coming closer to your New York apartment. "Yeah," you breathe out into the air of the apartment building, taking the provided elevator, "yeah, I'm okay." You could almost see the look of relief in those blue sapphire eyes of his, he responds, "Sorry, I almost panicked when you didn't pick up." You chuckle a little at that, knowing you almost always picked up on phone calls, holding onto your keys as you pushed your front entrance door open, "Nah, you know I can handle myself, Leo." You grin hearing his voice, chuckling at that. "I know, I know."

"I'll see you tonight?" He asks on his end, you immediately smile. "I give you my word." You can feel him smiling from 'ear to-ear' at your response, "Okay, I'll see you later then. Love you, princess." Your smile growing warm, heart fluttering at the words coming from your boyfriend, you speak back into the phone, "Love you too."

He was the first to hang up on the cell phone call, before you fall back onto your grey couch with a heavy sigh, soon leaning forward with your head in your hands, elbows firmly sitting on top of your knees. The TV is turned on from the remote in your hand, head leaning back into the couch, but only enough to still keep your eyes on the screen. Your phone rings again, and you assume it might be Leo again, calling to tell you something he might have forgotten or who knows what. Turning the phone over from it's front facing the cushions, and you recognize the contact number. "Hello?" You pick up, a recognizable voice rang through. "Hi, this is Dr. Rullston, I'm calling you to discuss your blood test results, yes?" Sitting straight up quickly, you feel yourself nod almost frantically, "Yes, it's not anything, right?" A long pause resonates between the two of you, and you can slightly hear the intake of a breath from her.

"Ms. L/N, you're pregnant."

Your heart completely drops as soon as you heard that, standing up from your seat within milliseconds. "What? I- I can't belie- !" She continues, "About almost two weeks pregnant is what I'm seeing. Congratulations miss." No, no, I didn't want a baby! I didn't know this would happen!

You look down at the floor as your breathing is nearly stressed, "Tha- Thank you, Dr. Rullston." Quick to hang up first, you almost drop your phone onto the apartment's hard wooden floor. How was this possible? Well, you knew how pregnancy and sex worked, but this was something completely shocking, at least to you! You think you at least had intercourse with a condom on! You and Leonar- Oh God, Leo! How would he react to this? He would be disappointed, he could leave you! Who would want to raise a child with you? Who would even want a knocked up lady if he did leave the relationship you had been building for practically a year?! You could get an abortion, that's it! No, no, no, you couldn't see yourself going through with that. Seeing others get abortions was something you were supportive of, but you had no absolute idea what in the hell to do! Do you want to keep it? That was something you didn't know the answer to.

Two hours roll by until you're dressed a little more properly now, on your path to the turtles' lair in the sewers. As of now, you're (somewhat) rocking some jeans, with an old t-shirt, your commonly-worn shoes, and your hair combed through. Sticking your head through the lair, Mikey spots you straightaway, quickly riding on his skateboard towards you, guarding your own stomach, afraid for impact. Luckily for you (and maybe your fetus), there is no impact. "Yo, Y/N!" He gave you his regular fist pump, "how's it hangin'?" He notices you guarding your stomach, emitting a laugh as he points at you, "What's with the stomach guarding?" You realize your arms protecting your stomach, pulling them away fairly quickly. "Just, uh- Just hungry is all!" Michelangelo eyed you for a second or two before shrugging, picking up his board with a swift kick at its tail, "M'kay! Leo's in his room by the way. Catch you later!" He rode off again, presumably to bother either Raph or Donnie with his "dazzling personality."

Nearing Leonardo's room, you were undecided on the option of telling him about the growing baby inside of you or not. You didn't know. You didn't know what he'd think, what he'd say, how he would react, or if his perspective of you would shift entirely. Every fiber of your being grew anxious, scared to share the news with him. Or not. Leaning against the doorway of his room, he looked up from his katana, a smile gracing his features. "Hey," He stood up from his spot on the bed as you approach him, "Hi." Leonardo glanced down at your shorter human self, grabbing your hands to hold into his abnormally larger ones. "Took you a while to get here." Yeah, it did because you couldn't stop vomiting into the toilet until you got the strength to eventually walk all the way down here. "Sorry, busy," You threw an excuse at him, the leader of the clan nods. "Uh-huh," He takes your hand and leads you to his bed, "you're not overwhelming yourself, are you?" Knowing how concerned he can tend to be, you shakily exhale a little, giving a closed-mouth smile. "No, not really."

"You know ho-" You bit your lower lip, feeling the need to interrupt, "Leo, there's-- there's something I need to tell you." He paused for a little, knowing there was something up, a feeling in his gut. "Well what is it?" You can feel that pit of anxiety start to blossom within you once again, your palms nearly growing sweaty as you try to gather your words. Carefully wanting to break it to him was something you wanted to do, and correctly too. "Y/N?" He sends you a fervent glance, "is something wro-?"

"I'm pregnant."

He's taken aback by the sentence you had just formed, staring at you, with almost little to no emotion being expressed. He's speechless. Out of words, completely. "You're what?! With- With my ba-?" Giving the leader a small, slow nod, it finally makes sense to him. "That's why you missed my call? Y/N, you sh-" You feel tears swell up in your e/c eyes, a hot droplet starting to slide down your left cheek, "I know it's all my fault. I should have asked for an abortion before I left that doctor's office. And you don't want a kid, I can see perfectly see that, and just know that I'm sor-" A warm green hand cups the side of your face, endearing blue eyes look at you and hold your stare as a thumb comes to wipe your new, built-up tears. Tender lips come to kiss your forehead. "I want this. Y/N, please listen to me when I say it'll be alright. I won't let you and the baby down, okay?" Leo's words are kind, softly spoken as he offers you a pursed smile while holding your face in his hand, "You'll be fine."

Your breathing is starting to calm down as you meet his eyes, your hand coming touch his on your cheek. "How far? How far are you, I mean?" Feeling at ease, your eyes are still watery with tears, a smile growing on your lips, "Two weeks." He grows soft at your reply, eyes flickering down towards your stomach. The stomach that held his kid inside of it. "How big are they?" You hold your hand up and leave a little gap between your index finger and your thumb, "Like a little seed." A smile of joy lights up his face before he carefully runs the bottom of your t-shirt up to expose your stomach to him. He pursed his lips together once more, fighting off tears as he gives a breathy laugh. "I love them already." You grin to your significant other, kissing his cheek.

"And we love you too."

#tmnt imagines #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt leo imagine #tmnt 2003 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtle imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles imagine #teenage mutant ninja turtles imagines #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanart

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ficforce · 3 years

Text

Second Chances

Akitaru Obi x Reader SFW No set timeline Old flames

“Captain, I’m fine, really!” Shinra complained as Obi all but marched him over to the Ambulance, his forehead was bleeding badly from where he had flown into a brick, but head injuries always bled a lot. “Heroes don’t sweat over little things.

“Heroes still get concussions,” The Captain gave him a little shove toward the Ambulance, the paramedic was busy getting everything away but she turned her head once she realised someone was there.

She was already putting on a fresh pair of gloves, smiling at the two and then she paused, “Akitaru?”

“…Y/N?” The Captain was taken aback but then he was grinning from ear to ear, “How are you? I thought you’d gone off and gotten married?”

Y/N smiled back, her eyes bright as she looked him over, “I’m good – Better for not going off and getting married, dodged a bullet there… Look at you, you’re… huge, Akitaru.” The last time she had seen him he was a regular firefighter, he’d been muscular back then but not like this, he looked happier too. Checking out his uniform she made an impressed noise, “Captain of a Special Fire Force… Wow.” She was really happy for him, he had always been a hard worker and he deserved the recognition. “Were you passing by or did you need help?

“I’m bleeding to death but if you two wanna catch up I’ll go find a corner…” Shinra felt like he was invisible, he was stood in between them but he felt forgotten.

“Sorry, take a seat on the van,” Y/N let out an embarrassed laugh and grabbed out a clean cloth to dab at the blood, “Hey, Akitaru?” she called over her shoulder, “You didn’t tell me you had a secret love child.”

“I have a whole new family, Y/N. As great as Shinra is, I’m not lucky enough to have a good kid like him.”

Shinra’s cheeks blushed and he tried not to show how happy he was with his Captain’s words, “Honest, if you two want to catch up I’ll just go bleed out in the Matchbox.”

“Oh shush, it’s a flesh wound at best. Stick around and I’ll tell you some cringe-worthy stories of your Captain.” As she spoke she cleaned the teens face up a little then began inspecting the actual cut, “The first time I met him, he had the same injury like this – there was blood in his eye, down his face, the front of his uniform was covered. They rushed him into the hospital and it was my first day on my own.” She was a nurse inside the hospital most days but sometimes she was called out as a paramedic when they were short. “He broke my nose.”

“What?!” The teen leaned to the side to watch as his Captain blushed, “How?”

Obi cleared his throat and leaned on the side of the Ambulance, “It was an accident, I had a concussion so I was in and out of consciousness, I bolted up and smashed my head right into her face…”

“Didn’t they give you a medal for that?” Y/N pulled out a pack of steristrips.

“Breaking your nose?” Shinra asked

Obi was rubbing the back of his head, he looked like he was enjoying the teasing, “It was a medal for bravery, I went back inside the building to help out a friend – Think it’s the same one they stripped from me two years later. Then they gave it back…”

“You never could back down when you thought something was wrong, Akitaru. Medals and titles mean nothing if you turn your back on what’s right.”

He smiled fondly at her, “You’re not much better at ignoring that stuff either, I remember the time you threatened that Doctor in the middle of the ER. You gave him the lecture of his life, told him he could take your job but if he didn’t save that kid’s life you would destroy him,” He looked somewhat proud and Obi had to stand up straight and fix his jacket as a distraction, “You used to burn hotter than any third gen.”

Shinra looked between the two, a crease between his eyebrows as he picked up the weird atmosphere, Obi ruffled his hair as Y/N finished treating him, “We used to date, long time ago.”

“But you stayed friends?” That sounded like something his Captain might do, who could ever hate the man?

Y/N disposed of her gloves and stood with her hands on her hips, “Sort of, I ended up dating a cop and then we got engaged… then I got un-engaged.” She said it so flippantly that neither man wanted to ask further, “What about you, Akitaru? You find someone to settle down with – not that you could settle if you wanted to, you’re always busy.”

“You know how clumsy I am, Y/N, you’re the only one who had enough patience…” The Captain took a breath and looked her in the eye, “Wanna go on a date sometime?”

The teen threw his hands up, “I’m right here!”

“Then go somewhere else.”

Y/N giggled at them but she wrote her details on a piece of paper and handed it to Obi, “Maybe we won’t screw it up this time?”

– -

Hinawa watched as Obi first passed the office wearing a suit, he passed again and then stopped at the door ten minutes later in his fatigues, “Too casual, right? But the suit seems too uptight…” The Lieutenant opened his mouth to reply but Obi was gone, the Captain next showing up in an odd half casual, half formal look, “Can I borrow your cologne? And what about this outfit?” He came fully into the office and sat down, his hands in his hair and his foot tapping, “Should I do something with my hair?”

“Where are you taking her?” He continued typing on his laptop, trying not to pick up on the other’s nervous energy, “You should dress in relation to that.” He typed for a little longer, the odd silence drawing it until he glanced at his Captain, the man looked like he was going to be sick, “You don’t know where you’re taking her, do you?”

“…”

“Ramen,” he suggested, “Go to your usual Ramen store and relax, stick to casual. You used to date, you have no false persona to maintain… Just be you, Captain.” He got up and stood in front of Obi, pulling him to his feet so that he could have him remove the formal jack, it left him in a pair of dark jeans and a short-sleeved black t-shirt. “If in doubt – Flex.”

“Thanks, Hinawa…” Obi knew he was trying too hard, he was excited and nervous and couldn’t quite control himself, “I was in love with her, I don’t think I really ever let go but I screwed it up so badly before that I’m worried I’ll do it again. I should be concentrating on our mission…” He felt hands on his shoulders and he looked at his Lieutenant’s serious expression.

Hinawa wasn’t the best at talking about his own feelings but he certainly cared about his Team’s emotional welfare, “You’ve been given a second chance with a woman you love, I want you to be happy, Captain. Everyone in this Company wants you to be happy and we’ll help you in any way we can.” He gave him a pat, “And if she doesn’t like you back I can always shoot her.”

“…Please don’t shoot her. Everything else was appreciated.”

– -

Y/N grinned as she stepped into the ramen place, she could see that Obi was blushing and he was rubbing the back of his head nervously - he was panicking. He was so calm and collected in an emergency but he was so cute when he had to make public speeches and always when he chose date spots. “I was so worried you’d take me somewhere ridiculous, somewhere fancy that we would both hate. This is great.” She took a seat in a booth and he slid in opposite her, Obi looked a little less stiff and she could see the tension released as soon as she had said that.

“I’d like to take the credit but my Lieutenant talked me down - I still get nervous around you.”

“Akitaru…” Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her face warm at his honesty, “You’re still a charmer.”

They passed the evening catching up, eating Ramen and then heading to a nearby bar for drinks. It was like old times, Obi felt like they had picked up from where they had left off and the time apart seemed trivial. They had originally split up because of their jobs. Being a fireman was hard work and so was being an ER nurse, they wouldn’t have much time for each other and when they did they were exhausted and irritable. Obi was often frustrated with the limits put on him, he valued lives - not rules - he didn’t train as much back then either and he’d always had excess energy to burn.

Y/N worked all hours, she had to fight with her managers on treatment over saving money, they cut corners and she was so low on the chain that they ignored her, she didn’t want to listen to him complain when she had her own frustrations.

They had to let each other go before they came to hate one another.

Obi placed another drink in front of her, they sat beside one another, close enough to converse over the noise of the bar, “So, you didn’t get married in the end?”

There it was, she knew this was going to come up eventually and she shrugged as if it were nothing, “He had a temper, so I got out of there before it got out of hand - he could be quite frightening at times…” Y/N picked up her glass and took a drink, “Why haven’t you dated in such a long time? You must have gotten offers, women love a fireman.”

“No one compared to you,” He admitted right away, the Captain looked at her surprised expression and smiled, “I let you go because we weren’t mature enough for each other at the time, I didn’t let you go because I didn’t love you.”

He came straight out with it. The way he had always been and what she had always adored, “Akitaru…” There was no hesitation in her as the man leaned in, his lips were familiar and oddly comforting, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut and she caressed up his jaw until she could feel the prickly short hairs of his undercut, keeping him from pulling away.

— -

Company 8 had noticed the change in Obi’s mood over the few weeks he’d been dating, he was usually enthusiastic but he was so much happier than before, it spread through them all. He was still serious about their mission but it was nice for everyone to see him taking more time to relax, “Captain, you have a visitor,” Maki announced as she stepped into his office, Y/N was just behind her but the to woman went unnoticed for a few seconds as Obi continued to punch the bag in the corner. Y/N couldn’t help but admire his muscular back, his skin was shiny with sweat and if it hadn’t been for one thing then she was certain she would be thinking about getting him alone for some fun. Instead, she was focussed on the sound of his fists hitting the bag.

The sound made her flinch and she had to remember to breathe.

“Captain Obi!” Maki called out this time, her hands on her hips as she approached him, “Y/N’s here.”

That did the trick and Obi stopped, turning around to grin at her, “Thanks, Maki.” The woman gave a nod and headed out, Obi grabbed a hand towel and wiped the sweat from his face, “Sorry, I was too into it. I didn’t think you’d actually come to… visit…” He noticed that she looked a little off colour and as he looked closer he could see that Y/N was tense, “Y/N?” He walked to her and reached out to move a loose hair from her face - immediately she recoiled with a sharp gasp. Obi froze.

He watched her hunch in on herself and lower her gaze to the floor, she looked terrified… “Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?” She shook her head and tried to look at him, a half muttered ‘I’m fine’ escaped her lips and was followed shortly by a hitched breath, then another… and another. Years of looking after people during and after traumatising events made Obi realise immediately that she was having an anxiety attack. “Hey, you’re safe, Y/N, it’s okay. Come on, take a seat.” The man took her hand and guided her to his chair, getting her to sit and then opened the office window before getting on his knees in front of her, Obi tried to reach for her face again but once more she flinched away.

She didn’t want him to touch her.

“Okay, okay…” Obi placed his hands on his thighs, he waited for her to get control of her breathing, she was a nurse and she seemed to be trying to bring herself out of the anxious state so that she could at least take a proper breath, “Do you need some water?” At her nod he got up and crossed the room to grab a bottle, bringing it back and opening it for her, “That was new…” Obi tried to make light of it once she seemed almost calm.

“I’m sorry, Akitaru… I…I haven’t had one of those in a while…”

He told her not to apologise and remained on the floor, keeping himself low and trying to seem a little less big. “Did something happen today? Is that why you came to see me?”

“I just wanted to visit… I…” She looked at his handsome face, his warm, kind eyes looking at her with such concern, “You’ll get angry, Akitaru.”

“About what?”

He would get angry and that would just give her another attack but he should know. “Sometimes… sometimes the sound of fists hitting something else… sets me off.” Y/N sucked in her bottom lip and tightened her hands into fists, “Remember when I said my ex had a temper…?”

Obi could be slow at times, known to have more brawn than brains but this was a very simple equation. “He hit you?” It was difficult for him to keep his voice level, anger began to clump together inside him and made his body feel heavy - he stamped it down and tried not to let a single bit escape him. “I’m… you…” What did he say to her? How long did she put up with that kind of abuse? How bad was it? How did she get away? He had so many questions and not one of them would make this better and would only cause her more distress. The Captain took her hands in his and pressed his lips to her fingertips, taking a long moment to compose himself and then looking up into her nervous gaze, “I don’t think I need to tell you that I would never harm you, Y/N. I get that it’s probably really hard to trust anyone after someone you were supposed to marry, who you must have loved dearly, hurt you. But I would never, ever, ever lay a hand on you with the intent to hurt you.”

“I know, Akitaru,” she understood that completely and she felt guilty for getting so worked up over his training, “It took me so long to walk away from him, I was in denial and thought maybe I could make him kind again but maybe he was always that bad. I’m sorry I freaked out - You looked pretty sexy before I had to mess things up.”

The man leaned up to press a short kiss to her lips, pulling back to make sure she didn’t feel crowded by him, “You didn’t mess anything up… Besides, I look sexier when I’m lifting weights.” Obi took hold of the seat she was on and lifted both it and her up onto his desk, the woman giving out a surprised yell as he did, “You’re the prettiest desk weight I’ve ever seen, my paperwork will never blow away again.”

Y/N ran her hand through his hair and smiled down at him, he knew how to make her feel treasured and she reached for him to pick her up and place her back on the ground, she hugged him tight and sighed in relief as he held her - She felt safe with him.

“If the furniture isn’t back in its proper place by the time our meeting starts, I will shoot you in the knee, Captain.”

Y/N heard something that sounded suspiciously like a whimper and Obi’s embrace became a little tighter as he tried to shrink behind her. She managed to turn her head enough to see that Hinawa had entered the office and didn’t seem happy to see the chair on top of the desk or that Obi had set up a punching bag, “I’ll protect you, Akitaru.”

#obi akitaru #reader #domestic violence mention #fire force

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maybeimamuppet · 3 years

Text

guess who?

hello friends, happy Wednesday!! this work is a birthday present to myself, so before we get into it: spoiler for the title, its a baby.

trigger warnings for:

pregnancy/childbirth (literally as non-graphic as I could possibly make it)

mentioned infertility

mentioned miscarriage

pregnancy complcations

otherwise, please enjoy!

Janis sighs heavily as she toes off her shoes. It’s her birthday, but she still had to go to work and had an exceptionally long day teaching angsty middle schoolers. All she really wants is a lot of food and a good cuddle session with her wife, Cady.

Their pets come up to greet her as she takes off her jacket, demanding their daily scratches. Janis obliges, rubbing Elvira’s head and scritching behind Daffodil’s ears. Daffy shakes her head once Janis stands back to flip the light on. Her collar shifts, and Janis suddenly notices the note tied to it.

“Aww, Daffy, a message for me?” Janis coos, bending down again to untie it and petting them both one more time. She’s not sure if her wife is home, since all the lights are off except the one in the kitchen. Maybe this will explain things. She unrolls it and reads,

Happy birthday, my love. First present for you in the bedroom ;) Love, C

“Hmm. Caddy?” Janis calls as she heads that way. She quiets when she opens the door. It turns out Cady is home, she’s just asleep. She’s on top of the covers and wearing one of Janis’ jackets, which is their usual formula for a special night. The jacket is buttoned, which is a bit odd. Cady usually leaves them undone to show off whatever cute lingerie she’s picked. But she’s covered their bed in rose petals, that’s a nice touch.

Janis doesn’t want to wake her up yet, so she changes out of her work clothes in the dark. She hears a sleepy groan come from behind her as she tugs a comfy shirt over her head, turning around to find Cady mid-stretch.

“Hi, lovey,” Cady yawns as she reaches for her. “Happy birthday.”

“Hi, baby,” Janis chuckles affectionately, coming to cuddle her and flipping a light on. “Thanks. How was your day?”

“Good! I got a lot done, and Daffy and I had a nice walk,” Cady replies. “How about you, how was your day?”

“It was fine,” Janis says with a small yawn. “Long.”

“Aww. Would your present make you feel better?” Cady asks, stroking through her hair. Janis perks up a little at the reminder.

“Oh, yeah, what do I get?” She asks excitedly.

“You’ll just have to unwrap it and find out,” Cady purrs, gesturing to herself.

“You just woke up, are you sure-whoa, okay,” Janis replies as Cady starts kissing her hungrily. Janis kisses back for a long moment before she starts working her way down, kissing and nipping at her neck.

She undoes the buttons one by one as she works her way down Cady’s chest, until eventually she feels something other than her soft skin against her lips and pulls back in confusion. It’s another message, painted across Cady’s tummy. The top of whatever it says is just barely peeking out.

Frowning confusedly, Janis undoes the rest of the buttons in one go and pulls the flaps of the jacket apart, revealing the words,

Guess who?

Janis gasps and claps her hands over her mouth, letting out a happy sob. “Are you for real?! We-we’re gonna be mamas?”

Cady gives a watery chuckle, already crying too. “Yeah, Jay, we are. I’m for real. Are you excited?”

“Oh my god!” Janis sobs, pulling her wife upright to hug her tightly. “Of course I’m excited, there’s a baby in you! When did you find out?”

“I’ve known for about two weeks, kind of, but I found out for sure yesterday,” Cady says. “I took a bunch of tests after you went to bed, and they’re all positive.”

“Is that why you were crying? You never told me what was wrong,” Janis says, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Because nothing was wrong,” Cady giggles. “But yeah. I didn’t want to tell you yet, or it would’ve ruined my whole plan.”

“And when you said you got food poisoning last week, that was...” Janis suddenly puts several pieces together.

“Morning sickness,” Cady grins. She leans over to her bedside table and opens the drawer, pulling out a little stick. Janis takes it with shaky hands, staring intently at the Pregnant+ on the small screen. “I’m already showing a little, look.”

Cady turns to the side and pulls the jacket away. She’s right, the slight swell of her belly at the bottom is already a tiny bit bigger.

“Isn’t it early for you to be showing?” Janis asks, looking back and forth between the test and her wife.

“A little, but I’m small,” Cady replies with a shrug. “I’m about five weeks, that’s pretty normal for someone my size, I think.”

Janis reaches tentatively to feel her tummy, but pulls back just before she touches. Cady takes her hand gently and rests it on her lower abdomen.

“There’s a baby there,” Janis mumbles.

“Yeah, there is,” Cady chuckles, drying the leftover tears from Janis’ cheeks. “Our baby. Breathe, sweetheart, you look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I’m not!” Janis insists. “I’m just... happy. And scared. We... we’re having a kid.”

“Don’t be scared yet, we have time to prepare. Everything’s fine,” Cady comforts. “You’re gonna be such a good mom.”

“So are you,” Janis replies. “When do we get to see them?”

“A couple weeks. There’s not really much to see right now, they probably don’t even have a heartbeat yet,” Cady says. “But soon. Unless... unless something goes wrong again, then we’ll need to go in sooner. But I feel good about this one.”

“I do too. They say third time’s the charm,” Janis replies, rubbing her thumb gently over her belly. She feels as if the weight of the world is resting beneath her hand.

This was their third time trying for a child. The first time, none of their embryos had implanted successfully. The second, Cady miscarried in the third week. They’d spent months mourning their losses each time before they were even willing to try again.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Cady replies, leaning in for a kiss.

“Do you still wanna...” Janis asks, gesturing to the emerald green lingerie Cady still has on.

“Oh yeah,” Cady purrs, pulling Janis back on top of her.

“Cool,” Janis breathes.

————-

Halloween rolls around exactly two weeks later. It’s Janis’ favorite holiday, and this one is made extra special by the fact that she gets to see her child for the first time. She’s distracted through her whole day at work, wanting to be done so she can go home and then to the doctor with her wife.

“Christ, lovey,” Cady jumps as Janis throws the door open. “Hi.”

“Hi, sorry, are you okay?” Janis apologizes frantically, coming to hug her and protectively resting a hand on her tummy.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Cady giggles. “I take it you’re excited?”

“Of course I’m excited, Peanut,” Janis says happily. “We get to see our little peanut, I wanna go!”

“Okay, okay,” Cady laughs. “Our appointment isn’t for two hours, Jellybean, we have time.”

“And the place is forty-five minutes away, it’s late and a holiday so there’s gonna be traffic,” Janis says rapidly. She pauses with a sigh to calm herself. “I just want to make sure they’re okay.”

“I’m sure they’re fine, Jay. I feel fine,” Cady says soothingly. “I feel good, actually.”

“Good,” Janis breathes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you’re excited,” Cady chuckles. “Let’s go.”

Two hours later, Cady is checked in at the doctor and they’re sitting eagerly in the waiting room. Cady is fiddling with Janis’ fingers to distract herself.

“Sarkisian-Heron?” A nurse suddenly calls from the doorway nearby. Janis leaps up happily and holds out a hand for Cady. They follow her back and get Cady prepped, lying her on the uncomfortable table as Janis stands behind her.

The doctor comes in a few minutes after the nurse leaves, knocking on the doorframe as she enters. “Hello, ladies, congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Cady chuckles anxiously. Janis squeezes her hand gently.

“Let’s get right into it, shall we? How have you been feeling, anything you’re concerned about?” The doctor asks, making conversation to distract Cady as she begins the scan. Janis winces slightly at the process.

“I don’t think so,” Cady hums. “I’m exhausted and I’ve been… really sick, but I’m not worried about anything.”

“Sounds typical so far,” the doctor says pensively. “When did you have them implanted?”

“Sometime in September, I’d have to check to know when exactly,” Cady replies. The doctor’s eyebrows suddenly lift high on her forehead, then furrow. “Is something wrong?”

“How many embryos did you have done?” The doctor asks, shifting again slightly and seeming to ignore the question.

“Just the one, this time, that’s all we could do,” Cady sounds more frightened with every word. “Are they okay?”

“They are absolutely fine. You’re having identical twins,” the doctor says.

“What?!” Janis and Cady yelp at the same time. Cady hears Janis fall to her knees behind her, but is in too much shock to even check if she’s okay.

“Twins?” She breathes anxiously.

“Identical?” Janis chokes in about the same tone.

“Mmhmm,” the doctor replies, turning the monitor to face them. There’s two black forms in a sea of grey static. “You’re actually rather lucky, usually the process for determining what type of twins are present is more involved. But since you only had one embryo done, identical twins are the only type feasible for you to have. Your first baby, baby A, is here. And this is baby B up here.”

“Twins,” Cady sobs happily. “Oh my god. And they’re both okay?”

“They’re perfectly fine. Their heartbeats both look strong and their development is on track. You have two healthy babies growing here, congratulations,” the doctor says.

“Janis, look,” Cady sobs again. “Are you okay?”

Janis perks up from the ground, having previously buried her face against Cady’s side where she’s attempting to process everything. She looks up at the monitor to see what Cady’s pointing to.

“We’re having twins,” Janis says as her own tears start pouring down her face. “I’m-I’m fine, Butterfly. Those... those are our babies. No wonder you’re already showing.”

“What does this mean? For us?” Cady asks the doctor, holding Janis’ hand so tightly.

“Well, for you specifically it means you’ll have to be a bit more careful. More frequent scans, take a few extra vitamins, eat more calories daily. Your babies seem to be sharing a placenta, so we’ll need to monitor them for twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, but I have no reason to believe that anything should happen.”

“Okay,” Cady breathes anxiously.

“And it does also mean your chances of delivering prematurely are higher, but again, that’s not anything to be concerned about at the moment. Your babies are healthy, and we’ll do everything we can to deliver them when the time is right for them.”

“Okay,” Cady says again, trying not to worry. Janis leans in to kiss her cheek and her fears fade for the time being.

“Can we hear them?” Janis asks shyly. “The heartbeats?”

“Of course,” the doctor says, flicking a switch to turn sound on. A rapid pulsing sound fills the room. “Here’s baby A.”

Cady turns to look at Janis happily, and Janis leans in for a kiss on the lips this time. “That’s our baby, Janis.”

“Baby A,” Janis murmurs back. The doctor shifts and suddenly a second pulsing sound overlaps the first. “And… and baby B.”

“They both sound perfectly healthy,” the doctor says as she presses some buttons to take photos. She prints out copies of a few and hands them to Cady, along with several informational pamphlets. “Congratulations again, ladies.”

She leaves then, leaving Cady and Janis alone to process everything and then leave.

Cady drives home when she sees how hard Janis is shaking. Janis doesn’t speak the whole ride home, she just clutches Cady’s hand and stares at the ultrasound photos.

Janis turns to her once they’re home again. “I know this is terrible timing and I don’t want to worry you, but can I please have some alone time?”

“Of course, my love,” Cady replies, popping up on her toes for a quick kiss. “I’m gonna walk Daffy and make sure we have everything for Karen’s party on Friday, I’ll check on you in an hour?”

Janis nods. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jayjay.”

Exactly an hour later, Cady knocks on their bedroom door carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. With a touch of pumpkin spice, since it is Halloween. Janis pokes her head out from under the duvet. She’s spent the entire time staring at the photos.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” Cady asks gently, handing one mug to Janis.

Janis takes it with a sigh. “I’m-I’m terrified, Caddy. We’re having twins, two babies. What if something happens to you, or to them? Or... or what if I can’t take care of them? Or tell them apart? Two kids is gonna be way more work than one, and I don’t know... any of what I need to. I want to be what you need, what they need. I just... I don’t know how.”

Cady takes their mugs gently and pulls her into a hug. “Oh, mpendwa. I’m scared too, you know. I’m small, this pregnancy is risky. You’re right, there is always a chance something could happen. But I’m so, so excited too. Because I’m doing this with you, my love. I’m carrying your babies. We’re doing this together. I have you to help keep me safe and help me raise these babies into great humans.”

Janis doesn’t say anything, just cuddles in closer and rests a gentle hand on Cady’s belly.

“And yeah, two is gonna be more work than one. But we can do it. We’ll learn what we need to and deal with stuff as it happens. Take it one day at a time,” Cady says, nuzzling her nose into Janis’ hair. “For today, we have two healthy little peanuts inside me.”

Janis grins at that. “I love you so much. And them. I’m excited too, I don’t want it to seem like I don’t want them. I get two mini-yous to love on. I’m just… really scared.”

“I love you too, darling,” Cady chuckles. “But you realize they’re more likely to be mini-yous, right? You have more dominant features.”

“Man,” Janis grumbles jokingly. “Oh well. We’ll just have to wait and find out, I guess.”

Cady reaches to hand her back her drink, taking a sip of her own. “Speaking of finding out, do you want to find out the sexes?”

“If you do,” Janis replies. “It doesn’t really matter to me. And it’s not a guarantee of who we’ll be raising, anyway.”

“I want to wait, I want it to be a surprise,” Cady says. “And you’re right. It always felt kind of creepy to me that people make such a big deal over the genitals of an infant.”

Janis laughs. “It is a little weird. Surprise babies it is.” She takes another drink. “Can I do something?”

“Sure,” Cady says confusedly. Janis suddenly dashes away and comes back with some black washable paint and a brush. She gently tugs up Cady’s shirt and writes,

Guess who? (Times two!)

Cady laughs when she sees it, and goes to stand by a blank wall so Janis can take a picture.

“Smile,” Janis says, pulling a goofy face to make her laugh.

“You’re such a dork, I love you,” Cady giggles. Janis snaps a few photos.

“There,” she says happily, letting Cady come see them. “I love you too.”

Cady smiles contently when she sees the pictures, then clicks the phone off and sets it on the nightstand. “Now comes the fun part of all this, you know?”

“Mm?” Janis hums confusedly, finishing off her delicious beverage.

“Now we have to tell everyone,” Cady says casually, finishing hers too.

“Oh, shit.”

—————

They tell their families on Thanksgiving. Every year both of their families have Thanksgiving dinner in their apartment. Usually Damian and his mom join them, but his mother couldn’t make it this year so he went back to Illinois to be with her.

Cady is very clearly pregnant now, and has to wear one of Janis’ oversized sweaters to hide her belly before they want it to be noticed. Paired with some dark leggings, nobody would ever notice anything about the outfit.

Janis and Cady both make anxious small talk with everyone as they help prepare the meal, and grin excitedly at each other as they go to set the table. They made special name cards for everyone this year. In between Janis and Cady’s spots are two mini plates, with ‘Baby A’ on one place setting, and ‘Baby B’ on the other.

Their dining table isn’t big enough for everyone to sit and have all the food on it at the same time, so they leave everything in the kitchen and call everyone to come grab their plates to load up buffet style.

Their moms seem to notice something’s amiss first, and Janis’ mom gasps when she sees the little plates. She makes a beeline for that side of the table to see what the name tags say, and shrieks excitedly when she reads them. Everyone else rushes to see what she’s looking at.

“Oh my god!” Their moms both nearly-yell excitedly at the same time, running to hug them. Juliana follows quickly, shaking a concerning amount in her excitement.

“I’m gonna be an auntie!” She squeals. “And there’s two!”

Cady smiles widely as Julie hugs her gently and feels her tummy. “You’ll be the best auntie, Jules. I can’t wait to see you with them.”

“Do you know if they’re identical?” Janis’ mom asks. She’s an identical twin herself, Janis’ aunt Alice is her sister. Janis and her cousin, Veronica, both take after them and look nearly identical themselves.

“They are, I’m hoping you can give me some tips,” Cady chuckles. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

They both look up to see Cady’s dad visibly holding back tears, but they break through as Cady reaches for him.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just so happy for you,” he chokes, hugging his daughter tightly. “Twins, holy cow, binti.”

“I know,” Cady chuckles. “I love you. You’ll be a great grandad.”

Everyone crowds around both Cady and Janis in a group hug, sharing their love too.

“Okay, let’s eat. I’m eating for three now, I’m starving,” Cady jokes, taking her plate first and heading into the kitchen.

—————-

On Christmas Eve, Cady is finishing wrapping some final presents on their bed, cuddling Elvira on her lap as she works.

“Caddy?” Janis asks, entering from their living room. Cady checks to make sure anything that’s for Janis is hidden before she says she can come in.

“Yes, my love?” She asks, putting a last ribbon on a present and setting it aside.

“Can I paint on your tummy? I got this app on my phone that says what size the babies are,” Janis asks shyly. “Like, fruits and stuff. I thought it would be a cute way to track until they’re here.”

“Aww, Bluejay, of course,” Cady says as Janis rushes to grab her paints before coming back. “How big are they now?”

“It says they’re the size of peaches,” Janis responds, mixing some pink and a touch of orange together and brushing it over her wife’s belly.

“Aww, how cute,” Cady coos. “Precious little peaches.”

Janis just smiles happily at her, leaning down for a kiss before she adds some green leaves.

Cady just relaxes and enjoys the soothing texture of the paint. “This is nice. Oh, do you have any name ideas, by the way?”

“Not really, yet,” Janis replies. “But I have some rules.”

“Rules? Okay, shoot,” Cady says, looking up at her confusedly.

“The names can’t rhyme. That’s just gonna be annoying as they get older,” Janis says, adding some little details. “And they have to be spelled in a way that makes sense. I’m very tired of explaining that it’s Janis with an S, and I’m sure you’re tired of people calling you Caddy when they first read your name.”

“Yeah. You’re the only one I like calling me Caddy,” Cady grins fondly. “Okay, those are good rules. What if... are you okay with them starting with the same letter?”

“I can live with that,” Janis hums. “What letter?”

“I... no, never mind,” Cady says.

“No, what? I wanna know,” Janis pouts, adding two little happy faces on each peach.

“It’s stupid. But my favorite letter when I was little was L,” Cady mumbles. “I like the way it bends.”

“That’s not stupid, baby, it’s cute. L works for me,” Janis says.

“And I think we should each name one twin,” Cady says. “And then switch for middle names?”

“Sure. Do you have any names picked?” Janis asks, resting everything down on the palette and cuddling her wife while they wait for it to dry.

“Not first names,” Cady says. “But I want one of their middle names to be Rhys. Or Reese with the E’s, if they’re girls.”

“Of course, I love it,” Janis says, leaning down to kiss her.

“What about you, do you have anything?” Cady asks as she kisses her back sweetly.

“Um... since we’re doing L, could we name a boy Luca? After my dad?” Janis asks.

“That’s perfect,” Cady says, sounding choked up. “Luca Rhys. I love it.”

“Why are you crying?” Janis asks worriedly, cuddling her closer.

“I don’t know,” Cady sobs. “We just... we just named one of our babies, maybe. And-and you, I just love you so much!”

Ah. Hormones. “Oh, baby, I love you too. I love all three of you, come here,” Janis says, kissing her temple. “This probably isn’t a great time, but I have middle names picked already too.”

“What did you pick?” Cady sniffles, luckily calming down pretty quickly.

“Damian, if it’s a boy,” Janis says. “I have to. I couldn’t do it as a first name, I can’t handle two of them. But... I owe him so much.”

“I like it,” Cady grins through her tears. “What about for a girl?”

“Juliette. After my mom,” Janis says, wiping her tears away. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from,” Cady sniffles again. “So, Luca Rhys and something Damian, or something Reese and something Juliette. I like it.”

“Good,” Janis chuckles. “The paint should be dry now, do you still want to take your picture?”

“Yeah, might as well,” Cady chuckles. “I want to remember this. Crying because we chose a name and I’m in love with my wife.”

Janis laughs. “Go stand over there, Sunshine.”

Cady does, finally looking down and seeing Janis’ work. “Oh, Jayjay, they’re so cute! The little faces!”

Janis takes a picture then, finding Cady’s candid moments somehow even cuter than her posing. “There, got it.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Cady says confusedly.

“You didn’t have to,” Janis says lovingly. “Come see.”

Cady starts to, but freezes suddenly as her eyes go wide.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Janis asks frantically.

“Come here, come here,” Cady says excitedly. Janis does, and Cady grabs her hand and rests it against the side of her tummy. Janis is confused until she feels a little pop beneath her.

“Is-is that...” She asks, already starting to cry as well.

“One of them is kicking,” Cady laughs through her tears. “That’s one of our babies.”

“Does it hurt?” Janis asks in wonder, resting her other hand on the other side. At her touch, the other twin sets off and starts kicking too.

“It feels like a tiny little kick, yeah,” Cady chuckles. “Little jolt. But that’s so exciting, Jay. This one must really love you, they only kicked when you came over.”

Janis bends down and peppers kisses all over the top of her belly. “Hello babies. I love you both so, so much. But it’s not nice to kick your mother, she’s doing a lot to get you here. And don’t kick each other, either.”

“You’re such a dork, you’re so cute,” Cady chuckles, threading her fingers through Janis’ short hair.

“I love you so much,” Janis says, leaning up again to kiss Cady’s lips this time.

“I love you too. Merry Christmas, love,” Cady whispers against her.

“Merry Christmas, Peanut.”

—————

They tell all their friends on New Year’s Eve. Every year they have a party to celebrate, and do their holiday gift exchange then as well, since they’re all with their families for the actual holidays.

Cady and Janis stayed in New York this year, so their friends already sort of know something is up. It’s still safe for Cady to travel, but she was uncomfortable doing anything that might strain their babies. Their families did Christmas and Thanksgiving all in one, instead.

The party is at Damian and Aaron’s apartment this year. Damian opens the door to find them both holding large stacks of presents. They got everyone little things individually, and then the baby announcements from both of them.

“Hey, gu-whoa,” Damian greets as he opens the door. “That’s a lot of presents, here.”

He takes about half of each of their stacks and carries them into the living room. Janis takes what’s left of her wife’s and follows after him. There’s a lovely tree and menorah set up, and he helps her arrange everything among all the other presents.

“Oh no wait, keep those separate,” Janis says. He looks at her confusedly but does so, resting all of the most important gifts to the side. “It’s a group thing, they’re all the same, I don’t want them to get mixed up.”

“Ah, okay. How was your lonely Christmas here?” Damian asks, finally able to hug his friends now that all the gifts are in their proper places.

“It was kind of nice, actually, we just watched Christmas movies and cuddled the pets all day,” Janis responds. She hopes he won’t ask her why they had to stay behind. She can’t lie to save her life.

“Living the dream,” Damian says instead, making Janis breathe a sigh of relief. “Caddy, why are you all the way over there?”

Cady’s been watching them and trying to figure out how to hug people without revealing their secret too soon. “Oh, just admiring the view,” she teases, approaching from the side and leaning in very gently. Damian hasn’t noticed anything amiss, somehow. “Are we the first ones here?”

“No, you’re the last, actually,” Damian chuckles. “The Plastics all went to help Aaron in the kitchen.”

As if on cue, Gretchen and Karen follow Aaron out of the kitchen then. The girls both squeal when they see Cady and come to hug her before moving to Janis. Aaron follows suit too.

Regina didn’t come with them, so Cady heads into the kitchen alone to greet her while Janis helps with everything in the living room. Cady finds Regina alone and sipping a glass of champagne.

“Hey, Gina,” she says quietly, pouring herself a flute of the non-alcoholic variety. Regina whirls around with a quiet yelp.

“Oh, Cady. Hi, sorry, I didn’t hear you guys get here or I would’ve gone out with everyone,” she says once she sees it’s just her friend.

“It’s fine,” Cady chuckles as she takes a sip. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted a minute to thank. Reflect on the year, you know?” Regina says quietly.

“I get that,” Cady says meaningfully. She can suddenly see the gears turning in Regina’s brain as she looks her up and down oddly. “What?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing, sorry,” Regina says hastily, taking another drink.

“It’s fine, but really, what is it?” Cady says.

“Are you pregnant?” Regina asks quietly.

Cady chokes on her drink and looks around to make sure nobody else can hear them. “Um, yeah. How could you tell?”

Regina squeals excitedly. “You’re wearing a loose dress and flats when heels would clearly go better with it, you’re not drinking real alcohol even though New Year’s is the only time you drink, you didn’t go home for Christmas, and you keep touching your stomach.”

“Do I?” Cady asks. Upon looking down she notices her hand is, in fact, resting gently on her tummy. “Oh. Oops.”

“Congratulations!” Regina squeals. “Can I do your maternity pictures?”

“God, yes please,” Cady says in relief.

“Yay! Come on, you have to tell everyone else, I need time to fight with Damian about who gets to throw your baby shower,” Regina insists happily, putting her drink back in her hand and pushing her gently towards the living room. Cady pauses to grab one more glass of actual champagne for her wife before she goes.

Janis looks at her as she comes back, checking that she’s okay. Cady nods and comes over to her. “Here, love. Regina knows, but she won’t tell anyone.”

“How did she find out?” Janis asks, furrowing her eyebrows.

“She’s a therapist? She read me like an open book in thirty seconds flat and asked me point blank, I couldn’t lie,” Cady chuckles. “Get D to do the presents now, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Okay,” Janis replies. “Damie!”

“What?” Damian groans from the couch, where he’s cuddling his boyfriend and finally eating his snacks.

“Can we do presents now pleeeeeeeeease?” Janis begs, trying her hardest to make it seem like she wants to receive her presents and not give them.

“Fine. Who wants to go first?” Damian asks, hauling himself back upright and heading to the pile of presents. Cady and Janis both keep quiet, deciding they should probably go last.

Karen eventually volunteers Gretchen, who looks at her aghast. It turns out she took up crocheting over the past year and made everyone blankets in their favorite colors. They all get different baked goods from Regina, who explains that Gretchen has been teaching her how to cook and bake. Karen gives everyone very expensive face masks that are somehow perfectly catered to their skin types.

Damian and Aaron go next. Damian gives everyone fun socks with different animals on them. Cady’s have lions, Janis’ have turtles, Gretchen’s have cats, Karen’s have mice, and Regina’s have bunnies. From anyone else it would be a lame gift, but Damian is a professional. Aaron handmade each household a wreath for their doors. It’s a little late to use them now, but they promise to next year.

There’s a noticeable energy shift when it comes to Cady and Janis’ gifts. They try their hardest to act natural as they give their individual presents. Cady made little dishes in a pottery class she had done as a special date with Janis, and Janis painted mini portraits of all of them based on photos she had.

Janis then corrals everyone to sit together on the couch, somehow without arousing suspicion. Regina is on one arm and Aaron is on the other, with Gretchen, Karen, and Damian all squished together in the middle.

“This is from both of us but don’t open them yet,” she says as she hands out the packages. Cady is sneakily filming behind her, and turns to grin at her as Janis comes to hug her from behind. “Okay, read the cards first.”

She and Cady had made the cards by hand, decorating them with different cute designs. They all say the same thing, however: ‘Happy Holidays from Janis, Cady, L. & L. Sarkisian-Heron’.

Damian makes it to the end of the message first, and his brows furrow in confusion as he tears into his package. They shoot back up his forehead when he pulls out a t-shirt that says ‘Best gay uncle ever’ and everyone else follows his lead, pulling out matching ones with their respective sexualities and auntie or uncle titles. They watch them all process everything until it finally clicks in their heads.

Janis tries to count how many times Damian shrieks “Oh my god!” in ten seconds, but she loses count after twenty.

“How is this happening?” He demands, wrapping both of them in a tight hug. “Are you adopting or is one of you pregnant?”

“I’m pregnant,” Cady laughs as he takes a step back, adjusting her dress so her bump is revealed. Damian squeals and hugs her again, and everyone else joins in to make it a big group hug.

Regina, as always, breaks away first and heads back after just a couple of minutes. Gretchen follows to make sure she’s okay, holding her girlfriend’s hand as Regina reads through the cards again. Suddenly, she clocks the second initial.

“Guys, wait,” she says, patting Gretchen’s shoulder excitedly a few times. “There’s two initials here. Are you having twins?”

“Yes,” Cady says. Everyone screams and rushes to hug her again. She peeks up at her wife around everyone and grins happily. “They’re identical, the embryo split.”

“Oh my god!” Damian sobs. “I’m gonna be an uncle! To twins! And you guys are gonna be moms! To twins!”

“Aww, Dame, don’t cry,” Cady chuckles. “Your nieces or nephews should be here in May.”

“Oh my god,” he says quietly again. “Shit, guys, happy fucking holidays.”

Everyone laughs at that and scatters slightly, finally letting Janis and Cady breathe. Damian excuses himself to the kitchen to recover. Janis follows as Cady lets everyone feel her bump and answers their questions.

“God, Jan, congratulations,” he sniffs, wiping his nose on a tissue.

“Thanks, Damdam,” Janis chuckles. “You seem more excited than us.”

“I am! I’m so excited, I’m gonna be an uncle,” he says happily.

“Oh, yeah, um. About that,” Janis says. “Caddy and I were hoping you’d be more than their uncle.”

“What do you mean?” He asks confusedly.

“We want you to be their godfather,” Janis says.

“Really?” Damian asks, his eyes brimming with tears again.

“Yeah, of course,” Janis says, handing him another tissue. “Stop crying, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs. “Of course I’ll be the godfather. God, I can’t wait to meet them. These are gonna be the cutest little dorky babies ever.”

“Hey!” Janis says as she comes to hug him tightly.

“Jan, we called ourselves the art freaks for ten years and Caddy is the biggest math nerd to ever live, you’re gonna be raising dorks in some form or another,” Damian says.

Janis purses her lips, realizing he’s absolutely correct. “I guess you’re right. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m so excited,” he says happily.

“Good,” Janis says, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’m gonna go find the mother of my children, I love you.”

“I love you too! All four of you!” He calls after her.

The excitement wears off just a touch by the time the countdown begins. Cady and Janis share a sweet kiss as it reaches zero and the fireworks go off around the city.

“Happy New Year, my love,” Cady whispers when they break apart. “It’s the year of babies.”

“The year of babies indeed,” Janis murmurs back.

—————-

They go shopping for baby things the next week. Technically, they’re supposed to be shopping for things they’ll need in their new house, since they’ve decided to move out of their tiny apartment and into a house that has enough room for them to raise two small humans. But, Cady passes by the baby clothes section on the way out and just can’t resist.

Janis follows and is instantly reeling at the sizes of everything. She nearly plows down a mannequin because she’s too busy staring at a little tiny bathing suit.

“Aww, Jayjay, look,” Cady says, weaseling her way around the racks to something she’s spotted. Janis leaves their cart where it is and runs after her. Cady heads to a rack with onesies that say ‘Thing One’ and ‘Thing Two’, patterned like the characters in the book. They have numbers that go all the way up to eight. Janis is suddenly very appreciative of the fact they’re only having twins.

“They’re cute,” Janis says. Cady grabs them in the newborn size. “Will they actually be this little?”

“Probably smaller, actually, we should be looking at preemie stuff too,” Cady says thoughtfully. Smaller? Janis tries to imagine something smaller than the onesies in her hand. It doesn’t quite compute.

“I have more rules,” she says suddenly, leading them back to the cart.

“Okay,” Cady chuckles. “What?”

“If they’re girls, we’re not putting them in those stupid bows that are the size of their faces,” Janis says.

“Agreed,” Cady says. She’s always found those tacky. “But can we do little ones?” She asks as she brushes a hand over a pack of more reasonably sized headbands.

“If you want, Butterfly,” Janis says, grabbing it and plopping it into their cart. “Have you thought any more about names, by the way?”

“Actually, yeah,” Cady says, resting a hand on her belly. “I want to name mine Leo. Boy or girl, I think it works for both.”

Janis grins happily. “I love it, that’s so cute. Leo Damian or Leo Juliette, it’s perfect.”

Cady comes over for a cuddle. “What about you, have you picked a girl name?”

“No,” Janis whines. “I can’t pick one.”

“You will. You’ll pick something perfect,” Cady comforts. “Let’s go home, I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, Peanut. Let’s go nap,” Janis chuckles.

—————

By Cady’s birthday in February, they’re officially in their new house farther upstate. Damian and Aaron helped with most things, since Cady couldn’t really do much. She packed most of their things and moved the lightest stuff, but she spent most of the move napping.

Damian also helped Janis do their nursery. He had begged to help, and Janis was all too happy for the extra hands. He put together all the white wood furniture Cady had picked while Janis painted the walls.

Cady had only gotten to pick their furniture and textiles, the rest is a birthday surprise Janis has been putting together. She painted the walls Cady’s favorite color, a pale yellow, and designed an accent wall for the one opposite the door to the room. She’d spent weeks doing paintings of different safari animals, and found a company who sized them up into big stickers. By the time everything’s pasted up, it looks like a scene straight out of Kenya.

Damian helps her push the cribs against that wall, with a nightstand in between and a lamp on top. The two-in-one dresser and changing table goes against the opposite wall, and Janis puts the bookshelf and the massive rocking chair in the corner next to it. The other corner has all the baskets full of soft toys and teethers they’ve acquired over the last few months.

Damian hangs the grey curtains patterned with little clouds from the curtain rod, while Janis unrolls a big matching rug. Cady had fallen in love with the little cloud pattern, so all the fabric in the room has it. The rug, sheets, changing table, lampshades, everything.

Janis had also come up with a cute way to make homemade mobiles. She and Cady had stitched little clouds and stuffed them, then hung them with fishing line from dowels that Janis had hot glued together. It’s a perfect touch.

She nearly breaks her neck hanging them over the cribs while Damian adds the soft grey baby blankets to the crib railings, and then the room is complete. Janis looks around as she and Damian catch their breaths, and comes to hug him for comfort.

“Damian, my babies are gonna be in those,” she mumbles anxiously, pointing to the cribs. “I’m not ready to be a mom.”

“Well, you’re not, yet, so that’s good,” Damian teases. “You’re gonna be a great mom, Janjan. You half raised Julie, and you’ve got the right instincts. You’ve taken great care of everything and everyone so far; I would bet all the money I’ve ever seen that you’re gonna be the greatest mom in the world. Well, Caddy is first, but you’re, like, a super duper close second.”

Janis whacks him on the arm affectionately. “Thanks, D. How do you always know what to say?”

“I still watch a lot of Drag Race, Rupaul is very wise,” Damian jokes. “And I just know you. Go get your wife, she should see this.”

Janis squeezes him one more time before leaving to go Cady-hunting. She finds her in their bedroom packing their hospital bag.

“Hey, baby,” she says quietly as she comes in. “Why are you packing the bag now?”

“Because we have no way of knowing when our babies are going to be here and I’d rather not have you do it in a panic while I’m in labor or something,” Cady shrugs. “I just wanted to get it out of the way.”

“Ah. That’s a very good idea,” Janis says. “Can you take a break for a second, though? I have another present for you.”

Cady nods eagerly and reaches for Janis to help her up. “Lemme go pee first.”

Janis grins affectionately as she does her cute little waddle towards the bathroom. Her belly is rapidly approaching the size it would be if she was full term with one baby, and their little ones are constantly pressing on her bladder. Cady’s already tired of it.

She covers Cady’s eyes when she comes back and leads her down the hallway towards the nursery. Janis steers them carefully around Daffodil, who’s trotting along beside them to see what they’re up to.

“Okay, ready?” She asks once they’re in the best place to view the whole room. Cady nods happily, so Janis takes her hands away.

Cady immediately starts crying, spinning around to look at everything. “Oh, Janis, this is perfect!” She heads to the far wall to look at the animals. “Did you paint these?”

“Yeah,” Janis says, coming behind her and lifting her tummy to hold the weight for her for a second. Cady gives a relieved sigh and leans back against her. “But they’re stickers, so once they get too old to want animals on their wall we won’t have to paint over the zebras.”

Cady brushes a hand over an elephant tenderly. “They’re so cute, you did such a good job.” She notices Damian in the chair nearby and reaches for him too. “Thank you guys, I love it.”

“You’re welcome, Cads,” Damian says, hugging her gently. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Cady chuckles, wiping the tears from under her eyes.

“I did one more thing, go look in the closet,” Janis murmurs, kissing Cady’s neck and sending her on her way. Cady coos at what she finds and is suddenly crying again.

Several teeny tiny denim jackets, hand painted by Janis with different designs. Teddy bears, little moons and stars, all sorts of things. “God, Jay, these are so cute. They can match you!”

“That was the idea,” Janis chuckles, instinctively going to comfort her wife. Cady puts the jacket she’s holding back on its hanger and hooks it back into the closet. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cady sniffles. She tries to hug Janis, but her belly blocks her most of the way. She manages anyway. “Oh, they’re awake now.”

“Can I feel?” Damian asks shyly. The babies haven’t kicked at all any time he’s been around.

“Of course, here,” Cady says, taking his hand and resting it where she’s feeling the most. “That’s your uncle, babies. We’re all so excited to meet you.”

“Oh my god that’s so weird,” he says in awe as the babies kick against his hand. “Cool, but... whoa.”

“It is a little weird,” Cady giggles. “Little aliens. Man, they’re excited.”

“What are they gonna call you guys? Is Janis mother dearest?” Damian asks jokingly, yelping again as another round of little kicks starts.

Cady and Janis look at each other. “I forgot about that, we can’t both be Mom.”

“I forgot too,” Janis says. “I think you should be Mama.”

“That makes you Mommy,” Cady smiles at her. Janis’ eyes well up when she realizes she’ll have two little beings calling her that soon. Mommy.

“I like it,” she sniffs.

“Aww, lovey,” Cady coos. Damian has returned to his very comfortable seat and is genuinely reading through Goodnight Moon for fun by this point. “God, can you two give it a rest for two seconds? I’m trying to hug your mommy.”

Janis laughs at that, brushing a hand over her tummy and kissing her wife. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Jay.”

—————-

They decide to do Cady’s maternity photos in late March. It’s getting to be Cady’s favorite time of year, it’s just starting to warm up and all the flowers are starting to bloom.

Janis comes home from work the day before to find Cady in tears on the couch. She rushes over, afraid something is wrong or she’s in pain. “Butterfly, what happened?”

“I’ve gained so much weight!” Cady wails, sitting up and crawling into Janis’ lap. Janis is confused, Cady has never been particularly insecure about her body, but the hormones have really been getting to her lately.

“Oh, baby,” Janis hushes. “That’s normal. Does your dress for tomorrow still fit?”

“Yeah,” Cady sobs. “But it’s so much, Janis.”

“Angel, it’s normal for you to have gained weight, I promise,” Janis says desperately. “A good eight of those pounds you’ve gained are just our babies, and they also need nutrients and fluids to grow and be healthy. And the rest of those pounds make up my beautiful, lovely, amazing, strong, adorable, kick-ass wife, who I love very much. I won’t hear any complaints about her body.”

Cady cuddles into her closer with a sniffle before she starts sobbing again. “I love you so much. You’re so good to me, I don’t deserve you!”

“Butterfly, shh, please, I hate when you cry,” Janis says, holding her wife as close as she possibly can. “I love you so, so much. I don’t deserve you. Come here.”

“I’m sorry, these hormones,” Cady sniffles. “Daffy lost her favorite ball under the couch yesterday and I cried for two hours.”

Janis chuckles and kisses her cheek. “I think that’s perfectly reasonable. Did she get it back?”

Daffodil comes trotting down the hallway with her favorite toy in her mouth, seeming to know she’s being discussed. Janis takes it from her and throws it back down the hallway, and she scrambles to run after it.

“Crazy dog,” Janis mumbles affectionately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Cady sniffles. Elvira comes hopping up on them then, bonking her soft head against their intertwined hands for pets. “Hi, Ellie.”

Elvira purrs happily as they scratch behind her ears, her eyes shutting contently. Once they stop, she opens them again and meows indignantly. She looks to see where their hands have gone, and notices Cady’s resting on her belly.

Ellie inches closer, sniffing at her tummy curiously. She brings a gentle paw up and bats at it a few times, so Cady takes her hands away so she can sniff more. Elvira changes her angle and bats gently at it again.

“Can you smell your siblings in there?” Cady giggles. Elvira suddenly looks up at her with wide eyes and a questioning meow, seeming to realize what’s happening. “Yeah, there’s babies in there! I’m surprised you didn’t notice earlier.”

Janis laughs at their kitty’s reaction. “I wonder if Daffy knows.”

“She doesn’t seem to, I’m not sure,” Cady hums. “Daffodil! Come here, puppies!”

Daffy comes trotting back down the hallway, still occupied with her ball. She approaches them on the couch and drops it on Cady’s lap, wagging her tail hopefully.

“Oh, you still want to play?” Cady chuckles. “Come here first, what’s in here?”

She taps carefully on her belly, getting Daffy’s attention. Thinking there’s a treat, the dog sniffs at her belly curiously. She seems suspicious when she realizes there’s no treat, but keeps sniffing. Her tail starts wagging harder when she realizes, and she licks Cady’s tummy excitedly.

“Yeah, there we go, you guys finally put it together,” Cady laughs. “Okay, here you go, go play.”

“Silly things,” Janis tuts affectionately as Ellie heads off to join Daffodil on her adventures.

“I always wonder what they get up to,” Cady says. “Anyway. Have you picked your girl name yet?”

“No,” Janis whines. “Help me, what names were you thinking about before you picked Leo?”

“Lydia,” Cady says. Janis pulls a face.

“That’s pretty, but I hooked up with a Lydia at a party my sophomore year of high school,” she explains.

“Really?” Cady laughs. “Okay, not that then. Um... Leah, but if we’re doing Leo that would be too close. What about Lucy?”

“Lucy is cute, but...”

“It doesn’t feel right, I thought the same thing,” Cady says. “How about Luna?”

Janis thinks about it. “I like Luna a lot, but it still just… I don’t know.”

“I understand, love. Laura and Lily are the only other ones I came up with,” Cady says.

Janis buries her face in her shoulder. “I’ll think about it, I’m running out of time.”

“It’s only March, love, you still have plenty of time,” Cady says. “Don’t stress about it, whatever you pick will be perfect.”

“I’ll think of something before your baby shower,” Janis says confidently. That gives her a little less than a month. “I should get started on dinner, what are you craving today, babe?”

“Noodles,” Cady says instantly. “And cuddles.”

“Noodles it is,” Janis chuckles. “I’ll cuddle you while we eat.”

“Okay,” Cady says happily. “Oh, can you add grapes to mine, please?”

Janis looks at her in confusion. “What?”

“Grapes.”

“No, I heard you,” Janis says. “Why?”

“I dunno, ask them,” Cady shrugs, pointing to her belly.

“Little weirdos,” Janis chuckles lovingly, leaning down to kiss either side of Cady’s tummy.

“I love you,” Cady says quietly.

Janis comes back up to kiss her before she goes. “I love you too, baby.”

————-

Cady wakes up the next day feeling much better. She’s not quite back to herself, but nowhere near as upset as she was yesterday. She checks the clock and finds that it’s only about ten, so she has a few hours before she even has to start getting ready. They’re not even meeting Regina until four.

Janis is still deep asleep, and so are the pets who are resting at their feet. Daffodil is supposed to be part of the shoot, so Janis tried to give her a bath the night before. It just about worked, but they were both totally exhausted by the end of it. Elvira is just always asleep.

Cady heads to the bathroom and also grabs a book from her shelf to read while she waits for her little family to wake up. Janis makes a sort of snuffling sound in her sleep and scoots closer so she’s pressed against Cady’s leg. Cady just strokes through her hair and keeps reading.

About half an hour later, Janis finally wakes up. “G’morning, Butterfly.”

“Good morning, Bluejay,” Cady chuckles back. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” Janis yawns. “Your leg is comfy.”

“Thanks,” Cady giggles. “What should we have for breakfast?”

“Whatever you want, we have pretty much everything,” Janis responds. “Eggs, pancakes, fruit.”

“Something with fruit sounds nice,” Cady says. “I’ve been craving a lot of sweet stuff.”

“Don’t people say that your cravings say what you’re meant to be having?” Janis asks.

“Yeah, but everything is kind of contradictory,” Cady says. “I’ve heard that if you crave meat and stuff it’s supposed to be a boy, and sweet stuff means it’s a girl. But I’ve also heard the opposite.”

“Huh,” Janis says. “Okay, come on, I’m hungry.”

Several hours later, after both breakfast and lunch, it’s time for them to get ready. They’d decided on periwinkle as the color scheme for their photos. Cady has a soft white dress with periwinkle flowers, and Janis has a coverall jumpsuit the same shade. Daffodil looks very dapper in her matching bandana.

“So what do you think they are?” Cady asks as she brushes out Janis’ hair to style it. Janis had done Cady’s hair and makeup, and now it’s her turn to be pampered. Cady’s hair is just in her natural curls down her back, and she has a flower crown to match her dress. Cady applies a few products to bring back Janis’ natural wave and pins small chunks from the front to the back of her head.

“Think what are what?” Janis asks confusedly.

“The babies. Do you think they’re boys or girls? Biologically, anyway.” Cady clarifies.

“Oh,” Janis says. “I don’t know. I think they might be girls.”

“Really? I’ve been feeling like they’re boys lately,” Cady says. “They kick so much.”

“You’re probably right, then, they are inside you,” Janis chuckles. “We don’t have too much longer until we’ll find out.”

“True,” Cady says. “One more full month.”

“Do you think we’re ready?” Janis asks quietly.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Cady answers. “I don’t think we could ever be ready. But I think we can do it anyway.”

Janis tips her head back once Cady finishes her hair, looking up at her face upside-down. “These babies are making you rather poetic.”

Cady laughs and bends down carefully for a kiss. “I’ve just been spending too much time around you. You read poetry for fun.”

“And you do calculus for fun,” Janis retorts. “God, Damian’s right, our kids are gonna be dorks.”

“And we’ll love them anyway,” Cady says. “Come on, we should go soon.”

————-

They meet Regina at the scheduled time in a massive field of tulips. For whatever reason, Gretchen has connections to a tulip farmer, who agreed to let them take their photos in his fields so long as they didn’t trample any.

Regina is taking practice shots of her dog, Nutmeg, when they arrive. Nutmeg is sitting very patiently and even smiling for the camera.

Daffodil gets very excited when she sees her best friend and auntie, and makes a beeline over to them. Nutmeg breaks away too, and they both head trotting back to Regina after a quick meeting.

“Hi, Daffy, how’s my favorite little retriever?” Regina asks, flopping the dog’s ears around.

“Hey, Gina,” Janis calls as they head up after her.

“Hi! Oh, look at you!” Regina says excitedly, coming to hug them and feel Cady’s tummy. “Okay, I was thinking we should get the shots with Daffodil first so she and Nutmeg can go play, if that works for you?”

“Yeah, we should probably get them while she’s still nearly clean,” Janis says. “Daffy, come here!”

Daffodil comes running over to them for her photos, but looks longingly at her friend the whole time. Luckily, she’s quickly released again to go play, having been on her best behavior the whole time and getting her part out of the way quickly. They got several adorable photos of her sniffing and licking Cady’s tummy.

Regina is an excellent photographer. She lets Cady and Janis just do what comes naturally to them and then moves herself to get a good shot, and makes small talk while she works. They almost forget they’re even having photos taken in the first place.

“Cute! Janis, can you go find the dogs? We should get some of Cady solo and then bring you back when golden hour hits,” Regina says, resting her heavy camera against her shoulder.

“Yep,” Janis says as she tugs her shoes back on. “Come find me if you need anything.”

She heads into the small forest nearby to hunt for their puppies, since they’d gone that way a while ago.

Cady is a little less natural at posing when she’s alone, so Regina guides her through some of the basic ones.

“Do this,” Regina says, demonstrating how Cady should hold her belly. “And then think about how cute your little muffins are going to be.”

Cady does what she’s told, the prompt getting a genuine smile out of her. Who will they look more like? What will their personalities be like? What will they sound like?

“Perfect!” Regina says, letting Cady come see a few snapshots. Cady grins happily when she sees the few she’s allowed to.

“These are great,” she says. “Have you three ever thought about kids?”

“We’ve talked about it,” Regina says quietly. “We all agreed that we’re not ready and probably never will be. We’re just excited to be aunties.”

“You guys can babysit these two anytime,” Cady chuckles. “But I understand. I’m not sure I’m ready either.”

“Cady Sarkisian-Heron, you were designed to be a mother,” Regina insists. “You’ve been taking care of all of us since we were in high school. You’re gonna pop out two cute-ass babies and raise them into great humans.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that, I’m so emotional lately,” Cady sniffles.

Janis makes a reappearance then, emerging from the woods followed by two wet dogs shaking themselves off.

“So, it turns out there’s a river in there,” she pants once she reaches them. “They decided to go fishing.”

“Nutmeg! What are your other moms gonna say?” Regina tuts. “I have towels in my car, hang on.”

She passes the camera to Janis and heads towards where they parked. It’s a very expensive, fancy camera, and Janis holds it like she’s been casually handed the Ark of the Covenant. She hasn’t done much in the way of photography since her classes in college, but she decides she can take a few little snaps of her wife. For practice.

“Hey,” she calls to her wife. Cady turns to look at her over her shoulder. Click. “Guess what?”

Cady turns to look at her fully, tilting her head in confusion. “What?”

“I love you,” Janis says. Cady’s face splits into a wide smile. Click.

“I love you too, Jay,” Cady giggles. “Look at you go, little miss photography.” She comes to lean on her wife’s shoulder.

Regina comes back then with the towels, bending down to dry off the dogs. Cady and Janis kiss sweetly above her. “No being cute while I don’t have my camera, stop it immediately.”

The two of them break apart sheepishly, giggling as Nutmeg shakes the rest of the water off her once she’s been toweled dry. Regina dries Daffy as well, and then stands up and takes her camera back.

“Okay, just a few more of you two now that the sun is starting to go down, and then Gretch and K and I want to take you to dinner?” She says, stretching her spine out.

“Ooh, yay,” Cady says happily. She needs to sit, so Janis leads them to a bench she found while she was hunting for their dogs. It has several hills behind it that are absolutely covered in natural wildflowers, which Cady loves.

They get several with Cady and Janis leaning their heads together, grinning happily at the camera. Then Cady rests her head in Janis’ lap, and Regina gets a few candid shots of the two of them talking while Janis plays with her hair.

“I think we’re done here,” Regina says, looking through a few of the shots she’s gotten. “I’ll edit them a bit and get them to you in a couple weeks or so.”

“Thanks Reggie,” Janis says as they both hug her. She tenses slightly at the affections and huffs indignantly at the name, but does return the hug. “Do not call me that. But you’re so welcome.”

————-

Cady and Janis both spend a majority of the month of April in tears. Cady cries because she’s in a great deal of pain. Her body is shifting in ways it wasn’t really designed to, and she can’t take any painkillers that actually work because they might hurt the twins. Janis cries because she can’t stand seeing her wife in so much pain.

“Butterfly, can I do anything to help you?” Janis asks desperately as her wife lies weeping in her lap, where she’s been for most of the day.

“The heating pad? And rub my back?” Cady sniffles. “I just want to be held, mostly.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Janis says, tucking Cady in carefully with their favorite blankets and running off to the kitchen. Cady can hear the microwave whirring as she heats up the pad.

Janis comes back carrying their heating pad and a mug of Cady’s favorite tea, with the perfect amount of milk and sugar. She hands it to Cady as she sits up, then wraps the heating pad around her shoulders and pulls her close.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, baby,” Janis says softly, rubbing her lower back gently.

“It’ll be worth it,” Cady sniffles. Janis thinks she might be feeling better, but her lower lip starts trembling and she bursts into sobs anew. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Oh, Peanut, it’s okay,” Janis comforts. Cady’s been nesting, stressed about making sure everything is clean and soft for their babies to come home to. Janis forgot to unload the dishwasher and Cady snapped a little. “I get it. There’s a lot happening to you right now, I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean it and I shouldn’t have done it,” Cady sniffles. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Kitkat. I love you so much,” Janis says. “Baby, be honest with me, can you handle having your baby shower tomorrow? I can call D and have them move it to another day.”

“I’ll be okay,” Cady sniffs again. “We don’t know how much longer we have until the babies come, and I miss everyone. I’m excited.”

“I’m excited too, Sunshine. We get a whole day just to celebrate you,” Janis says, working her way up to massage her shoulders.

“And you,” Cady insists. “You’ve done so much for us the entire time I’ve been pregnant. I couldn’t have done this without you. I can’t wait to see you be a mommy.”

“I can wait a little longer,” Janis jokes. “I’m still terrified. But I’m so excited to meet them.”

“I am too. I love you so much, Jay.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

They spend the rest of the evening cuddling, and Janis eventually falls asleep halfway through a movie. Cady cuddles her as close as she can around her very large tummy and plays with her hair.

She almost jumps out of her skin when Janis suddenly sits bolt upright. “Layla.” Is the first thing out of her mouth.

“What?” Cady chuckles affectionately.

“Layla,” Janis repeats. “I wanna call mine Layla if they’re girls.”

“That’s beautiful, my love. Layla Reese,” Cady says. “I told you you’d pick something perfect.”

“Luca and Leo or Layla and Leo,” Janis says. She leans down to kiss each side of Cady’s belly. “That’s you two. You have your names now. Mama and I can’t wait to meet you.”

Cady smiles contently down at her. They’d decided earlier that baby A would be either Luca or Layla, and baby B would be Leo. “Leo’s up here,” she says, guiding Janis’ hand to where they were in their last ultrasound. “And Luca or Layla is over here.” Janis kisses each spot several times.

“I love you so much, little ones,” Janis whispers. “I can’t wait to finally hold you.” Luca or Layla suddenly kicks against her cheek. “Hey, don’t kick me!”

“They know your voice,” Cady giggles. “They only kick when you talk to them, whenever I try they won’t do anything.”

“You’re their mama, you’re gonna be their favorite parent for, like, a minimum of five years,” Janis says. Leo kicks in agreement. “See?”

“I love you, loser,” Cady giggles.

“I love you too, dork,” Janis retaliates.

————-

Janis is awoken the next morning by Damian entering their house in a flurry, with far too much energy for ten in the morning. She pads down the stairs in her pajamas to shut him up.

“Damian, shush, Caddy’s still asleep,” Janis says.

“Oh, oops,” Damian whispers. “How is she?”

“She’s fine. She’s having a rough go of it lately, she’s in a lot of pain, but she’s managing really well,” Janis responds as she’s wrapped in a hug.

“Poor thing. Those babies need to come out soon and give her a break,” Damian says, adjusting his ‘best gay uncle ever’ shirt.

Janis chuckles. “We need them to stay in a little longer, it’s still way too early.”

“When is she due again?” Damian asks as he picks his box of decorations back up.

“June, technically, but it’s dangerous if they get too big, so she’ll be induced sometime in May if they don’t come on their own by then,” Janis says.

“Wow, only a month? Shit,” Damian says. “I’m so ready to cuddle these babies.”

“I am too,” Janis chuckles. “I’m terrified, but I just want to meet them. Where’s your boy toy, by the way?”

“He’s coming later, and Reggie said she’d be here in about ten minutes,” Damian says. “We wanted to make sure we have enough time to set up.”

“Nice,” Janis says. “Can I do anything?”

“Absolutely not, this is your day,” Damian says, batting her hands away from his precious box of treasures. “Go get your wife.”

Janis heads back to her bedroom obediently to wake up her wife. Cady looks so much more peaceful when she’s asleep, Janis really doesn’t want to disturb her. She lets her stay asleep for a while longer before she decides to kiss her awake.

“Wake up, Butterfly. It’s your day,” Janis purrs softly.

Cady yawns and rubs at her eyes like a cat. “Jayjay? Timessit?”

“About ten thirty,” Janis responds, looking at the clock. Apparently she’d let her wife sleep in a little longer than she’d thought. Even asleep, Cady is easy to lose track of time with.

“Ten thirty? Why didn’t you wake me up earlier, it’s so late!” Cady says with much more energy, trying to roll herself out of bed.

“Because there’s two humans growing inside you and you need to rest,” Janis responds, grabbing her hands to help her up. “Everything’s fine. Damian’s downstairs getting everything ready and Reggie will be here to help him in a few minutes. There’s nothing you need to worry about today.”

“Okay,” Cady breathes, calming herself down. “Do we have snuggle time?”

“I made sure of it,” Janis says. “But you should eat first. Babies need calories.”

“Okay,” Cady says, sounding much less frazzled. She follows her wife down to the kitchen, but stops to greet Damian in the living room. “Hi, Dame.”

Damian turns around from where he’s hanging a banner up. “Hey, Cads! How are you?”

“Exhausted,” Cady responds with a yawn. “But this looks great!”

“Thanks,” Damian says. “Go get your wife, I got this.”

Janis makes them some quick eggs and toast with fruit on the side. Cady gets a lot of extra fruit. Regina shows up in the middle of their breakfast, also having several boxes of activities and decorations.

“Hey, Gina,” Cady greets from her spot on the couch.

“Hey, Cady,” Regina responds, trying to catch her breath as she rests down a heavy box. “Christ.”

“You guys got a lot of stuff,” Janis comments around a mouthful of egg. “We didn’t invite that many people.”

“Damian went absolutely ape shit at Party City last week,” Regina says. “Wants to give you guys a rager before you have too many babies to party anymore.”

“Hell yeah,” Damian cheers as he comes down from his stepladder to check that his banner is even.

“Oh, Christ,” Janis groans. She’d let the two of them run wild, she just hopes they didn’t blow too much of her money.

“Sounds fun,” Cady cheers. “Let’s go get dressed.”

Janis kisses her cheek and takes their empty plates into the kitchen before following her wife back upstairs. The color scheme for the party overall is yellow and green, since Janis and Cady didn’t want to buy too much into the whole blue and pink thing. However, the invitations did say to wear pink or blue depending on what you think the babies are, which they both think is cute.

Cady wears the same dress she wore for her maternity photos, since it’s soft and light, and the flowers are close enough to blue. Janis still doesn’t have much in the way of pink clothing, but she borrowed a pink button down from Damian to go over her black ensemble.

Once their hair and teeth are brushed and some makeup is applied, they head downstairs. Regina and Damian made a lot of progress while they were getting ready. Streamers are hanging from the walls, the tables are decorated, and Regina is even stuffing a piñata.

“Reggie?” Janis asks. “Why the fresh hell did you buy a baby shaped piñata?”

“It was the only baby-related one they had!” Regina insists. “I know it’s bad.”

Cady laughs so hard at the idea of whacking a cardboard baby with sticks that she nearly falls over, Janis has to grab her.

“That’s great, I love it,” Cady giggles, wiping tears of laughter from under her eyes. “This all looks so good!”

Damian comes in from their backyard, where he’s been decorating and setting up the outdoor activities. “Why, thank you!”

They finish a few minutes later and take the two of them on a short tour before the guests come. Cady starts giggling at the games they’ve come up with. They’ve changed ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ to something along the lines of ‘get the spoon in the baby’s mouth’, with velcro spoons to attach to a large cartoon baby.

Janis gets a chuckle out of a water balloon toss, called ‘don’t break the water’. There’s also a few calmer things, like decorating play-doh babies or leaving a message on a poster with one of the maternity photos in the center.

“Also, if you’re okay with it, I thought it would be fun to try some old wives’ tales since you’re not doing a gender reveal,” Regina says once they’ve seen everything. “Just the normal ones like the ring test and stuff, not the ones with, like, your pee or anything.”

Cady laughs. “Yeah, that sounds fun. This is amazing, thank you guys.”

Janis and Cady greet all their guests, which is mostly just their old friends from high school and college who could make it to New York, and any family who could make the trip.

Cady is surprised when her cousin Emma comes in, Janis decided to surprise her. Emma brought her wife Alyssa, and their son James.

“Oh my god, hi!” Cady says happily, hugging both of them as tight as she can. They still live in Indiana and haven’t been able to visit for a few years. “Hi James!”

James is a little over a year old, and just waves as he cuddles shyly into Alyssa’s shoulder. Janis looks at him for a moment. Soon she’ll have her own babies to cuddle like that.

It turns out Cady had a similar surprise, since Janis’ cousin Veronica enters soon after, flanked by all three of her girlfriends. Janis remembers that one is technically her wife, but she can’t remember which Heather married who.

“Vera!” She calls happily, running to hug her cousin. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“I told Cady,” Veronica says. “And obviously I’m coming, my favorite cousin is having a baby!”

“Two, actually,” Janis says.

“Shit, dude,” Veronica responds. “I forgot about that. Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Janis chuckles. Veronica hugs her back for a second and then leads her girlfriends to check out the party. “This is bad.”

“What’s bad?” Cady asks worriedly.

“I can’t tell the Heathers apart,” Janis says anxiously, chewing a thumbnail. “I memorized the colors they wear, but now two are in pink and the other is in blue.”

“Oh,” Cady chuckles. “Well, you’re in luck, I memorized the hair in case of something like this. Chandler is the one Veronica married, she’s got red hair, and she’s the other one in blue. McNamara is blonde and she’s one of the ones in pink, and then Duke has dark hair and she’s the other pink one.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Butterfly,” Janis chuckles. “I think that’s everyone.”

Cady closes the door and pokes out a hand, which Janis takes with a squeeze and a kiss to her knuckles. They head into the party hand in hand.

—————

Several hours later, the party is over and Cady is sound asleep against her wife, surrounded by all sorts of adorable gifts. Janis wishes she had the strength to carry her up to bed, but carrying three people is too much even for her.

Regina and Damian are both spending the night in the guest rooms, so Cady and Janis don’t have to worry about taking down any of the decorations. Janis hugs both goodnight and then wakes her wife, leading her up the stairs to bed.

They had a good day.

—————-

The next day is very bad.

Cady wakes Janis up around nine in tears. “Baby, what’s the matter?” Janis asks in concern.

“Something’s not right, Jay,” Cady sobs. “I can tell. They haven’t kicked since last night. They-they always kick in the mornings, something’s wrong.”

“Hey, I’m sure everything’s fine,” Janis soothes, trying to hide her own panic. “I’ll call the doctor and see if we can get you in for a scan.”

“Okay,” Cady sniffles.

The doctor tells them to come in right away for an emergency ultrasound, which doesn’t make them feel any better. Cady is desperately holding back tears and clinging to Janis’ hand like a lifeline.

The doctor’s brow quickly furrows as the babies come into view, and Janis almost collapses in worry. Something isactually wrong.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the doctor says in that tone of voice. “You’ve developed twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome, from what I can see here it seems to be about a stage three.”

“How-how bad is that? What does that mean?” Janis asks shakily, trying to comfort her wife and herself at the same time.

“Before I explain, I don’t want you to panic too much. There are steps we can take, you have a good chance of having two healthy babies,” the doctor prefaces. That’s never good.

“But?” Janis chokes.

“But, stage three means that one or both of your babies’ hearts are affected,” the doctor says apologetically. She flips the monitor at an angle so they can all see. It’s obvious just looking that something isn’t right. “Here. TTTS just means that the twins aren’t sharing blood vessels evenly. Baby A has too much blood and fluids, things like that, going to them, and B isn’t getting enough.”

“But are they okay?” Cady cries desperately. “Are my babies alive?”

“Yes,” the doctor responds calmingly. Cady gives a sob of hope and clings somehow tighter to Janis. “But I am worried. Baby B’s heart is very weak. If we don’t take action soon you run the risk of losing them both. I’m going to send you for a corrective procedure right away.”

“Procedure? Like… surgery?” Janis asks, her face blanching. How did everything turn around like this?

“Nothing terribly invasive. Just a laser to sever some of the shared vessels, she won’t even have to be opened up,” the doctor says, taking a few pictures and ending the scan. “It’s not without its risks, but it really is your best bet here.”

“What are the risks?” Janis demands.

“Jay,” Cady says gently. Janis looks at her and takes a deep breath.

“Sorry.” Janis apologizes.

“It’s perfectly understandable. Giving news like this is the worst part of my job, I get all sorts of reactions,” the doctor says calmly. “To your wife, there is almost no risk. However, there is a chance that it will be too traumatic for the babies and you’ll lose them both.”

“No,” Cady sobs desperately. “They have to- I need them to be okay.”

“The chances of that are very low,” the doctor comforts. “With the surgery, your chances of both being born healthy is about seventy-five percent. If we do nothing, their chances of survival drop to about ten percent.”

Cady dissolves into broken sobs behind Janis, who is hollowly trying to process all the information she’s been bombarded with over the last few minutes.

“I don’t care about the risks to me, just save them,” Cady weeps. Janis pulls her up and cradles her so tightly, letting her own tears drip onto Cady’s hair as her wife cries into her shoulder. The doctor leaves with a quiet apology to send off the referral, leaving them alone to process. “Janis, I-I-I can’t lose them. They have to be okay, I can’t-I need them to be okay.”

“They will be,” Janis says with false confidence. “We-we’ll get you the surgery, everything’s gonna be fine.”

They both know there’s always a chance something will go wrong, but for now they need to believe that everything will be okay.

—————

The next day, Cady is prepped and readied for the surgery. Janis can only be there in the beginning, as she’s put under anesthesia. Cady is crying and clinging to her desperately. Janis knows she can’t do anything. She’s never felt more tortured.

“I love you so much, it’s gonna be okay,” she murmurs, kissing Cady’s forehead as she’s wheeled away. She’s absolutely terrified herself. Janis spent the night before frantically researching TTTS and was horrified to discover they were only two stages away from their worst nightmare. The fifth and final stage is the death of one or both babies.

Janis heads back to the waiting room, past where all their friends and family are waiting for news, and out the door into the parking lot. Everyone looks at each other in concern, but Damian is the one to get up and follow her.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows after her while still maintaining a bit of distance. Eventually she reaches a sort of garden area and turns around to him with tears streaming down her face.

Damian reaches for her, but Janis just starts pacing, letting out choked sobs every time she pivots. Damian finds a bench and lets her get it out.

“It’s not supposed to be like this!” Janis screams eventually, startling some exhausted looking medical student walking by, along with a few birds. “Everything was supposed to be okay this time! Why-why is it not okay?”

She hunches over with the force of her cries, and Damian rushes to wrap her in a hug. Janis clings to him desperately and sobs into his shoulder.

“It’s not-it’s not fair,” she weeps quietly. “It’s not fair.”

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” Damian says gently. “You’ve both been through too much already, this isn’t fair. But it’s gonna be okay. One way or another. We’re all here for you.”

Janis doesn’t respond, she just bursts into another round of sobs. She continues weeping desperately until she tires herself out after a while, so Damian hands over some tissues.

“You ready to go back in?” He asks quietly as she blows her nose. She nods hollowly.

“I should. I need to be there for news,” she whispers.

“If you’re not ready that’s okay,” Damian says. “Someone would text us if they heard anything, and we have time before she wakes up. We can wait here if you need more time.”

“No, I-I need to be there for her,” Janis mumbles. “I’m fine.”

They both know damn well that nothing is fine here, but Damian nods and leads her back to the waiting room.

After what feels like an eternity, the surgeon comes out with an intern that Janis doesn’t recognize. The intern calls for the ‘father’ of the Sarkisian-Heron babies, and Janis dashes over.

“Is she okay? Did they make it? Where is she?” She asks desperately.

“Father only,” the intern snaps.

“She’s my wife! My wife just had surgery because our babies might be dying, I don’t have time to deal with your petty, homophobic bitch ass. Where the hell is my wife?” Janis calls.

The surgeon steps up with a weak grin then, gesturing for Janis to follow her. “Everything went exactly as planned, there were no complications. Your wife and children are completely fine.”

Janis gives a heavy, shaky sigh of relief, feeling like the drama of the last day or so is escaping her chest. She’s led back to where Cady is resting, going to sit by her wife’s sleeping form and taking her hand gently.

“She should wake shortly,” the surgeon says quietly. “And my apologies for Sarah’s behavior. I would also like to thank you, I’ve been waiting for someone to call her out so I can report her ass to HR.”

Janis gives a weak grin, the closest to a smile she’s come in more than twenty-four hours. She looks back down to her wife and kisses her knuckles gently. “Happily. Thank you, for-for saving them. And her.”

“Just doing my job,” the surgeon replies. “We’ll be back to check on everything in a few minutes.”

Janis nods and the doctor leaves. Cady stirs a few moments later, her eyelids fluttering before she finally opens them with a good bit of effort.

“Are they okay?” She whispers, squeezing Janis’ hand lightly.

Janis nods and brushes tears from her own face. “Yeah, baby, they’re okay. The doctor said everything went perfectly, there were no complications. Our babies are both fine.”

“Thank goodness,” Cady says with tears brimming in her eyes. “I couldn’t handle losing either of them now.”

“I couldn’t either, Peanut,” Janis says quietly. “But they’re okay, we don’t even have to think about that now.”

“I love you,” Cady whispers.

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

——————

Cady is officially cleared to go home six days later, and is to be on strict bed rest until the babies are born. She’s taken an emergency medical leave from work which will stretch into her maternity leave.

But, in typical Cady fashion, she didn’t want to leave her work, even temporarily, without a goodbye. She wrote notes during her very long stay in the hospital, to all of her students as well as the substitute professor who would be taking over for her in her absence. Janis and Damian delivered them and cleaned her office out for her while Cady relaxed at home.

Janis, on the other hand, still has to go to work until her ‘paternity’ leave kicks in.

“Jayjay, it’s gonna be okay,” Cady comforts a nearby panicking Janis. “Everything is good now, I’m gonna be fine. And Damian offered to come keep me company, I’m not going to be alone.”

“But what if you go into labor and I’m not there? Or something else happens?” Janis asks worriedly.

“Jellybean, I’m not even having braxton-hicks contractions yet, these babies aren’t coming for a while,” Cady chuckles. “But you won’t be far, I’ll call you right away if something happens.”

“Okay,” Janis mutters, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Go teach those kids,” Cady replies, shooing her out the door from bed after a quick kiss.

Cady has a lovely day watching musicals with Damian and cuddling their pets. Janis texts periodically to make sure everything is okay.

And it is.

They keep this system all throughout May. Their families have long since left back to Illinois, but at least one of their friends spends the day at their house with Cady so she doesn’t get lonely, and to keep her safe if anything happens.

Until, in a beautiful fit of irony, Cady goes into labor on Mother’s day.

She and Janis had a lazy Sunday, celebrating their last Mother’s day with just the two of them with a long snuggle session and waffles for dinner.

Cady started feeling off at around six in the evening, but played it off as being uncomfortable due to the fact that she’s a small, heavily pregnant woman. Janis pampers her with lots of loving kisses and nice back rubs. Cady tries to focus on them instead of the bursts of pain popping up periodically.

She’s concerned when they don’t stop. Janis heads to bed around eleven, but Cady stays behind an extra few minutes to grab a snack. She’s Googled the difference between phantom and real contractions, and learned that phantom ones tend to go away after eating something.

So, Cady has some veggies and lets Daffodil out for a late-night frolic through the backyard. She’s finished her carrots by the time the puppy comes back to paw at the door. The contractions don’t seem to have stopped. Uh oh.

Daffodil leads her up the stairs to bed, so Cady follows and lies down next to her wife. Maybe sleep will help. Elvira is already there, and nuzzles in between both of them while Daffy takes her usual place on the ground beside them.

Cady is woken up no more than a half-hour later by a much more severe pain. On instinct, she reaches for Janis’ hand to squeeze.

“Ow,” Janis groans tiredly. “Whassamatter?”

“I’m in labor,” Cady says quietly, the realization finally hitting. Janis nearly clonks their heads together as she sits bolt upright.

“Are you serious?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Yeah,” Cady says, trying to hold back anxious tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Does it hurt?” Janis asks in concern, stroking a hand over Cady’s cheek.

“No,” Cady whimpers. “Well, yeah. But… I’m scared, Jay.”

“Of what? Everything’s gonna be fine, we’ll take care of you,” Janis says gently.

“They’re not ready, Janis,” Cady sobs. “I’m only thirty-four weeks, it’s too early. They’re gonna be too small, they’re not… they’re not gonna be healthy.”

“Oh, Peanut,” Janis frowns. “They’re gonna be fine, I promise. They might be a little small, yeah, and they might need some stuff to help them out for a while. But it’ll be better for them to be out, they’ll be easier to monitor and help, and it’ll be easier to make sure all of you are healthy.”

“But what if they don’t look like you?” Cady wails suddenly.

“Then they’ll look like you, and they’ll be perfect,” Janis comforts. “Shh, angel, please. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Cady sniffles and leans into her shoulder. She winces and scrambles for Janis’ hand again when another contraction hits.

“How long have you been having contractions, baby?” Janis asks, wincing but not complaining at the series of pops her knuckles give.

Cady looks at the clock, it’s just a few minutes past midnight. “Six hours,” she says sheepishly.

“You what? Butterfly,” Janis demands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know at first, they weren’t that bad,” Cady replies as Janis goes to put clothes on. It’s just leggings and a sweatshirt, but is slightly more presentable than her pajamas.

“Okay, tell me when your next one starts,” Janis says, holding her hand gently and bringing up a timer on her phone. Cady does, and they time the next few. They’re long and getting closer together. “I think it’s baby day, Cads, we should go to the hospital.”

“Okay,” Cady sniffs again. “God, I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore.”

Janis laughs as she hands Cady some clothes to change into and grabs their bag. “I don’t blame you, Peanut. You’re almost in the clear.”

Cady changes clothes carefully and takes Janis’ hand to be pulled up. “Baby time.”

“I can’t wait,” Janis says, kissing her sweetly before they head to the car.

Cady texts their families on the way so they can plan out their travels, and then texts her friends to let them know as well.

spacecadet: Hey, turns out it’s labor day! We’ll keep you guys updated :D

damecupboard: AAAAAH NO WAY

ilikemouses: but it’s mother’s day???

georgewashington: She means the babies are coming, honey.

ilikemouses: oh

ilikemouses: oh!! yay! 📷📷📷📷📷📷

fetchen: yay!! we’ll go get daffy in the morning!!

a-aron: and dame and i will get ellie. good luck guys!!

“Okay, everyone knows. Our parents found a flight for tomorrow morning, somehow, and Julie’s already in town for work,” Cady says.

“Oh, is she? She didn’t tell me,” Janis says, turning into the hospital parking lot. “God, she’s gonna lose her shit when she meets them.”

“Just make sure she’s sitting before you let her hold them,” Cady chuckles affectionately.

“That’s a good plan,” Janis says. “Let’s go get you some drugs.”

“Yay,” Cady says weakly, following her to the doors.

Since they’re not an ambulance and it’s after hours, the doors are locked. Janis pushes a buzzer she finds, and jumps a little when a voice buzzes out from the speakers, asking what they need.

“Um… we’d like to come have our babies, please,” Janis says, not knowing how else to respond. Cady bursts out laughing behind her as the doors click and then swing open.

“You’re so cute, oh my god,” she giggles. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh, ow.”

A small team lead them to where they need to be and help get Cady hooked up to all the monitors and finally pumped full of painkillers. She pulls a face when she has to don a hospital gown, and it only deepens when she finds out she can’t take it off until the babies are born to keep everything sanitary.

She and Janis are left alone once everything is sorted and instructed to try and get some sleep. Cady settles in and looks over to the monitors, watching her babies’ heartbeats pinging steadily.

Janis lies on her uncomfortable cot in the corner, and they both try to sleep.

By three in the morning, it’s clear sleep is not coming easily for either of them.

“Jayjay? Are you awake?” Cady pipes up.

“Yeah,” Janis yawns. “What’s the matter?”

“I can’t sleep,” Cady grumbles. “Will you stay with me?”

Janis rolls out of her spot and comes over to her. She knows she’s really not supposed to, but neither of them are used to trying to sleep apart. She shifts all the wires and tubes carefully and lies on her side, while Cady inches herself over to the other side of her bed.

“They’ll probably be here in the morning,” Cady whispers, resting a hand on her belly for what could very well be the last time.

Janis nods against her shoulder and links their fingers together on top of her wife’s stomach. “I can’t wait to meet them. And hold them.”

Cady leans her head against her wife’s. “And I can’t wait to see you hold them. I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Janis responds. “You’re doing such a good job. I can’t believe you’re my wife.”

“Thanks,” Cady chuckles. “I’m so lucky to have you. Goodnight, Jay.”

“Goodnight, Butterfly.”

————-

They manage to sleep until about nine the next morning, when Cady wakes up with a pained gasp.

“What is it?” Janis asks frantically. The monitor shows that the babies’ vitals are still fine, but the one that tracks Cady’s contractions has suddenly gotten a massive spike. “Oh. Breathe, baby, you can do it. I’m here, you got this.”

“Shuck,” Cady breathes when it comes to a blessed end. “They’re gonna be here soon. Like, really soon. Ow.”

Sure enough, the doctor comes in to check Cady out, having been alerted by the large spike. A nurse gives her another smaller round of pain medication in the meantime. “I’d say we have about an hour,” the doctor says.

“Only one?” Janis squeaks in fright. “I’m not ready.”

“Oh, you’re not ready?” Cady teases. “Come here.”

Janis comes to lean into her wife, ironically needing comfort herself now. “What if they don’t like me?”

Cady laughs. “Janis, you’re their mommy. They’re gonna love you. They already do, they know your voice. They’ll learn your touch and your smell and what you look like. They’re gonna love you.”

“I should be comforting you,” Janis whines.

“It’s okay, my love. I get it,” Cady says softly. “But yeah, I could use you right now.”

Janis takes a deep breath and calms herself. She’s had seven months to prepare. She gets to meet her kids today. Cady needs her.

“Okay,” she breathes, her voice still a couple octaves higher than normal. “I’m okay, we got this.”

“Yes, we do,” Cady chuckles. “Panic later, I need you.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Janis whispers to herself, coming to give Cady hands to squeeze and lots of moral support.

Cady’s water breaks after another fifteen minutes, and it’s officially go time.

————-

At exactly ten in the morning on May 14, 2029, their first baby enters the world. The second twin follows three minutes later, and Cady collapses back against the bed with a final pained cry.

“Are they okay?” She asks weakly as two loud cries split the air. Janis brushes a hand over her cheek and leans down to kiss her forehead.

“They’re perfect, baby, you did it. Look,” she sobs happily. Cady tips her head up to see the doctors holding two tiny, squirming babies. “Those are our daughters.”

“Girls?” Cady whispers with a sob of her own. She reaches out for them and brushes a gentle hand over each small head.

“Mmhmm. Two beautiful baby girls,” Janis replies happily. She gets to cut the cords, and her hands are shaking so hard she can barely manage it. Cady reaches out again, wanting to hold her babies, but they’re whisked away before she can make contact.

“No,” she cries desperately, trying to sit up to get them back.

“Baby, hey, it’s okay,” Janis hushes gently, resting her back down. “They just need to be checked out and then you’ll get them back, I promise. They’re right over there.”

“Go get them,” Cady pleads as the doctors get to work patching her up. “Please, Jay, go make sure they’re okay. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Janis says, kissing her forehead one last time before she heads to see her children. The older one, Layla, is being weighed and measured while Leo is cleaned up. Janis looks on in wonder as her babies cry. She can’t totally see their features, but they clearly got her dark hair, and a lot of it.

Leo’s lungs are slightly weak when they evaluate her, so she’s quickly fitted for breathing tubes. They both get hooked up to monitors to make sure they’re absolutely safe, then are put into their first diapers and tiny little hats, and are finally tucked back into Cady’s hospital gown for skin-to-skin contact.

“Oh, hi,” Cady breathes happily when she has her babies back. She kisses each of their foreheads gently. “I’m your mama. Welcome to the world, little ones.”

Janis smiles through her tears and leans down to kiss Cady’s temple. The twins quiet once they’re back with Cady and can hear her heartbeat again.

“God, Jay, they’re so tiny,” Cady whispers.

“They’re perfect, baby,” Janis replies. “You did such a good job.”

Cady doesn’t say anything, just leans her head against Janis’ and looks down at the babies resting on her chest. She can’t really tell whose features they have from this angle, but she smiles when she sees the tufts of dark hair peeking out from under the soft beanies.

Suddenly, she feels tears soak into her shoulder again and hears Janis sniffle quietly.

“What’s the matter?” Cady asks quietly, concerned for her wife.

“I love them so much,” Janis sobs quietly. “They’re here now, and I can… touch them, and hold them, and-and see them. They’re so beautiful.”

“Aww, Jay,” Cady coos. “You girls haven’t even been here for fifteen minutes and you’re already making Mommy cry.”

Janis gives a watery chuckle and reaches to brush a tender finger over each baby’s soft cheek. “Their skin is so soft.”

“They’re… fresh babies,” Cady surmises as an explanation. Janis laughs again. “Don’t laugh at me, I still have baby brain.”

“Sorry,” Janis chuckles. “I love you so much. I’m so proud of you.”

Cady turns her head for a kiss and smiles happily as Janis presses their foreheads together afterwards. “I love you, Jay. I’m so lucky I get to have these little squishies with you.”

Janis tries to hold back more tears and kisses her wife again. They continue sharing ‘I love you’s and cooing over their daughters as Janis tenderly cleans the sweat from Cady’s face and brushes out her hair, then re-ties her ponytail and helps get her out of her hellacious hospital gown and into the comfy pajamas she’d packed.

“Much better,” Cady sighs happily when she’s back in familiar fabric and not covered in sweat. “We should let everyone know they’re here, where’s your phone?”

Janis grabs it from its forgotten place on her bed and comes to take a picture of her wife and daughters. Cady smiles happily and holds the babies up slightly so they’re visible.

Janis makes sure nothing important can be seen and sends it along to their families, and then a different message to their friends.

gaylien: Sent a picture: y’all have some mcfucking NIECES

reginald: Janis, really? Your wife just gave birth and that’s how you let us know? Congratulations, though, guys. They’re adorable.

gaylien: nobody here has gotten any decent sleep in a solid 24 hours can you blame me

damecupboard: Oh my god they’re so precious!!! Good job Caddy!

fetchen: aaaaahhhhhh yay!!!!!!! congratulations!!!

ilikemouses: yay babies!!! congrats guys! 📷📷

a-aron: congratulations! they’re so cute!!

damecupboard: Jan what are their names

reginald: Oh, yeah, we want deets!

gaylien: layla is the bigger one on caddy’s left and leo is the little one with the breathing tubes

gaylien: i’ll give you guys more pics and info later, i’m gonna go back to my family

damecupboard: Wow Janis used a comma

Janis laughs and comes back to Cady’s side to show her the text thread. Cady smiles at everyone’s reactions and laughs when she reads the last message.

“You girls already have so many people who love you,” she says softly, carefully adjusting Leo’s nose tubes.

“So many,” Janis agrees quietly, still in awe at the beings they’ve brought into the world.

“Do you wanna hold them now? It’s been long enough,” Cady asks. Janis nods and goes to grab the soft baby blankets on a counter nearby to swaddle them with. Cady hands Layla over first, and Janis wraps her up expertly. She practiced on Elvira, so she’s a total pro by now. Cady takes her little burrito back and hands over Leo for her turn.

Janis hands her back once she’s been carefully swaddled, still a little anxious about holding them. Cady cradles both in her left arm and looks down at their faces. Janis leans in next to her and looks as well, trying to puzzle out their features.

“They look just like you,” Cady says happily. “Your hair, your face shape, your lips.”

“But your nose,” Janis replies as Cady runs a tender finger down the bridge of Leo’s. “And your ears.”

Cady is about to repeat the brushing motion on Layla’s tiny nose when the baby suddenly gives an adorable sneeze and both sets of eyes fly open in surprise.

“Oh my goodness, bless you,” Cady giggles. “Oh, Jay, look.”

Janis does, looking down to see two pairs of wide crystal blue eyes blinking up at them curiously. She grins excitedly and gives an involuntary squeal.

“Your eyes,” she says happily. Cady leans up for a kiss before gesturing for Janis to hold her arms out. Janis does, and Cady rests Layla carefully in her right and Leo in her left. Janis feels tears start pouring down her face again as she holds her babies for the first time. “Hi, sweethearts. I’m your mommy. God, look at you. I love you so much.”

Layla yawns suddenly, showing off her tiny pink tongue. Janis giggles and carefully brings her up for a forehead kiss.

“Am I that boring already?” She asks as the baby drifts off in her hold. “Looks like it.”

“That one’s still looking at you,” Cady chuckles, pointing to Leo. Sure enough, when Janis looks, her smaller daughter is still awake and looking around the room curiously. Janis brings her up for a kiss too.

“My little bumblebee,” Janis says happily.

“Bumblebee?” Cady chuckles affectionately.

“She was baby B. So now she’s baby bee. Baby bumblebee,” Janis explains. Cady grins widely and gives a coo when she hears it.

“You’re so cute,” she says. “What about Layla?”

Janis looks back to her other daughter to see what name suits her. “Ladybug.”

“Perfect,” Cady murmurs happily, watching her little family. Janis notices her stifle a yawn and watches her eyes start fluttering slowly.

“You should rest, Butterfly,” Janis says quietly. “You’ve already done a lot today.”

“I don’t wanna miss anything,” Cady says. “You’re so good with them already.”

“They’ll still be here when you wake up,” Janis replies. “We get plenty of time with them, now.”

Cady nods with a smile and shuts her eyes, drifting off quickly after her morning of hard work. Janis is left with the babies in her arms. Carefully, she stands up and hooks her fingers around all the monitors and devices the twins are hooked up to, and wheels everything over to the chair in the corner.

Layla wakes again at all the commotion, so by the time Janis is settled she has both twins awake and blinking heavily at her. She shifts Leo over so they’re both in the same arm again to see both at the same time.

“Hello, sweet girls,” she murmurs softly so she doesn’t wake Cady up. “I love you so much. You’re so incredible already. I’m so excited to see who you turn out to be.”

She takes the moment of them being awake and relatively calm to see if there’s any differences in their features. Janis can tell they’re almost perfectly identical, but there do seem to be a few key things.

For one, to Janis’ delight, they got Cady’s freckles. Just a few, speckled over their cheeks and noses. And, their freckles are in different places. Leo has one just on the tip of her nose, and Layla has one almost perfectly beneath her left pupil.

Leo also seems to have longer hair, and Janis grins when she spies the slightest hint of a curl to it. It’s too early to tell, yet, but she hopes they have curly hair like Cady’s.

And then there’s the eyes. Janis still smiles involuntarily whenever she sees them. They’re almost exactly the shade of Cady’s eyes, a perfect reflection of their mother’s. Layla’s are a tiny bit wider and closer together than Leo’s, but Janis can tell that’s not going to be particularly noticeable to anyone who isn’t staring intently at their faces the way she is.

Layla suddenly starts fussing slightly, trying to move in her swaddle and giving a quiet cry.

“What’s the matter, Ladybug? Oh, shh, you’re okay,” Janis says quietly, bouncing both babies slightly. Leo seems fine and content to be along for the ride. “I know, it’s different out here, huh? We all have a lot to get used to.”

Layla appears to realize that this is one of the voices she’s been hearing all this time and goes quiet after a few minutes.

“There we go,” Janis says contently when she stops fussing. “Maybe I can do this after all.”

She brushes down each of their noses gently the way Cady did, and watches their eyes gradually flutter shut as she continues. Eventually, she has two sleeping babies in her arms, and stares at them contently as they rest.

Without totally realizing it, Janis winds up cradling her daughters for four and a half hours straight. Every once in a while one baby wakes up and fusses at her, but she hushes and rocks and cuddles them until they drift off again.

Until they both kick off at once. Janis rocks and bounces them both, but they won’t go quiet again.

Trying not to wake Cady unless she absolutely has to, Janis stands and heads to the window, continuing her efforts.

“Shh, angels,” she hushes, bouncing both gently. “Mommy’s got you. Look out here, this is called rain. A lot of people don’t like it, but I do. It reminds me of your mama.” The babies quiet a little as she speaks, so she decides to keep going. “Your mama taught me how nice rain can be. She taught me how to dance in it, and showed me how peaceful it can be. You two and Mama are the only sunshine I need.”

Janis whirls around when she hears a sob come from behind her, finding Cady awake and crying gently.

“I love you so much,” Cady weeps, reaching for her family. Janis comes back to her side and hands over Leo, making it easier for her to bend down for a kiss.

“I love you too, Sunshine,” Janis murmurs against her lips. “So much. Did you have a nice rest?”

“I did, thank you,” Cady says with a sniffle. “Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” Janis says sheepishly. “I couldn’t stop looking at them, I just held them the whole time.”

Cady smiles at her contently. “That’s adorable. But you need to sleep too, we’re not going to get much for a long time.”

“I know,” Janis says. “But they’re so cute, I just… I don’t want to let them go.”

Cady reaches for her again, so Janis bends down for more kisses. Cady eventually scoots herself over again, inviting Janis to crawl in next to her.

“They already sound different,” Janis murmurs happily as she looks down at the babies resting in each of their arms.

“Do they?” Cady chuckles, leaning against her.

“Mmhmm. Leo’s cry is higher and more squeaky,” Janis says. “Layla’s is lower pitched.”

“How cute,” Cady hums. “Our little family.”

—————

They stay that way for a long while, through the first feeding, during which they learn that neither baby will eat properly. Janis and Cady just roll with the hits as they come. This is nothing compared to what they’ve already been through.

An hour or so after that, a voice rings out through a speaker on the wall. Janis perks up when she hears Damian’s name, and he enters with Aaron just a couple minutes after Cady lets them know they can come in.

Janis looks up from Leo’s tiny face when he enters and, for the first time, rests her down in her cot. Damian catches her when Janis flies into his embrace.

“Damian, I have babies. I have daughters,” she mumbles into his chest. “And they’re-they’re so perfect.”

“Congratulations, Jan,” he says back.

Janis steps back after clinging to him for a moment and heads to pick her baby back up. Cady reaches an arm for a hug from her friends, leaving the other resting over Layla, who’s sleeping on her chest.

“Gorgeous, how are you?” Damian asks, bending to hug her gently.

“Physically, woof,” Cady chuckles before she looks down at the baby resting on her. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.”

“Aww,” Damian coos. “And who’s this little angel?”

“This is Layla,” Cady says contently. “She’s the older one, and the bigger one. Layla Reese Sarkisian-Heron. And Janis has Leo. Leo Juliette Sarkisian-Heron.”

Damian coos over the little one excitedly. “She’s so cute.”

“Do you wanna hold her?” Cady asks.

“Can I?” Damian asks anxiously.

“Of course,” Cady laughs. “I need to do skin-to-skin with Leo anyway. Just wash your hands. Jayjay, can you swaddle her for them?”

Janis gives Leo to Cady and gently takes Layla, kissing her little cheek and wrapping her in her blanket again. Damian and Aaron both wash their hands thoroughly and sit on the bench under the window. Damian reaches out, so Janis rests Layla gently in his arms. His eyes suddenly go very wide.

“What’s wrong?” Janis asks with a slight chuckle. The monitors stay stable, so she knows the baby is fine.

“Nothing, sorry,” Damian breathes. “I just realized that this is, like, a person. That you made. You guys made this person.”

“That we did,” Janis laughs. Layla’s eyes flutter open slowly at all the new voices. “That’s your Uncle Damian holding you, Ladybug. What do you think of that?”

Layla pokes her little tongue out at him, making everyone laugh. “That’s about right. They look so much like you, Janjan.”

“They really do,” Aaron agrees. “I think it’s the hair.”

Janis heads back to her wife and other baby a few feet away, curling protectively around them. “They’re healthy and they got Caddy’s eyes, that’s all I care about.”

Leo wakes too, blinking at her against Cady’s chest. Janis rests her head next to her, so her nose is almost touching the baby’s. Cady giggles and brushes her hands over both of their heads.

“You are one of the most precious things in my life,” Janis informs the baby seriously. “You’re so small, but you run my whole life now.”

“Five pounds of raw power,” Cady chuckles. “And cute chubby cheeks.”

Janis kisses one of said chubby cheeks and then pulls back to rest against Cady’s shoulder, but Leo lets starts to cry when she does. Janis rests her face back down and she goes quiet again.

“I told you they’d like you,” Cady whispers. “She wants to see her mommy.”

Janis just grins slightly. “Maybe one will be a mommy’s girl.”

“I think so,” Cady says. “But they both love you. We all do.”

“I love you too,” Janis says, tipping her head up to see Cady.

Leo drifts off again after a few minutes, so Janis gives Cady a quick kiss and heads back to Damian and Aaron.

“Oh, are we the first ones to visit, by the way?” Aaron asks suddenly, sitting up from where he’s been leaning against Damian’s shoulder.

“Yep,” Cady confirms with a kiss to Leo’s forehead. “The Plastics had work and our families aren’t in town yet.”

“Yes!” Damian cheers quietly. Janis looks at him in confusion. “We’re the first to meet them. And we got them presents, so we get to give them their first ever presents. After they’ve been born, anyway.”

“You got them gifts?” Janis asks quietly. “Aww.”

Damian carefully hands Layla to Aaron and grabs a bag that Janis had somehow missed. He pulls out a stuffed giraffe and a stuffed elephant from himself, and pacifiers with matching miniature stuffed animals on the end from Aaron.

“Aww,” Cady coos from the bed. “How sweet. They’ll match their room, too. Their first stuffed animals.”

Janis takes the giraffe over to Leo and Cady, deciding that should be hers since she was technically a quarter-inch taller than Layla. Layla is more than a pound heavier, so she gets the elephants.

“So cute,” Cady says happily, resting the giraffe next to her on the bed. Another voice suddenly rings out through the speaker on the wall, letting them know the Plastics have arrived. Cady calls them in, and they come parading through the door with even more presents.

Regina pouts when she sees Damian and Aaron, realizing they beat them there. She hands Janis a gift card and ties a balloon to Cady’s bed rail, explaining that she didn’t know what to get in terms of an actual present, so they have a thousand dollars to spend on whatever they might need for the twins. Janis chases her around the room to try and give it back, making everyone else laugh, but Regina refuses to take it.

Gretchen gives them even more handmade blankets, this time teeny tiny and pastel rainbow patterned. Karen brought a whole cheesecake.

“Oh my god, thank you,” Cady laughs at both gifts. “Oh, these blankets are so soft! Look what Auntie Gretchen made you, Bumblebee!”

Janis takes Leo and wraps her loosely in the new, impossibly soft blanket. She smiles as the baby brings her hands up and squishes her own cheeks in her sleep. Cady takes the cheesecake and a fork and just goes to town. Nobody judges.

“Can I hold one?” Karen asks shyly. “They’re so cute! Baby emoji, confetti emoji.”

“Thank you,” Cady chuckles around a mouthful of her delicious dessert. “And of course you can hold them, just wash your hands.”

Karen does, and Gretchen and Regina follow rather more apprehensively. Karen sits by Damian on the bench, and he hands over Layla. Janis gives him Leo to meet instead, and Gretchen and Regina sit on either side of their girlfriend to peek at the babies.

Karen proves to be a natural with babies, cradling Layla perfectly and being careful of all her monitors. Gretchen and Regina are a bit less natural. Gretchen tenses quickly when Damian passes Leo over carefully, but relaxes once she has a solid grip on her and is positive the baby is okay.

After a while, she hands her to Regina, who also immediately tenses. But Regina doesn’t relax.

“Damn, Reg, you were less tense in the spinal halo,” Janis jokes from where she’s cuddling her wife. “She’s only five pounds, she can’t hurt you.”

“But I can hurt her,” Regina mumbles anxiously. “And I really don’t want to.”

Karen helps adjust Leo so she’s resting more comfortably, and rubs a spot on Regina’s back that always helps her calm down. Very gradually, Regina loosens up and holds the baby like a normal human would.

“What are you looking at, you little punk?” She coos when Leo wakes up and stares at her.

“She wants to see her Aunt Reggie,” Janis says. Regina snaps her head up.

“They are not calling me Aunt Reggie,” she insists. Janis pouts at Cady, who chuckles quietly and nods at her. Janis grins victoriously. “God, you look like Janis.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Janis says. “But it’s not all me, they got Cady’s eyes, and nose, and ears. And size.”

“Hey!” Cady says, flicking her gently. “I’m not that small. And the doctors said they’re a good size for preemies.”

“I was kidding, Butterfly,” Janis says, leaning in for a kiss. “All three of you are perfect.”

————-

Cady and Janis continue watching as their friends coo over their daughters. Janis takes a long moment to watch Regina and Aaron in particular. She never thought she would have kids, and certainly never would’ve thought that Regina George would be one of the first people to meet them. And, in another universe, she and Aaron might be in each other’s places. Janis is very glad she lives in this one.

Everyone stays as long as they can, but eventually do have to leave to get back to their own responsibilities. They’re left alone until their own families arrive. Janis stands by the door and waits, catching her sister as she comes barreling in, being trailed by their parents. “Hands washed and sit down, then you can have one.”

Juliana listens immediately, quickly but carefully cleaning her hands and running to sit on the bench. Janis gives her Layla, since Leo is a little more delicate. She trusts her sister, but still wants to be careful.

“So precious,” Julie says quietly, calming down quickly for her own standards. “I’m gonna buy you guys so much candy.”

“No,” Janis says immediately.

“Legos?” Julie compromises.

“Sure,” Janis agrees.

“And puppies, and then I’m just gonna leave them,” Julie chuckles. Their mom sits down by her and peeks at the baby’s face.

Janis hands Leo to Cady’s dad, who instinctively starts rocking her gently. He tears up quickly as he looks at his granddaughter.

“What are their names?” Cady’s mom asks quietly, running a tender hand over Leo’s head.

“Julie has Layla Reese,” Cady says, watching her parents both start crying quietly as they hear the middle name. “And you guys have Leo Juliette.”

Janis’ mom also tears up when she hears Leo’s middle name. Julie hands her Layla, and she takes her with a sniffle.

“Nice job, binti,” Cady’s dad says quietly. “Proud of you.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” Cady chuckles thickly, wiping her own tears away. She’s still quite hormonal, and watching everyone cry was too much for her.

“I can’t decide who they look more like,” Janis’ mom says. “So much of my Janny, but then those eyes. All Cady when they’re open.”

“Ha,” Janis says. “They’re not all me. My mom says so.”

“You’re such a child,” Cady laughs, kissing her tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Janis murmurs back against her lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Cady asks in confusion.

“For them,” Janis says thickly. “For doing this. Giving us a family. I love them so much it hurts.”

“We were a family before,” Cady says. “Now it’s just… bigger. More love.”

“More love indeed,” Janis agrees.

I didn’t think I could love you more.

LOL PRANKED ITS TWO BABIES

anyway. I hope you enjoyed! I know babies aren't everybody's thing, but if y'all would like to see more of Leo and Layla please let me know and I will absolutely do more.

request status is still paused, but I am hoping to reopen them in a couple weeks.

thanks for reading!

lots of love,

ezzy

#cadnis #paint by numbers #space safari #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #regina george #gretchen wieners #karen smith #damian hubbard #aaron samuels #mean girls #mean girls broadway #mean girls musical

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