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sequinsmile-x · 7 months

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Aura

noun

the distinctive atmosphere or quality that seems to surround and be generated by a person, thing, or place.

a warning sensation experienced before a migraine

Aaron and Emily finally admit how they feel about each other, and all it takes is a migraine and a night spent sleeping on the couch.

-x-

Hi friends <3

This came about after a conversation with @ssa-sparks, and as usual it spiralled completely out of my control.

I personally can never write enough 'getting together' fics, so I hope you guys don't get bored reading them!!

Please let me know what you think! -x-

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: None

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily rolls her neck as she pours herself a coffee, suppressing a yawn before she takes a sip of the still slightly too hot drink, desperate to wake herself up a little.

“Long night?” Dave asks, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. She narrows her eyes at him as he stands next to her in the kitchenette, a smirk on his face that seemed way too happy for her liking so early in the morning. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he picks up the coffee pot, “I always forget how delightful you are first thing in the morning.”

“And I always forget how annoying you are,” she replies, a smile flickering over her face as he feigns hurt, his hand pressed into his chest. She has another sip of her coffee as she looks across the bullpen, her eyebrows furrowing when she sees that Aaron’s office light is still off, just like it had been when she’d first arrived that morning, “Have you heard from Aaron today?”

He was usually the first to arrive at work. The light in his office like a beacon calling them all in. She remembered when she first joined the team she’d always joke to the others she wondered if he lived in there. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave, setting an example that was impossible for everyone, himself included, to keep. There had been a handful of occasions when he arrived later than the rest of them, but he always texted one of them, these days usually Emily, first. Whether it was because Jack had a doctor’s appointment, or something at his school he needed to attend, he always let them know.

So the lack of contact, the fact he hadn’t arrived yet, lets seeds of concern plant in her belly, something she tries to shake off, sure she’d being overly worried.

“No,” Dave replies, drawing her attention back to him, a smirk on his face that makes her want to smack him, “I’m sure Aaron is just fine.”

She rolls her eyes, ignoring the burning in her cheeks at the implication in his tone, his emphasis on Aaron’s first name as he points out that she’d used it. Ever since her return from Paris she and Aaron had become close. Their shared, but different, experiences, the fact they were the only person who could come close to understanding what the other had been through, pulling them together. After he’d made her promise to come to him on her bad days, a deal she knew had initially been employee to superior, things had started to change.

He’d been kind to her, soft in a way she’d seen briefly in the past. He invited her over to spend time with him and Jack over weekends and on evenings when they were free, a smile on his face that he was never quite able to hide as he watched her interact with his son. Somehow, in a way she’d never seen coming, Aaron had become her best friend.

And it had made her feelings for him, the love she’d pretended didn’t exist for as long as she could remember, infinitely more complicated.

The last thing she wanted to do was to ruin what they had, to throw it away to try something she wasn’t even entirely sure he wanted. There were moments, flashes in amongst the time they spent together, when she was sure he felt the same way. When she’d see something sparkling in his eyes when they met hers. But she was unsure, his presence in her life as her best friend was something she treasured, one of the things she’d rebuilt her life around when she thought it was impossible, and the thought of losing it, him, stopped her from going for something more.

She was content to love him as a friend, to pretend to herself that it wasn’t more than that, that she wasn’t bursting at the seams as she forced herself not to kiss him whenever he smiled at her, because it was easier than not being able to love him at all.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” she says, clearing her throat, “We’re just friends.”

Dave hums and raises his eyebrow at her, talking over his shoulder as he walks away towards his office, “Siete entrambi idioti.”

“Zitto,” she calls back, narrowing her eyes as he smirks at her over his shoulder. She blows out a breath as she looks at Aaron’s office, her stomach churning again at seeing it empty. She shakes her head at herself, telling herself he’s fine, that she’s worrying for nothing, and she mutters to herself under her breath, “Get it together, Emily.”

It’s like a mantra in her head as she repeatedly tells herself that he is okay, that nothing is wrong. But as the morning slips away, slowly giving way to the afternoon, her texts to him all unanswered and her calls sent to voicemail, the concern that had planted itself the moment she walked in that morning blooms. The flowers of it taking up space in her chest, making it hard to breathe as she remembers the last time he didn’t show up for work. How she’d dismissed her concern then, unaware it was love that was driving it, the feelings she’d had for months by that point only finding a name when she saw him in his hospital bed.

As soon as it’s lunch time she stands up from her desk, her eyes flicking to Aaron’s still empty office as she slings her bag over her shoulder, “I’m going out.”

Derek leans back in his chair, his hands on the back of his head as he looks at her, “Where are you thinking of going for lunch, Princess? I could be convinced to go to-”

“I’m just going home,” she says, the lie weak to her own ears, “I’ll let you know if I’m coming back later.” She hurries out of the bullpen before anyone can say anything else, ignoring their calls for her attention. As the glass door vibrates behind her as it slams, Dave steps out of his office, looking down at Emily’s now empty desk.

“Where did she go?” He asks, looking at the team, varying degrees of confusion on their faces.

“She didn’t say,” JJ says, not looking up from her paperwork, “But I’ll you $20 she’s gone to Hotch’s place to check on him. She’s barely stopped looking at his office all morning.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

Spencer frowns, “Is this a new bet, or part of the one about them getting together?” He asks, “Because there’s already over $1000 in that pool and it’s getting harder to keep track.”

He jumps as Derek pats him on the shoulder, looking up as the other man smirks at him, “Good thing we have a genius tracking it all then, isn’t it?”

___

When she steps across the threshold into his apartment, the key he’d given her weeks ago clutched in her hand, it feels like she’s stepped back in time. The eerie quietness, the stillness in a home she now knew to be full of laughter and love, unnerving as she closes the door behind her. Nothing looks out of place as she does a quick visual sweep of the place, a smile flashing across her face as she sees the school project she’d been helping Jack with at the weekend still on the dining table. Aaron’s phone is on the kitchen counter, next to his keys and briefcase, and she sighs, her thumbnail briefly in between her teeth. She steps further into the apartment and shrugs off her jacket, laying it over the back of the couch.

“Aaron?” She calls out, walking deeper into the apartment, her arms crossed over her chest, “Aaron, it’s Emily.” She comes to a stop outside his bedroom, the door slightly open, and she knocks lightly, frowning when she hears a quiet, but pained response.

“Jack? You’re home from school already?”

She pushes the door open, her eyebrows furrowing as she sees him. He’s lying in bed, pushing himself up on one hand, his other pressed against his forehead as he blinks at her, his expression bleary. He blinks a few times, as if he’s trying to clear his vision, frowning as he looks at her.

“Em?”

“Yeah,” she says, stepping closer, her gaze drifting to the nightstand, landing on a glass of water and a box of migraine tablets, “It’s me. It’s only lunchtime.”

He groans as he lays back, his arm over his eyes, blocking out the light, “What are you doing here?”

She knows its wrong, but something about the roughness of his voice, how haggard it sounds, makes her belly flip, “You didn’t show up to work and you didn’t answer your phone,” she says, stepping closer again, “I was worried.”

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, “I tried to come in but my head hurts too much. I can’t even see properly.”

She knew he suffered from migraines, that he had done ever since the explosion in New York that had almost cost him his hearing, but she’d never seen him have one. He was always so good at hiding his pain from those around him, from those who cared about him, and it makes her ache as she wonders just how many times he’d gone through this alone.

She makes a decision there and then that she’s not letting him do that this time.

“I’ll let Dave know I’m not coming back, and-”

“No, Em, it’s fine I don’t need a babysitter,” he says, grimacing when he protests a little too loudly, making his own head throb and his stomach turn, “You can go.”

She raises an eyebrow at him even though he’s not looking at her, and she finally sits down on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest in unnecessary defiance, “I’ll let Dave know I’m not coming back,” she says, repeating herself as if he’d never interrupted her, “Then I’ll call Jess and ask her to take Jack tonight,” she places her hand on his arm as he tries to interrupt again, swallowing thickly at the shift of his muscles beneath his skin as she squeezes, “And then I’ll just…hang out in your living room whilst you sleep this off, okay?”

He opens an eye to look at her, the low light in the room that had filtered in through the closed curtains enough to make him feel immediately worse, “You don’t have to look after me.”

“I know,” she says, screwing her hands together in her lap to stop herself from reaching out to run her fingers through his hair, “But I want to.”

He doesn’t argue any further with her, and she’s unsure if it’s because he doesn’t have the strength, or because he actually wants her to stay, but she takes it. She leaves his bedroom, careful to make sure she’s as quiet as possible as she makes the calls she needs to make. She choses to ignore the teasing tone in Dave’s voice when she confirms where she is, and what sounds like chatter in the background from the rest of the team, and she makes polite conversation with Jessica, finding herself endlessly grateful that the woman never seemed to question her increasing part in Jack and Aaron’s lives.

Once she’s done she does a few small chores for him, including putting away the dishes he’d washed but left out to dry, trying not to think too much about the fact she knows exactly where everything goes. She finds herself incapable of not checking on him again, she she walks to his bedroom, an icepack she’d found in his freezer in hand, making sure she’s quiet as she steps back into the room.

“Em?”

“It’s me,” she replies, careful to keep her voice low as she walks back across the room, once again sitting on the edge of his bed, “I let Dave know you’re sick, said you likely won’t be in tomorrow either. And Jess was more than happy to take Jack,” she says, smiling softly at him as he opens his eyes with what seems like a herculean effort, “I brought you an ice pack,” she says as she hands it to him, “Do you need anything else?”

“A new brain,” he quips, and she chuckles, passing him the icepack, the shiver that goes down her spine as their fingers touch something she puts down to the coldness of the ice, not the warmth of his skin.

“Sadly I’m all out of those,” she says, smiling at him, “Besides, I kind of like your brain the way it is,” she adds before she can stop herself, internally cursing as soon as she’s said it. She’s strangely grateful that his vision is blurred, because she knows it means he can’t see the blush creeping across her cheeks, “You get some rest,” she says, squeezing his arm before she stands up, “I’ll be out there if you need me, and I’ll check in every now and again.”

She’s almost at the door when he calls out for her, “Em?”

She looks back, her hand tight around the door handle, “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She smiles, pressing her lips together to stop it from growing any further, “Anytime.”

As she once again closes his bedroom door and walks back to his living room, she knows that she’d do anything for him.

___

Aaron groans as he wakes up, the pounding in his head now a dull thud, his vision fully clear as he opens his eyes to test their sensitivity. He rolls onto his back and blows out a breath, running his hands over his face as he sits up, keen not to lose any more time than he already had to the debilitating migraine he’d had the day before.

He’d felt it coming. The familiar warning signs of his insomnia creeping back in and the nausea that never seemed to settle greeting him just a few days ago. He’d ignored them, vainly hoped they’d go away, that the migraine wouldn’t be as bad this time. A lie he told himself every time this happened, half convinced after he’d recovered that the pain wasn’t as terrible as he’d remembered even though it had always ended up being worse.

There’s very little he remembered from the day before, the throbbing in his head and his blurred vision overriding everything else. He’d managed to get Jack off to school, once again finding himself grateful that they’d established a long time ago that Jessica would be the one to take him in, and then had attempted to get ready for work but had found himself unable to. It was as if his body had taken over, his instincts forcing him to simply crawl into bed and lay there, no matter how much he wanted to go to work.

He remembered Emily. Remembered her appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Her perfume the only scent that didn’t seem to make him feel worse as she sat next to him on the edge of his bed, refusing to go anywhere when he said he was fine. She’d looked after him all afternoon, making sure he stayed hydrated, that he took his meds. She swapped out his icepacks and largely left him alone but never strayed too far, and never left it too long before she checked in on him again, poking her head around the corner of his bedroom door, almost tripping over the unfamiliar layout of the furniture in his bedroom every time because she didn’t want to turn a light on and cause him pain.

Her undeniable beauty, the way she made him feel, were two of the only things that had broken through the hold his migraine had on him. He’d spent enough time with her, enough time learning about the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, how she would bite her lower lip when she was nervous, how her eyes carried more emotion than she meant them to, that he knew he’d never forget how beautiful she was. He could lose his sight entirely and never get and it back and he’d remember.

He’d always known she was beautiful, even when he used to be married to Haley, but it didn’t take much time to realise it was more than skin deep. It radiated out of her, shone through her when she looked after those she cared for or when she became protective. It took him too long to realise what it all meant, why she became more and more beautiful to him as time went on, why every thing he learnt about her, good and bad, made him more drawn to her, and it was only when he was standing over a grave he knew was empty he realised.

He was in love with her, and he had no idea what to do about it.

She wasn’t the same when she came back, and sometimes he wondered if she really had died that day in Boston. If the Emily he had fallen in love with no longer existed. As time went on, he realised it didn’t matter. He loved every version of her, every bit of her that he could get, and he knew he always would.

Dave was insistent that Emily felt the same way, constantly telling Aaron that he should go for it, that he was too old to watch them continue dane around each other, but Aaron was hesitant. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to push her into something, or make her feel as if she could no longer trust him as her best friend. So he put his feelings aside and put up with Dave’s comments, simply glaring at his friend if he ever said something too loudly with Emily close by.

If all she ever needed was a friend, he would be that for her.

He remembers her being there, remembers how her presence felt like more of a comfort than any medication could, but he doesn’t remember her leaving, sure he must have just slept through it. He stands up, testing his balance for a moment before he carries on and leaves the bedroom. He’s only made it a few paces into the main section of his apartment when he comes to a stop, his hand rubbing at his neck when he spots her.

Emily was fast asleep on his couch, curled under a blanket he usually kept over the back of it, her head on a cushion he knows is too thin to sleep on.

He steps closer and looks at her for a moment, taking in how relaxed she looked. Her mouth slightly hanging open, a small pool of drool on the cushion below, and her hand squished under her cheek. She looked impossibly more beautiful like this, and he feels a pang in his chest as he wishes more any anything he could see her like this every morning. That he could keep this version of her to himself, soft and warm and sleepy, the usual barriers she kept around herself, even around him at times, nowhere to be found.

He steps closer again and she wakes up, sitting up suddenly, sucking in a breath that sounds panicked and he immediately feels guilty.

“Em, it’s just me,” he says, smiling encouragingly as their eyes meet.

“Aaron,” she says, wiping her mouth, clearing her throat as she tries to wake herself up, “Are you okay? Do you need anything,” she stands up, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling nothing short of exposed in her pjyamas - an old t-shirt and a pair of leggings - in front of him, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I must have-”

“It’s fine,” he says, smiling at her, “I feel better today, I promise,” he says, watching as she narrows her eyes at him, clearly not entirely believing him, “I mean it.”

She nods and sits back down on the couch, desperately trying to suppress a yawn as she does so, “Good, I’m glad,” she says, smiling as he sits down next to her, “I was worried about you,” her smile turns tight as their eyes meet, “You weren’t at work and you weren’t answering your phone. It made me think of…”

She drifts off, knowing she’s already said more than she usually would, but she’s tired. She’d barely got any sleep between checking in on him every couple of hours and the lingering concern that had taken root in her belly. Festering until she felt nauseous, no amount of assuring herself that he would be ok, of sticking her head around the door to find him still asleep, let it settle. She still feels worried even now, the lines beneath his eyes deeper than usual, his skin paler.

He sighs, closing his eyes as he shakes his head at himself, immediately regretting it when his briefly makes the throbbing in his head worse. She didn’t have to say anything else. They’d talked about it at length one evening after Jack had gone to bed, Emily’s eyes fixed on the spot on the floor where Aaron’s blood had once stained it as she explained her version of that day. How she’d known something was wrong but couldn’t explain why, her instincts driving her to seek him out.

Aaron was sure that it was her action, her insistence on checking in on him and ultimately finding him in the hospital, that had saved Jack and Haley that day. That they’d managed to buy enough time to get them into hiding, to give Jack what turned out to be those precious last few months with his mother. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to make up for that, something that had made his failure to save her from Ian even sharper than it already was.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at her, “I didn’t even really mean to get into bed let alone spend all day there-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm without thinking about it, his skin warm against hers, “It’s not your fault, it wasn’t back then either. I just…I was worried.”

He nods, placing his hand over hers on his arm, marvelling at the softness of her skin, at how their fingers seemed to slot together perfectly, and he squeezes, “Well thank you for looking after me, you didn’t have to.”

She smiles at him, her eyes lingering on his face as she takes it all in. The fine lines she usually didn’t see because she was rarely this close to him, the smattering of freckles on his nose, the appearance of stubble over his jaw. He was beautiful, his presence enough to make her feel better, the residual concern she’d woken up feeling gone simply because he was next to her, his hand in hers, and all of a sudden all of the reasons she had for holding back from him no longer make any sense.

“Yes,” she says, swallowing thickly as she lets herself be as brave as he always said she was, “I did,” she presses her lips together into a firm line and she reaches out, pushing hair from his forehead just like she had stopped herself from doing the day before, “It’s what you do for the person you love.”

Everything slows down, the world shrinking down to just the two of them. The breath she lets out catches on every rib as it escapes, almost painful. A dividing line that she’d forever see her life as being before and after. The few seconds it takes him to smile are among some of the longest of her life, drawn out as she worries her worst fears had been realised - that she’d jumped and he hadn’t caught her.

He shifts closer, the hand that wasn’t tangled with hers cupping her cheek, “Em…”

“I mean it,” she says, her tongue peeking out to wet her lower lip, something he watches intently, “I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time.”

He lets it wash over him, sinks into the feeling of awe that he knows he’d willingly drown in. It meant so much more than he ever thought it could, to know his feelings were reciprocated, that he wasn’t alone in it.

“I love you too,” he replies, watching as she sags with relief, “Probably longer than I should.”

She smiles, wide and bright, unshed tears shining in her eyes, “Really?”

He chuckles, amazed by the fact she didn’t realise the power she had, that she didn’t know how enthralled he was by her.

“Really,” he confirms, pressing his thumb into her lower lip, testing the plushness of it, “Even if you did drool on my couch.”

She scoffs, outrage taking over as he chuckles at her, “You-”

He leans forward to press his lips against hers, cutting off her response. She grasps the back of his head, holding him in place, and he wraps his arms around her, his palm warm on her back, everything else forgotten except this moment. Something they’d both survived so much for.

At their wedding, only 18 months later, Dave presents them with an incredibly expensive bottle of champagne that he bought using his winnings from the team’s bet. A wry smile on his face as he claims he was the one to thank for the fact there was a wedding at all, that he’d pushed them towards each other.

For once, Emily can’t bring herself to correct him, to say they’d done it themselves, that they’d found their way to each other, her happiness far overriding anything else.

-x-

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thesconesyard · 9 months

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Yeehaw!!

When the Cactus Blooms

8. Patrolling the Mojave

Pavel Chekov stared at the ground for any sign of John Harrison. He was still in shock that the man had taken advantage of their kindness. He glanced at Mr. Scott on the horse next to him. He seemed even more upset about what the man had turned out to be.

Chekov himself was missing a pocket watch his grandfather had given him many years previous before he left his home and set out in the world. He was the youngest person on the ranch, but only rarely did he notice. The others treated him kindly and fairly. Miss Uhura and Miss Christine were like older sisters; Sulu and Jim, older brothers, even if Jim was the boss. The doctor and Mr. Scott and even Mr. Spock felt like his protective uncles at home. Even Keenser, not given to much talking, treated him like family.

Chekov knew the empty chair at their table would someday be filled. He’d thought it would be Mr. Harrison. He stole another glance at Mr. Scott. He had seemed to enjoy Mr. Harrison’s company; had he thought that too? Chekov’s bedroom was at the back of the house and in the evenings he had heard the murmur of their chatter and laughter.

The doctor seemed to be the only one who was glad Mr. Harrison was gone. The whole past week the doctor had not seemed himself. Had it been Mr. Harrison’s presence or something else? Chekov was unsure, and knew he’d get no answers.

“How much farther should we go Mr. Scott?”

He and Mr. Scott had headed to the north of the ranch to search. Dr. McCoy had ridden hard for town to inform the sheriff. Jim and Mr. Spock had gone west, and Sulu had gone south.

“Bit more lad, I suppose,” Mr. Scott replied.

His answer sounded sour to Chekov. He had almost thought for a brief moment that something was there, between the doctor and Mr. Scott, but now after Mr. Harrison, Chekov wasn’t sure anymore.

Chekov squinted as something caught his eye in front of them. He leaned forward in his saddle, and pulled his hat down to block more sun.

“What is it lad?”

“Up there.” Chekov pointed. “To the right, behind the bushes.”

“There’s something—”

Mr. Scott suddenly shot forward on his horse. Chekov squeezed his own horse to hurry. Mr. Scott reached the place and leapt down. He began exclaiming in words Chekov could not follow.

“Is that a—?” Chekov’s eyes widened as he dismounted his own horse, and got a good look.

“It’s a lass! Hurry give us some water!” Mr. Scott commanded.

“Is she…?” Chekov didn’t want to say the word. He knew it might happen someday, to come along a body of someone who hadn’t made it, but he didn’t want it to be a girl.

“She’s breathing! But not well. Help me lad.”

Mr. Scott had gotten an arm under the girl’s shoulders and was trying to get her sitting up. All she did was slump against him.

“Lass… Lassie… Come on…” Mr. Scott was tapping his hand across her cheek. She made a few noises, but did not wake.

“We’ve got to get her back home. She needs the doctor and Miss Christine,” Mr. Scott said. He struggled to his feet, with his arms around the girl’s chest. Once on his feet, he caught under her knees with one hand.

“How will we get her there?” Chekov asked.

Mr. Scott moved to him.

“Here- take her. I’ll get up and we’ll get her in front of me. I can keep the lass upright. You can ride back home faster and let them know we’re coming.”

Chekov stumbled but caught himself quickly as Mr. Scott passed the girl to him. He looked down at her. Her hair was so pale it was nearly white. Her face was red from the sun, but Chekov could see it was smooth, and likely as pale as her hair when not burnt.

“What’d ye say lad?” Mr. Scott asked as he swung into his saddle.

Chekov was glad he had mumbled the words in his own language.

“Nothing.”

Mr. Scott got himself settled.

“Ok lad, hand her up. Careful now!” In a moment they had the girl snug in front of Mr. Scott, complete with one of his arms secure around her middle.

“Now ye get home and let them know what’s coming,” Mr. Scott instructed him as he climbed on his horse. “I’ll be behind ye, but I’ll be going slower to not jostle the poor gal.”

“Right,” Chekov said. He turned his horse, gave a squeeze and began running for the ranch.

Chekov was waiting with Miss Christine and Miss Uhura in front of the house when Mr. Scott rode up with the strange girl.

“Oh my! Miss Uhura exclaimed.

Mr. Scott stopped and Chekov helped take the girl.

“Has she woken up at all Scotty?” Christine asked, bending to look at the girl’s face in Chekov’s arms.

“Nae,” Mr. Scott said. “She’s made a few noises, but nothing I could understand.” He got down from his horse while Miss Uhura held the reins. “Here lad, I’ve got her.”

Chekov carefully passed the pale haired girl back to Mr. Scott’s arms. They all turned as they heard the sound of more hooves entering the yard. The doctor had returned with the sheriff.

“Leonard!” Miss Christine called. “We need help!”

Chekov saw the doctor frown as he noticed the person in Mr. Scott’s arms. The sheriff put his hand out for Dr. McCoy’s reins and the doctor jumped down and hurried over.

The two ladies and the doctor hurried behind Mr. Scott into the house.

“Well hello Pavel,” the sheriff greeted him.

“Hello Captain Pike,” Chekov replied.

“Looks like y’all have had a time of it,” Captain Pike said. “How ‘bout I give ya a hand with these horses and you can tell me what’s going on?”

“How is she?” Mr. Scott asked when Dr. McCoy finally joined them at dinner. He and Miss Christine had been in with the girl for a very long time.

“Keenser offered to sit with her. Chris’ll be out in a minute.” Dr. McCoy sat heavily in his chair. “The girl has a head injury. No telling what happened until she wakes and tells us.”

“Will she be alright?” Chekov asked, concerned.

“She’s got some sunburn obviously, bad, and most likely dehydrated. Those’ll fix easy enough.”

“But her head?” Jim asked.

“Well, we could get Dr. M’Benga out to be sure, but I think she’ll pull through alright,” Dr. McCoy answered.

“I hope so,” Chekov agreed.

#yeehawgust #day 8 patrolling the Mojave #star trek #Pavel Chekov #Montgomery Scott #Jaylah #when the cactus blooms

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darlingyouarenotalone · 2 years

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1)Social workers, police, doctors, therapists, teachers, *anyone*.... please educate yourself on RAD 2)RAD family members... you're not alone

my adoptive brother has been diagnosed with Reactive attachment disorder (RAD), as well as Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD). However, there is hardly any knowledge of the subjects by most people. The following is a short memoir that I wrote to a social worker involved with my brother.

"You know that feeling when your heart just freezes for a moment? It drops… and then it begins to beat and pound three times faster than it should and adrenaline kicks in and you tear through the house searching, wondering, unsure where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s stealing from, or if he’s even alive. It’s a feeling I’ve had over a dozen times, a feeling hardly anyone can relate to. The feeling every night when you go to bed not wondering how you’re gonna wake up, whether or not he’ll be there, or whether you’ll wake up with a knife over your face. Because he’s just that unpredictable.

Let me paint a picture for you. He was nearly five years old when he came over, only a few weeks younger than me. He had a hard time with a lot of things, like reading or tying his shoes or coming up with ideas, but I didn’t mind. I liked to help him. We would play legos together, even if I had to whisper to him what to make his characters say because he couldn’t think of it. We would play school, and I would make up little worksheets to help him learn when he was struggling in school. I would make him obstacle courses to go through and tents for us to play in. Sure, he wasn’t a perfect kid. He didn’t always listen. But he was my friend.

Then, he started taking food and hiding it under his bed. Massive amounts of food that he would consume during the night. He was allowed to have as much food as the rest of us, besides being allergic to dairy, but somehow he thought he needed more. I’m not exaggerating when I say he could eat a bathtub full of food. He’d even put things like milk under his bed, so it would spoil because of the warmth, but he’d still drink it.

Naturally, my parents were concerned. They limited his access to the kitchen, and sent him to his room. The next morning he was gone, and so was his bike. Eventually the police found him, after he had stolen from both of the grocery stores in town.

He just kept getting worse over the years. Anytime he got in trouble, he would lash out and do more bad stuff. But it’s gotten to the point that he won’t even accept nice things. Nothing is ever good enough. You can never know what he says is real; one day he would tell me that I was a great sister and thank me and apologize for ever hurting me, and the next day he’d be stealing food and money and running away, telling the police what horrible people our family was. He’s always been known to lie, no matter how small of a thing it was about. It’s practically instinctual.

He tried to poison my brother once. I never know if he could try to do the same thing to me. He’s so unpredictable, switching from trying to be helpful to trying to destroy everything. For the last few months, however, he hasn’t shown his good side. He used to be cheerful and polite to at least the outside world. Now, the only time he speaks to people is to complain to whoever will listen to it. To tell them that he feels unloved, despite the hundreds of hate filled looks he has given to every member of his family lately. We try to help him, taking him to doctors to fix the problems he causes by binge eating, eating what he was allergic to, and eating from the trash, which has given him parasites and illnesses in the past. We try to rein him in, to keep him safe, and he states that it is unfair, and he isn’t happy.

But would he be happy living on the streets? He wants to run away so badly, but he can’t even remember to look both ways before crossing the street. He’ll go out in winter without so much as a coat, planning to live outside. My parents are deemed the mean ones, yet without their extreme measures, he would be dead.

Why is it that he is the victim? Is it because he is small and cute? He’s only six weeks younger than I. If I ran around stealing and hurting people, would I not be blamed? Would I not face legal consequences by now? Perhaps only because I have a functioning brain, but then, all the more reason to use unconventional means on my brother. After all, he is an unconventional child. But he’s hardly a child. So do we treat him like a man, who must own up to every crime he has committed, or do we treat him like a child, who needs help making decisions, and must be under the guidance and protection of his parents? He’s nearly a man, but a man who could not survive on his own. So why can he call the shots? Does he know what’s best? He can’t even feel when he’s full after eating three dozen cookies. So why are we taking his feelings into consideration, over his safety and well-being?

Everything my parents have done has been to keep him safe. To keep him alive. Has he always been happy? Well, when one’s greatest desire is to steal from people and live in garages, should one be happy? Not if his joy is causing hurt to both himself and to others. He could be happy. He was happy, when he was a seven year old kid, playing legos with his sister. But then he decided that he knew better. And it has hurt him so badly ever since.

He doesn’t want relationships. He doesn’t care about me, or my parents, or anyone else. He doesn’t care about you either, and if you don’t give him what he wants, you are of no use to him. He only reaches out to people to see what he can get out of them, and if they don’t give him that, the bridge will burn and he will tear down everything, lashing out, and hurting everyone in his way."

please read. Do your research. The current methods of dealing with these kinds of disorders are tearing people and family apart, and causing physiological damage both of those with the disorders and those closest to them.

If this is similar to your story, remember you are not alone. Whatever hurt you are going through, there are people who understand, people who care. keep going sweets, I know it's hard, ik sometimes life is hell, but you can make it. I'm cheering you on.

*disclaimer: I am not saying that this is what everyone with RAD and/or FASD acts like this. There are different degrees, and my brother has it to the extreme. And if you have it, I am not against you. I want to support you. However, this was my life, my experience that needs to be shared.

#reactive attachment disorder #fetal alcohol syndrome #fasd #adoption #foster #foster care #adoptivefamily #mental illness #family issues #family trauma #childhood trauma #RAD

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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jaehyunfirstlove · 3 years

Text

You decide you’re ready to have a baby. The catch? You’re not seeing anyone at the moment. Enter your best friend, Jeong Jaehyun. Will he be the answer to your dilemma?

Pairing: best friend!Jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: best friends to fwb to lovers, fluff, angst, smut (18+ only)

Warnings: mentions of infertility, pregnancy and childbirth, sperm donors, IVF (in vitro fertilization), fertility drugs, mood swings, fingering, unprotected sex, cum play, nipple play, breeding kink, oral sex (f.receiving), dirty talk, pregnant sex, rough sex

Word count: 10.6k

Taglist: @jaehyunnie77 @mrg-jjh @keeach (send me a message if you want to be tagged in future fics)

A/N: this was only meant to be a short fic but it morphed into this monstrosity. I tried to tag for everything but if I missed anything please let me know. Inspired by the fact that Jaehyun wanted to be a teen dad (but they are not teens in this story, just thought I’d make that clear :) Also please excuse my unimaginative name for the baby, I’m terrible at coming up with names lol

Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional so please excuse any inconsistencies.

“So what have you got planned for today?” your best friend, Jaehyun, asked you as he took a sip of his coffee, shielding his eyes from the sun’s rays coming through the window of the cafe.

It was your weekly Saturday brunch, at which Jaehyun would show up, nine times out of ten, hungover, wearing dark sunglasses, a baseball cap, a black t-shirt and sweats. There was never a deviation from this outfit, even on the times when he came not hungover.

“Oh not much, just an appointment at the fertility clinic this afternoon.”

Jaehyun paused, as you took a sip of your latte. You couldn’t see the look in his eyes through the sunglasses but his fork had stopped midway to his mouth. It hovered in the air, scrambled eggs sliding off of it and plopping onto the plate below.

“The where?” he asked, tipping his head to look at you above the top of his sunglasses.

“Fertility clinic. Looking into getting a sperm donor.”

The matter-of-fact way you were saying everything seemed to shock him, his fork still not moving towards his mouth or back onto the plate.

“Excuse me, a sperm donor?”

You put your coffee cup down, and sighed. “I don’t know why you’re so shocked, I told you before I wanted to have a baby.”

“I thought you were joking!”

“Well I wasn’t!” you don’t know why you were being so indignant, maybe because all you’d heard from everyone around you, from your parents to your doctor to the lady that sold you pretzels from a street cart, was negative. You shouldn’t have a baby without a partner, was the main point of contention, but how was that going to happen if you weren’t seeing anyone, and hadn’t had a serious relationship in almost a year.

“But a sperm donor, Y/N?” he asked, after mulling over what you just said.

“Yeah? What’s wrong with it?” you countered. You were so sick of everyone around you criticizing your plan.

“I don’t know, what if he’s like, a serial killer or something?”

“They do psychiatric assessments on everyone who donates.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an undiagnosed illness-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jaehyun!” you’d had it, letting out an exasperated huff, “Do you have a better idea? Do you want to be my sperm donor?”

You weren’t at all serious, you were just mainly upset and unfortunately, taking it out on him, but he actually sat back in his chair, eyebrows raised, as if he were contemplating it.

“Anyway, forget it. I don’t need your approval. I just hoped that you’d support me, of all people.” You couldn’t help but pout. He was your best friend and he’d stuck with you when no one else had. You may have said you didn’t need his approval but deep down you wanted him to be on your side.

He leaned forward, took his sunglasses off and looked you in the eye. “Of course I support you,” he said sincerely. “If this is what you want, then I’m with you one hundred percent of the way.”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter, and just as you took a sip of your latte he said the one thing that would complicate your life forever.

“But I get to be that sperm donor.”

You spluttered, almost choking on your latte. “I wasn’t being at all serious, Jaehyun,” you chuckled nervously, but one look at his face and you could see he was being completely serious.

“I just don’t like the idea of some stranger being the father of your child,” he said quietly, looking down at his plate of food while he said it, “might as well be me, right?” He looked up at you hopefully.

You didn’t know what to say. This was your best friend, the one you’d grown up with, the one you’d catch tadpoles with, the one you’d drag to the playground with you, the one you told all your innermost secrets to. The one who knew you best. Didn’t it make sense then, that he would be the one to share this with you, in the end? You looked at his face; open, sincere, beautiful. You knew he was attractive, with the trail of broken hearts he’d leave in his wake, but you hadn’t really looked at him in that way before. Suddenly he was a new person to you, and now you didn’t know how to feel.

“Jaehyun, I-” you rubbed your hands together nervously, still unsure of what to say, “it’s a big thing, you know? This will change the rest of your life.”

He nodded, but there was no trace of hesitation in his actions. In fact, he looked as sure as anything. “Yeah that’s a given. But I’ve thought about it and I’m ready.”

“Jaehyun, you’ve literally thought about it for, like, the few minutes we’ve been sitting here.”

He smiled, “Actually I’ve thought about it for a long time.”

“About being a sperm donor?”

He laughed. “No, not specifically a sperm donor. But it’s a start,” he shrugged. “So what do I have to do?”

---

Jaehyun accompanied you to the appointment at the fertility clinic, where they outlined the plan and what was required of the two of you. It didn’t sound too bad, but you did find that having Jaehyun there to support you was really helpful. Every time the doctor explained something that made you nervous you would look over at him and he would smile confidently at you, sometimes squeezing your hand if you looked particularly concerned.

It was the fertility drugs they gave you, that threw your world into chaos. They had warned you of the side effects but you didn’t think it would be this bad. Your mood swung back and forth like a pendulum, one moment you were happy, the next you were crying into your cereal. You were irritable more than you had ever been in your life, and constantly snapped at every little thing. Not to mention that your breasts were sore and you had nausea, making you feel like you were pregnant already. You felt bad for Jaehyun when he was around for your mood swings and irritable moments, but he handled it much better than you thought he would. He’d give you your space when you needed it, but also sit by your side when you didn’t want to be alone. You found yourself thinking about how he would be as a father, but then you would remember that he was just the sperm donor.

One day, when he was sitting beside you on the couch, rubbing your back after you’d cried over your coffee order being wrong, you ended up asking him how much he wanted to be involved.

“We didn’t talk about the ‘after’,” you said, still sniffling. He stopped rubbing your back and looked at you.

“What do you want the ‘after’ to look like?” He asked, his tone level and gentle.

You had visions of Jaehyun rocking the baby to sleep, of Jaehyun seeing the baby walk for the first time, of Jaehyun teaching your child how to ride a bike, piano lessons, soccer games, first day of school. The perfect family. Except he wasn’t your husband, he wasn’t even your boyfriend. You didn’t know what to ask of him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. He went back to rubbing your back.

“I’ll be as involved as you want me to be,” he said softly, “my only request is that I get to be a part of their life.”

That sounded fair, you thought. This was certainly going to be more complicated than getting a stranger as a sperm donor.

---

You went through several cycles of IVF, but none had been successful and you were losing hope. Not to mention the fertility drugs were really taking a toll on you, and the doctor had recommended taking a break. You were devastated, seeing it as the end of your dream, no matter how much the doctor reassured you that it wasn’t.

“There has to be another solution,” you pleaded at one appointment. Jaehyun hadn’t accompanied you and you felt yourself falling apart without his presence.

“Well, of course there’s the surefire way,” the doctor shrugged.

“What’s that? I’ll do anything!” you were hopeful once again at the doctor’s words.

“Regular sexual intercourse.”

Of course, you thought bitterly. You couldn’t help but think this was society punishing you for doing this without a husband. Undeterred, you resolved to discuss it with Jaehyun.

---

The look on Jaehyun’s face when you broached the subject was one you had never seen on him before. It was a mixture of shock, terror, resignation, and… something else, almost like acceptance, as if this were the natural course of things.

You resolved not to make it weird, it was just sex after all, and you would get a baby out of it, and that was the most important thing. However, your palms still got sweaty at the thought of it, your heart racing imagining him naked. You’d gone swimming with him plenty of times, went on beach outings often, and you realized you’d always avert your eyes from his bare chest. You figured you were just doing it to be polite, but you had no trouble looking at other men’s chests (you were only human, after all). You shook your head of your thoughts, while waiting patiently for him to agree or disagree to your request.

“I know it’s weird,” you began, when he still hadn’t said anything, “but I promise it won’t change anything in our relationship.” You needed him to agree, and at this point you would say anything to convince him. He looked at you thoughtfully, before he nodded.

“Okay, I’m in.”

---

You’d been keeping track of your cycle and had the days you were ovulating marked on your calendar, which you had shared with Jaehyun. It was agreed that he would come to your place after work, where you would have sex in the hopes of making a baby.

The first night you were nervous, pacing your room as you waited for him to come over. When the doorbell rang you literally jumped out of your skin. When you opened the door you were relieved to see that he was nervous too, although he tried his best to hide it. He joked around with you, trying to keep the mood light, and you had to admit you appreciated it. But when you got to the bedroom, you both went quiet. Jaehyun stood at one end of the room and you stood at the other, the bed looming between you.

“Do you want me to turn around while you get undressed?” he asked awkwardly, and you realized you hadn’t thought through the details.

“Um, yeah, sure,” you replied, and when he turned around you hastily undressed and jumped under the covers. “Done,” you advised, and he turned around. He didn’t make a move though, just looking at you pointedly, until you realized and turned your head away. Once he was done undressing you felt him lift the covers and get into the bed with you, and you couldn’t stop your heart from hammering in your chest.

“Y/N,” he said softly, because you still hadn’t turned back to him. “Can I touch you?”

You bit your lip, still not looking his way, and nodded. His touch made you jolt, even though his hand was warm, the electricity you felt made all your nerve endings feel like they were on fire.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his hand moving tentatively across your stomach. You nodded but you realized you were panting already, and he had barely touched you. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” he suddenly whispered in your ear, and then he was kissing your neck.

You weren’t prepared for the intimacy, you had really only thought about the intercourse part. You hadn’t prepared yourself for the kissing, and the touching, and how he was so good at making you feel good. You felt like you weren’t supposed to enjoy it, that it was supposed to be “just sex” because you were friends and you weren’t doing this because you loved each other, you were only doing it to have a baby. But the more he touched you, the more he kissed you, the more you fell under his spell. You felt like you should tell him to stop, to just get on with it, but you knew he was doing it to get you nice and wet and therefore more comfortable to take him.

His kisses started to move along your jaw, towards your lips, and when he was finally there, his lips on yours, you felt a panic bubble up in your chest. It was too intimate, too much for someone who wasn’t yours. You pulled away, and he looked at you in surprise.

“No kissing on the lips,” you managed to say, maybe that would be enough to keep it less intimate, you told yourself. He nodded without saying a word, his hand coming up to your breast.

“Is it okay if I touch you here?” he asked, his eyes on yours. You thought for a moment and decided it was okay, and when you nodded he cupped your breast tentatively, all the while watching you for your reaction. When you didn’t pull away he squeezed gently, rubbing your nipple with his thumb.

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress a moan, because everything he was doing was making you feel so good. He kept watching your reaction, and when he was satisfied that you were reacting favorably he got bolder, his hand slipping down between your legs.

You yelped when he touched you there, your legs involuntarily closing and trapping his hand. He froze, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” you apologized, flushing with embarrassment, “reflex reaction.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly, as you slowly opened up your legs again. He moved his hand slowly, gently, just rubbing the inside of your thigh. “You can relax, Y/N, I promise I won’t hurt you.” His words were soft, his tone gentle, and it did wonders to calm and soothe you.

You nodded, giving him the go-ahead, and he reached tentatively with his finger, just lightly touching your folds. The electricity you felt when he first touched you came back with a vengeance, and you almost melted right into the bed. Your reaction encouraged him though, and he pressed his finger further in, rubbing your wetness around. When he was satisfied with the state of your arousal he got into position between your legs, placing the tip of his cock at your entrance. He paused, looking you in the eye, gently stroking your cheek.

“Ready?” he asked gently, “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded vigorously, to be honest the anticipation was killing you and you were very much aroused, wanting him to just get on with it. When he pushed into you though, you realized you should really be careful what you wished for. The feeling of him stretching you was almost too much, every inch he pushed in agonizingly slow amplifying your arousal to a dizzying degree. By the time he was seated all the way inside you you were panting, almost out of breath already.

“Okay?” he asked, through gritted teeth. You could tell he was holding back for dear life, but he purposely went achingly slow to make sure you were comfortable.

“Yes,” you said, having adjusted to his size, “you can move now.” Your pussy clenched involuntarily around him and he hissed.

“Don’t do that, Y/N,” he groaned, “I won’t last.”

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, and as if to get you back he snapped his hips, making you cry out.

“Fuck!” you screamed, and that definitely encouraged him, and he set a pace, fucking you into the mattress. You felt your toes curl, a familiar knot building in your stomach. Once again, you thought, you felt like you shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as you were, it was more important for him to come inside you. “Come on, baby, come for me,” you whispered in his ear, hoping the dirty talk would encourage him.

“Almost there,” he grunted, and as much as you tried not to enjoy it, the way he was drilling into you felt too good. You bit your lip and grasped at the sheets, trying to keep your orgasm down, but he took it as a sign that you were about to come. He reached between you and thumbed your clit, and at that moment your orgasm exploded out of you without warning. He groaned as you clenched around him, finally spilling his seed inside you. You were dizzy, mind hazy from your orgasm, but you were content at the feeling of his cum inside you. He started to pull out, then stopped.

“Oh,” he said, and you looked up at him to see why he was saying that.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’s leaking out of you,” he pointed down between your legs. You panicked.

“Well you’re not supposed to pull out right away!” you wrung your hands frantically, “push it back in!”

He looked at you incredulously, before looking down at his already softening cock, realizing it was useless at that point. So he just used his fingers, gathering up the cum that had leaked down and pushing it back into your pussy. You bit your lip again, because the more he pushed in, the more aroused you became, surprised that you weren’t oversensitive at this point. He must’ve noticed your reaction because he didn’t stop, pushing in further and further, in and out, faster and faster, until you were coming again, pussy pulsing around his fingers.

You took a deep breath to regulate your breathing, while he pulled his fingers out of you and sat back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, when you still lay there, unmoving.

“Yes,” you responded, staring up at the ceiling.

“Well, I guess I’ll get going,” he said awkwardly, when you didn’t say anything else.

You nodded, still staring up at the ceiling. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” He dressed without saying anything more and left the room.

---

He came over again the next night, and you repeated the same awkward scene from the night before. This continued for a few cycles, with no success, and again you were losing hope.

“Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” you said dejectedly one day. Jaehyun looked over at you, concern etched on his face.

“The doctor said you were fine,” he replied, attempting to soothe you.

“Maybe there’s something wrong with you then,” you huffed, but Jaehyun just shook his head.

“Y/N, they put us through a bunch of tests and said we’re both fine,” he put a hand on your knee to reassure you.

“Then why isn’t it working?” you lamented, on the verge of tears.

“Do you want my opinion?” he asked hesitantly. You looked up at him in surprise.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, curious as to what he had to say.

“Well, I’ve been reading those links the doctor sent, and it said stress is a big factor,” he stated carefully, “I think you just need to relax, and let it happen.”

You were floored. On the one hand you were touched that he had actually read the links the doctor had sent (you had been too impatient to bother), on the other hand, what exactly did he mean by ‘letting it happen’?

“Let’s do things differently next time, what do you think?” he had a twinkle in his eye that was starting to alarm you.

“What do you have in mind?” you asked suspiciously.

“You’ll see.” He smiled, much too widely for your liking.

---

The next time came around and you were more nervous than you were the first night, and if this was his idea of making it more relaxed he was already failing miserably. When he showed up at your door though, you almost didn’t recognize him.

Instead of a t-shirt and sweats, he was wearing a crisp white button-down and jeans that sat sexily on his hips. Instead of his hair flat and falling in his face he had it pulled back, with just a few strands falling over his forehead. He also smelled incredible, a musky scent that forever trapped you in his hold, and made you want him in every way he would let you.

He smiled at you, but not in the way a friend smiles at a friend, and when he leaned in to give you a kiss on the cheek you almost passed out from the warmth of his lips and the intoxicating scent emanating from his skin. He walked past you to the bedroom, leaving you standing there with your mouth open and your underwear dampening.

When you finally collected yourself, you went upstairs to hear the bath running. You walked into the bathroom to see him drawing a bath, candles surrounding the tub, flower petals in the water, and the most luscious smelling bath bomb marinating in it.

“Jaehyun, what-”

“Shh,” he put a finger to your lips, and even that act was so sensual you had to squeeze your legs together, “let me take care of you.” He reached down and turned off the water. “Get undressed and get in the bath, and I’ll come back and help you get relaxed.” He left the room and you did what he said, calling him back in once you were in the bath and the cloudy bubbly water reached the tops of your breasts.

He had such a calm and serene look on his face that it almost threw you off, but then he was taking your puff and squeezing body wash on it.

“May I?” he asked, and when you nodded he gently took your arm and ran the puff along it. He did the same with the other arm, and that simple act, along with the warmth of the bath water, did wonders to soothe you. You felt like you were floating, with the calming scents of the bath bomb, and his gentle touch. He started to run the puff along your neck and you bent your head back and sighed. Soon enough he was dipping below the surface of the water, running the puff between your breasts, and you sighed even deeper as he got lower, past your stomach, and lower still. The puff was forgotten, and now it was just his hand, reaching down between your legs. It all felt so good, you spread your legs even wider, wanting more.

“How does it feel?” he whispered, so close to your ear you shuddered.

“So good,” you couldn’t help but moan, and then his hand was there, cupping your pussy.

“I want to make you feel good, Y/N,” he purred, his voice like honey, “will you let me make you feel good?”

“Yes,” the word came out on a long exhale, as he plunged a finger between your folds, and you couldn’t help but fall apart. He fingered you until you came, water splashing all around you as you writhed in pleasure. When you were done he picked you up out of the bath, not caring that his clothes were getting wet, and carried you to the bed. You couldn’t care that you were probably soaking the bed, because his lips were on your neck, hot and urgent, leaving marks that you’d have trouble concealing the next day.

You pulled at his shirt, wanting it off already, and he obliged, throwing the damp fabric to a corner of the room. You rubbed your hands all over his chest, feeling the firm muscle there, then down to his abs. He groaned against your neck when you undid his belt and slipped your hand over his hardened cock.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he hissed, when you wrapped your hand around it and pumped.

“Don’t come yet,” you whispered, taking your hand away, opting instead to pull the rest of his jeans and boxers off. You wrapped your legs around him, encouraging him to enter you, but he pulled back slightly.

“Slow down,” he breathed, and you could feel him smiling against your neck, “this isn’t a race, Y/N,” he continued kissing down the column of your neck, down to your chest, “relax, and let me make you feel good.”

You finally relented, relaxing as he’d ordered, letting yourself melt into the mattress as he sucked on your skin. Your body was on fire, both from the heat of the bath you just had as well as the way his lips were ruining you. When he got down to your lower stomach you realized where he was headed, and instead of fighting the pleasure you were feeling you simply gave in. As soon as his wet tongue collided with your wet folds you let go, moaning wantonly at the feeling. Every sound you made spurred him on, every jerk and jolt of your body gave him the impetus to push you to the height of pleasure, until you were yanking at his hair and convulsing around his tongue.

“That was fucking hot, Y/N,” he almost growled, wiping at his chin as he moved to hover above you, “I almost came.”

“Don’t,” you panted, trying to catch your breath, “you need to come inside me.”

“You want it? Want my cum inside you, fill you up,” his voice was deep, intense, a tone you’d never heard from him, and certainly words you’d never heard from him, but it certainly was doing the job and making you very aroused.

“Oh god,” you exclaimed, unaware that dirty talk was something you liked. Your previous boyfriends hadn’t been this filthy, but you found you loved it.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, and you’re gonna take all of my cum,” he continued, voice raspy, breath hot in your ear, “I’m gonna knock you the fuck up, and watch your belly grow with my baby.”

“Jaehyun!” you cried out, losing yourself completely. You grabbed a hold of his neck and pulled him down, and for a split second you saw his eyes grow wide as you smashed your lips against his, your no-kissing rule forgotten. He kissed you with the same passion and intensity that he ate you out with, and you wondered why you had ever put that no-kissing rule into place if he could make you feel like that with his lips. You moaned when his tongue entered your mouth, just as he slid his cock inside you.

This time you didn’t hold back, allowing yourself to feel everything. The way his cock slid in and out of you, the way the tip kept hitting that spot so deep inside you. The way his tongue moved in your mouth, the way his hands rubbed up and down your body, sometimes squeezing your breasts and flicking your nipples. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling his muscles move, and when you felt your orgasm start to build you dragged your nails against his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna come,” he broke from the kiss to drop his head down to your chest, his thrusts getting harder but more erratic.

“Oh god, do it,” you panted, your orgasm about to burst out of you, “fill me up, baby, I want your cum so bad.”

That was enough to send him over the edge, and he pulled you flush against him as he came inside you, the particularly forceful thrusts triggering your own orgasm and making you clench around him. He let out a loud groan as you milked him, fingernails digging into his back.

When you were both done you held him against you, not wanting to let him go. He obliged, just holding you, his face tucked against your neck. You could feel his hot breath against your skin and that, along with his arms around you and his weight on top of you was all oddly comforting.

“I’m gonna pull out,” he finally said, when he had gone soft inside you. You sighed but nodded, and once he had pulled out you clamped your legs together, trying to keep as much of his cum inside you as you could.

He dressed quietly and you watched him, heart stuttering in your chest, your mind reeling. You had promised him that the sex wouldn’t change anything in your relationship, but you couldn’t believe how wrong you were. You wanted to reach for him, wanted him to stay, but you held back.

“Thanks for that,” you said quietly, and he turned to you and smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he said sincerely, “I’ll do anything for you,” and he brought his hand up and cupped your cheek, his eyes soft as he looked at you, “you’re my best friend.”

You smiled at him, but inside your heart was breaking. How could you ever think you could do this and keep your friendship as it was?

---

A few weeks later you were late, and although you tried not to get your hopes up you couldn’t help but think this was it. You waited to take the pregnancy test, wanting Jaehyun to be there no matter the outcome.

“What is it? What’s wrong? You said it’s an emergency.” He looked so concerned when he came over, and you almost felt bad for not saying what it was about right away.

“I’m late, Jaehyun,” you announced nervously.

“Where do you have to be?”

“No, I mean my period! I haven’t gotten my period yet!”

He paused, the pieces finally falling into place, and his face suddenly lit up. “Oh shit!” He covered his mouth with his hand as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Come with me, I’m gonna take a pregnancy test.” You led him upstairs where he waited outside the bathroom door while you took the test. You placed the stick on the counter and opened the door to let him in.

“Well? What does it say?” he asked, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

“It’s gonna take a few minutes,” you answered nervously, “I can’t look, tell me what it says.” You turned away, so anxious you thought you would pass out.

“One line, so far,” he stated, and you tried to stay calm but your heart was beating out of your chest.

“Hold my hand,” you reached behind you and he took your hand in his, squeezing to comfort you. He was silent for a while, and you couldn’t take it anymore. “Well? What does it say now?”

“I see…” he started to say, and you so desperately wanted to turn around but you were too scared.

“What?! Just say it!”

He pulled you to him, turning you around and lifting the stick up to your eye level. “Two lines.”

You blinked a few times, wanting to make sure you were seeing it right, but every time you opened your eyes there were two solid lines. You were pregnant.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, both of your hands going up to cover your mouth. Jaehyun whooped in celebration, jumping up and down with glee. You saw the genuine happiness in his face and so many emotions ran through you that the only thing you could do was burst into tears.

“Aw, Y/N, don’t cry!” he laughed, gathering you into his arms, thinking you were just crying from happiness. But it was so much more complicated than that. You were getting what you wanted, a baby, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for all the complications of having a baby with your best friend, who you may have developed feelings for.

---

The first trimester was hell. You were throwing up every morning, and feeling nausea for the rest of the day. You had an aversion to most food, even hating the smell of certain things, like meat. The only things you could keep down were bread and noodles, and you wondered how the baby could grow when that was all that you ate. But at every appointment the doctor reassured you that the baby was doing well and developing at a good rate. Jaehyun insisted on going with you to your first ultrasound and as much as you wanted him to, you also dreaded it.

When the fuzzy form of your baby showed up on the screen for the first time you felt a surge of happiness overcome you, tears springing to your eyes at the sight of the tiny figure on the screen. You heard Jaehyun inhale sharply and turned to look at him. The awe in his face was so endearing it made the tears run down your cheeks, and seeing your reaction he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in for a hug.

“That’s our baby,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking, and you cried harder.

“Congratulations!” the technician said, patting you both on the shoulder. You felt like you should correct her, tell her that although the baby was technically yours and Jaehyun’s, you weren’t together and wouldn’t be raising the baby as such. But how do you explain that to a complete stranger? You looked over at Jaehyun, who was smiling from ear to ear, shaking the technician’s hand and making no move to explain the situation.

Later, as you were getting ready to leave the clinic, you saw the technician hand over a copy of the ultrasound picture to Jaehyun. He took it happily in his hands, as if it were the most precious thing in the world. As he walked towards you he slipped it into the plastic window spot in his wallet, where your drivers’ license should be, but his now housed a blurry black and white photo of your baby.

“Hey, wanna get something to eat to celebrate?” he asked, slinging an arm around you as you both left the clinic.

You shook your head. As much as you wanted to spend time with him, you found it hurt more than it helped. Once the baby was born you’d have to deal with him being around more often, so it was better to save up your strength for that.

“I’m actually really tired, I just want to go home and rest,” you answered without looking up at him, “besides, I’m still off most foods.”

“Oh, okay, makes sense.” He said, removing his arm from around your shoulder and stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t sound upset or offended, but when you looked at him out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of emotion cross his face, almost like hurt or disappointment. You felt bad, knowing you had been avoiding him, even giving up your weekly brunches, but you felt it was better this way.

“Listen, I’ll let you know when the next ultrasound is, okay? You can come with me again.” You wanted just to wipe the look of disappointment off his face, and luckily it worked.

“Yeah, that would be great! Thanks so much, Y/N,” he leaned down and hugged you, and it was the closest he’d been to you since the last time you’d had sex to make the baby. You held him close, committing the feel of him and the scent of him to memory, before you pulled away and walked towards your car.

---

If the first trimester had been hell, the second trimester was heaven. Miraculously the nausea disappeared, and you found yourself actually craving food. You felt more energized and less tired, and slept so much better. Your belly was starting to grow, and you actually had to start shopping for maternity clothes. Your mood was so much better, but what really came back with a vengeance was your libido. During the first trimester you couldn’t even think about sex, but now, it was all you could think about.

Usually your vibrator would do the trick, but there were always moments where you’d think about Jaehyun, think about how good he could make you feel. Sometimes just thinking about him fucking you was enough to get you off, but when you really thought about him, about the feeling of his cock parting your folds, or the feeling of his strong hips pounding into you, his face sweaty and his scent overpowering the air between you, nothing was better than the real thing.

Which is how you found yourself one night, holding your phone and dialing his number without hesitation.

“Hey, what’s up,” he answered, his voice sounding distant. You realized you hadn’t spoken to or seen him in weeks, and instantly you felt terrible.

“Um, actually nothing. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me,” you could hear him shuffling around, like he had been lying down and started to sit up, “is something wrong, Y/N?”

He always saw right through you, you could hear the concern is his voice, and there was no turning back now.

“Could you come over? I think I need some… company.” You didn’t know if you could just ask for sex over the phone, and was it really only sex that you wanted? Or did you just want him there, with you.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I can come over,” you heard more shuffling, like he was getting dressed, “are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be better when you’re here.” You answered truthfully.

When he showed up at your door you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him towards you and hugging him tightly. He didn’t protest, just held you and rubbed your back gently.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked softly against your hair.

“I miss you,” you admitted, voice muffled against his chest because you were too ashamed to look at him.

“I’m around, you know,” he chuckled, “you’re the one who cancelled our brunches.”

You pulled back and forced yourself to make eye contact with him. “No, Jaehyun, I miss you.” You touched his chest when you said it, giving him a look laden with meaning. He understood right away, his eyebrows rising slightly. You took him by the hand and pulled him inside, leading him upstairs and to your bedroom. He let himself be led, but once you were behind closed doors he suddenly took you into his arms and kissed you. The kiss wasn’t subtle, or gentle, it was intense and forceful, his intent surely to rile you up. It definitely worked, because you could feel wetness pooling in your panties as he stuck his tongue down your throat.

“You want my cock again,” he growled, breaking from the kiss to suck a line down your throat. You gasped at his aggressiveness, but you had to admit it really turned you on.

“Yes,” you breathed out, as he stripped you of your clothes and pushed you towards the bed. You fumbled at his clothes, trying to get them off but you found your limbs were weak from the way he was handling you. He took over, stripping off the rest of his clothes, his cock springing forward when he pulled his boxers down. You admired it for only a second before he turned you around, pushing you onto your hands and knees on the bed.

“You like my cock, don’t you, you like me fucking into your little pussy,” he spoke so low, his chest flush against your back so you could feel the reverberation of his voice.

You didn’t have a chance to answer, because he rammed his cock into you, a scream tearing from your throat as he went as deep as he could.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he started to pound into you. You weren’t sure how pregnant sex would feel, since so many things were changing in your body, but you weren’t prepared for what you got. It felt like your entire body was on fire, pleasure coursing through every part of you. He hit places inside you that you’d never felt before, and all of it was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

“Jae,” you panted, “Jae, oh my god!” your orgasm was coming on, super fast and beyond your control.

“You’re gonna come already, baby? Alright, come on, come all over my cock,” he reached down, and although it was a little awkward because of your belly, he managed to get to your clit and rub it with the pad of his thumb.

Your vision went white when your orgasm hit, your fingers and toes going numb as your pussy clenched around his cock. You could barely hold yourself up, your upper body falling to the bed as you convulsed around him. He kept going, fucking you through it, and when you stilled he pulled out and lay you on your back. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, before he entered you again. You cried out at the oversensitivity, but he went slowly, and soon enough you started to feel pleasure again.

“I can keep going,” he said, as he fucked into you at a slow but deliberate pace, “you want more, don’t you?”

You nodded vigorously, already feeling another orgasm building. He propped himself up then, and pounded into you, the bed shaking from his harsh thrusts. You gripped and pulled at the sheets, unable to contain the needy whines and moans coming up out of your mouth. You forced your eyes open to see him hovering over you, a look of intense concentration on his face, his brow sweaty, hair falling into his eyes. When he saw you looking at him his concentration faltered, and he bent his head down for a kiss. You were expecting a kiss to match the intensity with which he was fucking you, but instead it was soft, gentle, lingering. You felt something in it, something above and beyond what he was doing to you, something that carried you where you most wanted to be but didn’t dare go. The orgasm you had then was different, not just purely physical, not just filled with lust, but something more elevated, more emotional.

He broke the kiss to grunt loudly as he came, spilling more of his seed inside you. When he was done he pulled out, and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Y/N,” he said, and you don’t know why he sounded so defeated. You sat up, preparing yourself for what he was going to say.

“Jaehyun,” you reached for him but thought better of it, your hand dropping into your lap.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” he said, his voice quiet but determined, “it’s fucking me up and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Your heart sank. He was pulling out of your life, and it was all your fault for doing this to him. “I’m so sorry, Jaehyun.”

He got dressed hurriedly, without looking back at you, and before he opened the door to leave he turned back.

“You need to decide for yourself what you want me to be,” he still didn’t look at you, opting to look at the floor instead, “I’ll always be here for you, but I need to know where I stand.”

The door closing behind him echoed in the room, the absence of him already settling into your heart.

---

You went through the rest of the second trimester on your own, too ashamed and heartbroken to see Jaehyun, and too confused to sort out your feelings. He’d text you once in a while to ask you how you were doing, how you were feeling, but there was no talk beyond the pregnancy. He didn’t come to any more of your doctor’s appointments, nor did you ever invite him to any more in the first place. The third trimester hit even worse than the first, your belly was now so big it was almost uncomfortable to do anything, you now had constant heartburn, and you were going to the bathroom every ten minutes because of the weight on your bladder.

About a month before your due date, you were making dinner in the kitchen when you felt an uncomfortable tightening in your abdomen. You clutched your stomach, gripping the counter in alarm and wondering what you should do. The feeling came and went, but returned after a few minutes. Concerned, you called your doctor, who advised you to come in to the hospital just to get checked out. As you were getting ready you got a text from Jaehyun, asking how you were doing.

Jaehyun: hey just doing my check-in

JH: how is it going today

Me: well it’s probably nothing but

Me: just going to the hospital to get checked out

JH: wait what

JH: let me take you

Me: i should be ok

JH: Y/N pls let me take you

Me: ok

JH: thank you i’ll be right there

You sighed, wishing you had never told him and made him worry. Luckily you didn’t have to wait long since he lived nearby, and soon enough he was pulling up to your house. You didn’t bother to wait for him to come to the door, coming out as soon as you saw his car. You were locking the front door when the uncomfortable feeling came back, making you double over, clutching your stomach.

“Y/N!” you heard Jaehyun yell behind you, and soon enough his arms were cradling you as you crouched over. “What happened? What’s going on?”

His voice sounded frantic, terrified, and when you looked up in his eyes he looked so scared that it made your chest ache.

You smiled weakly, trying to placate him, “Don’t worry, it’s probably just false labor,” you patted him on the arm and soon enough the feeling went away. “My doctor just wants me to come in and get checked out, just in case.”

He nodded, but didn’t look reassured at all, creases of worry still lining his face. He also didn’t let you go, holding onto your arm as you walked to the car. At the hospital he didn’t leave your side, until the doctor came to do your examination.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said hesitantly, but you could tell he didn’t want to leave at all, eyes looking longingly back at you as he left the room.

After the doctor examined you and reassured you that it really was just false labor, you were cleared to leave and found Jaehyun in the hall, pacing. Once he saw you he ran up to you, searching your face with frantic eyes.

“Well? What happened?” he’d taken your hands in his, and his palms felt cold and clammy.

“It was nothing, just false labor, the doctor told me to go home and rest.” You reassured him, squeezing his hands and smiling softly at him. He let out a long breath, collapsing into a nearby chair.

“Oh my god, Y/N, I almost died!” he passed the back of his hand over his eyes dramatically, and you suppressed a giggle at his overdramatic show.

“Don’t laugh!” he sat up and looked at you incredulously, “I lost ten years of my life just now!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” you pressed your lips together trying not to smile. He broke into a wide grin then, pleased with himself that he had managed to lighten your mood with his sense of humor.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

---

The drive from the hospital had been quiet, both of you realizing that there was still this huge wall between you, and neither of you were brave enough to breach it. He walked you to your door in continued silence, and once you reached your doorstep he turned around to walk back to his car.

“Jaehyun,” you called, unable to stand it anymore, “do you wanna come in and talk?”

He turned around, a mixture of hope, fear, and resignation on his face, and nodded.

The time apart had made you realize how much you missed him, and seeing him again had made you realize how much you still wanted him to be a part of your life. You were hoping to salvage something of your relationship, but you were fully aware that you could never go back to what it had been.

You sat him down on the sofa and took a deep breath.

“Jaehyun,” you began, getting more and more nervous as you went on, “I know I made things weird, even though I promised I wouldn’t,” he opened his mouth to say something but you stopped him, determined to get out what you wanted to say. “I was so focused on having a baby that I didn’t think about what involving you would mean, and what it would do to our friendship. I think I was just naive, I didn’t think anything would change, and I was so wrong.”

He sat across from you, and even though he was just inches away it felt like he was miles away, like an unfathomable chasm had opened up between you. Then he looked up at you, hesitant, but determined.

“Y/N, we can’t go back and change things anymore. What’s happened has happened.” He tilted his head to regard you, taking a deep breath before moving on, “so I just need to know one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Do you want me to be a part of your life?”

“Yes. Always.” You answered truthfully, without a doubt in your mind. He smiled, but there was still something behind his eyes.

“Hey, do you remember that pact we made in eighth grade?” He suddenly asked, his eyes twinkling.

“The marriage one?” you scanned your eighth grade memories and that was the only pact you could think of.

“Yeah, the one where we said if neither of us are married by the time we’re thirty, we’ll marry each other?”

“Yes, I remember.” It was during PE class, when you and Jaehyun were sitting in the field while everyone else was running around chasing soccer balls. You don’t remember how the subject came up, but soon enough you were doing pinky swears and Jaehyun was fashioning rings out of blades of grass for you and him to wear. You both had a good laugh over it, and never thought about it again until this moment.

“So what if we didn’t wait?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we didn’t wait until we’re thirty, what if we just did it now? I mean, we’re having a baby together already.”

“Jaehyun, are you proposing right now?” you said it as a joke, even chuckling to yourself, you weren’t taking the whole thing seriously at all, except Jaehyun wasn’t laughing.

“I mean, I don’t have a ring, but…” he looked around the room, and seeing your spider plant on a nearby table he picked a leaf off and rolled it around itself, making a ring out of it, and slipped it on your finger. You were speechless.

“Jaehyun, you’re serious.” You managed to say after the thoughts stopped running through your brain. You hadn’t really thought about marriage, none of the guys you’d dated had ever made you think about it. You knew you wanted kids, but marriage was something you figured you couldn’t achieve, never having found the right guy. Yet here he was all along, Jeong Jaehyun, your best friend, someone who knew you inside and out. A dawning realization hit you then, that maybe none of your relationships ever worked out because you kept comparing them to Jaehyun, and no one ever held up. You were in love with your best friend, and you didn’t even know it.

“Well?” he asked, with raised eyebrows and hopeful eyes. You stared at the leaf ring on your finger, turning it around and around, your heart and mind finally finding peace in your realization. You looked up at him, cupping his face, and he looked like he was bracing himself for a possibly negative response.

“Yes.” You answered, smiling brightly at him, and it took him a moment to realize you weren’t turning him down. His face broke out into a wide grin, his dimples as deep as ever, his eyes shiny. He pulled you in for a hug, but your belly made it somewhat awkward.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re huge!” he looked down at your belly in awe.

“Jaehyun what the fuck!” you smacked him on the arm, slightly offended.

“No, I meant I was too busy being worried about you that I never noticed how big your belly had gotten.” He reached out his hand tentatively. “Can I touch?”

“Of course,” you said, happy that you could share this with him. You took his hand and placed it on your belly.

“Can you feel the baby move?” He asked, eyes growing wide when his hand landed on your stomach.

“Sometimes, mostly when I’m lying still though.” You let him rub his hand over your stomach, endeared at how awestruck he was, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ as he moved his hand around. He suddenly leaned forward, his face getting very close to your belly.

“Hey little one,” he called softly, and your heart clenched at the sight of him talking to the baby in your belly, “I’m your dad.”

Suddenly you felt a jolt in your ribs, as the baby stretched and kicked inside you.

“Oh my god, Y/N! Did you feel that?” Jaehyun clapped excitedly.

“Damn right I felt it,” you groaned, patting your stomach, “keep it down in there, kicking mama in the ribs really hurts!”

Jaehyun burst out laughing, gathering you in his arms and hugging you tightly. “That was adorable!” he exclaimed, and your heart felt warm as you wrapped your arms around him.

---

You decided to just do a small backyard ceremony for your wedding, neither of you fond of big parties that meant even bigger expenses. Jaehyun moved into your house since he had been rooming with a friend, and once all of his things had been moved in and installed, you were left alone with each other once again.

You don’t know why, but your first night as a married couple felt like the first night you’d had sex, awkward as hell. Once again you stood on either side of the bed, unsure as to what to do.

“Bed?” he finally asked after you’d both stood there for too long.

“Bed,” you answered, and you both got in at the same time. You couldn’t help but laugh at your awkwardness, and that certainly broke the tension. You turned to your side, the only way you could get comfortable with how big your belly was, and he slotted his body behind you, wrapping an arm around you and resting his hand on your belly. You sighed contentedly, loving the feeling of being in his arms.

“This is nice,” he whispered, but his breath against your ear made you shiver, and suddenly contentment wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Not to mention his hand that was on your belly had moved to your hip, fingers tracing wide circles over the fabric of your sleep shorts.

“Jaehyun,” you didn’t mean to, but his name came out in a moan, and his hand stopped its circuit, the faintest bit of pressure being applied to your hip.

“Y/N?” he questioned, but you were taking his hand and moving it up to your breasts. Once he cupped them you moaned again. “Holy shit, Y/N, your boobs are huge!”

“Jaehyun!” you reprimanded him, but he apologized quickly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-” he cupped and squeezed, feeling the weight of them, “wow,” was all he could say.

“Well they won’t be this big for too long, so you better take advantage of them now,” you encouraged, and he did, tweaking your nipples until you were moaning into your pillow.

“Tell me if I do anything that hurts, or makes you feel uncomfortable, okay?” he whispered into your ear, before he started to plant wet kisses along your neck and shoulder. Your mind went hazy at the feeling of his lips on your skin, and soon he slipped a hand down, past the waistband of your shorts.

You inhaled sharply when his fingers found you wet, when he gathered some of your arousal to rub it around your clit. You moaned loudly when he made circles around your bud, pressing your face further into your pillow.

“Don’t do that, baby, I wanna hear you,” he pulled the covers off and pushed your pillow away, helping you take off your shirt and the rest of your clothes so you were fully exposed to him. He looked at you, lust and hunger clouding his eyes. “Fuck, you look so gorgeous knocked up with my baby.”

Your pussy clenched at his words and you pulled at his own clothes to get him to take them off. “Come here and fuck me, husband.”

Your words ignited something in him, and he bent down, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and pushing into you. You cried out, not caring anymore how loud you were being, the feeling of his cock inside you throwing you into the heights of pleasure. Once you started though, you couldn’t stop, moans and whimpers and whines tumbling out of your lips as he pumped his cock inside you.

“You like it, don’t you?” he growled, “you like my cock so much you let me knock you up.”

You moaned even louder at his words, your orgasm starting to build in the pit of your stomach. “Yes, god, yes!”

“You want my cum, baby? Look at where it got you, huh? You let me come inside you and now you’re knocked up.” His voice was raspy, deep, and it cut right to your core.

“Fuck, Jaehyun! I’m gonna come!” you warned him, grasping at the sheets as your orgasm hit you, your pussy pulsing around his cock. It didn’t take much longer for him to come, one last thrust that took your breath away, and he spilled his seed into you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen into your face, “did it hurt at all?”

“No, not at all, it felt good,” you smiled at him, wanting to alleviate his concern. He looked relieved, before he bent down and kissed the swell of your stomach.

“Sorry, baby,” he said sheepishly, addressing the baby, and you could only laugh, rubbing a hand through his hair as he smiled up at you.

---

The next day Jaehyun had left for work, and you were almost out the door yourself when you felt something gush between your legs. You figured you knew what it was and, resolved to stay calm, you quickly called Jaehyun.

“Babe, what is it?” he answered on the first ring.

“I think my water broke.”

“Okay, stay calm, I’m on my way back.”

It didn’t take long for him to come back since he’d just left, and you drove to the hospital all the while holding tightly to his hand. The contractions started then, not too bad at first but as time went on the pain was hard to bear. By the time you reached the hospital you were grimacing in pain and Jaehyun was yelling for someone to come and help you.

You labored for hours, Jaehyun never leaving your side, giving you strength even when you felt like you had no more to give. You wondered how you could have ever done this without him, without his unwavering support, his cheerful but calm demeanor raising you up when you felt like giving in. Soon enough you had a healthy baby in your hands, a boy that an ecstatic Jaehyun had already dubbed his ‘mini me’.

---

If you had known what the first few weeks with a newborn would have been like you would have seriously rethought having a baby in the first place. You were exhausted more than you had ever been in your life, catching sleep for only those precious moments when the baby would sleep. Your breasts were sore from breastfeeding, and if you never saw another poopy diaper in your life it would be too soon. What made it all worth it, was the look of pure innocence in your baby’s eyes, and the way your husband would stare at him like he was the most precious person in the world.

One night you were woken again by the baby’s cries, and trudging to his room you were surprised to see Jaehyun already there.

“Sorry to wake you,” he whispered, “I was changing him and he lost his binky.” You stood in the doorway and watched as your husband expertly handled your son, swaddling him in his blankets and making sure the pacifier was situated in his mouth. “Go back to bed, I got this.”

Jaehyun had done many things during your time together that you considered sexy, but this was probably the sexiest thing he had ever done. You walked back to your bedroom, mentally reminding yourself to reward him when you were more awake.

You lay in bed though, unable to fall back asleep. Your mind was racing, anxieties resurfacing at that dark and quiet time of night. Jaehyun eventually came back, sliding into the bed and spooning you, his arm coming to wrap around your waist.

“Jae?” you whispered, hoping he hadn’t fallen back asleep right away.

“Hm? I thought you were asleep.” He sounded tired, tightening his arm around you.

“Is this the life you wanted?” you asked him, rubbing his arm that was wrapped around you.

“Absolutely.” He answered, without hesitation.

“No, I’m serious.”

“So am I. Why wouldn’t you think I was being serious?” he suddenly propped himself up on his elbow so he could see your face.

“Because you had a life before this, and now it’s just-” you waved your hand in the air, “me and the baby.”

“Just you and the baby? Y/N, you and Yuno are the most important things in my life right now.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Yeah I had Friday night drinks and Sunday basketball games, and that was fun and all, but you two are my family now.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“If I did I’d just go and do it? So no, I don’t miss it right now. Maybe eventually? But that doesn’t mean I’d love you and Yuno less.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d told you he loved you, but you knew you’d never get tired of hearing it. You’d been surprised when he’d told you he’d been in love with you for a while, not daring to say anything about it for fear of ruining your friendship. When you’d told him that you wanted to have a baby he knew that there was no one else in the world that he wanted to bear his children except you, and he was relieved when you accepted his offer of being a sperm donor. He had been prepared to be just that, but the sex threw everything into chaos, including his feelings for you and his resolve to keep your relationship as just friends. He felt himself falling even deeper for you, but his heart couldn’t handle the push and pull he was feeling from you. He never wanted to pull out of your life, and he spent more time staring at his phone waiting for you to call or text than he dared to admit. Bringing up the marriage pact had been a gamble, and he was terrified that you’d say no, but when you said yes, he could barely contain his happiness.

“Listen,” he said, taking your hand in his, “this life is more than I could have ever asked for.”

“Really?” you asked, turning to look at him, “With me?”

“Baby, it’s always been you.”

#jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #nct imagines #nct smut

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

Text

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

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#tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw abortion #tw abortion mention #tw depressive thoughts #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort

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mountswhore · 3 years

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I've read pretty much all of your Mason Mount blurbs/one-shots and I absolutely love your writing. Could you write one where Mason looks after you when you're sick. Sorry if I've missed it and it's already been done. Thanks xx

of course, sweet!

𝐝𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 — mason mount

summary: you’d gotten sick, and who better to play doctor than mr. mount.

notes: requests are open, ask away!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you cursed, pushing your fingertips into your temples gently, wondering where this splitting headache has come from, the light in the room was too bright, and the sound of Mason kicking a ball around outside was due to drive you insane. Today wasn’t looking like a good day. You had pushed your head back underneath your pillow, enjoying the warmth of the bed and not wanting to think about anything else.

Mason had been up since 7, his body was used to waking up early now, so he didn’t mind spending the first couple of hours alone. But when it hit 1pm, and he was struggling to find ways to keep himself entertained alone, he’d grown concerned for your absence. Heading upstairs, he could hear your whimpers from the room. You were buried underneath piles of blankets, your head below a pillow, and yet your cries of pain could still be heard.

“Bubs,” Mason spoke softly, lifting the pillow from your head and gazing at your tear-stained cheeks, “what’s up?” He crouched down beside you, dragging his hands over your face to swipe the stray hairs away.

“I’m ill.” You admitted, feeling the worst you’d felt in a long time. If there was anything you hated the most in this world, it was being ill. And Mason knew that. You couldn’t do anything, you just lay there in pain for hours. Mason could usually tell when you were beginning to get ill, as you’d sleep all day, but this came out of nowhere. He thought you were just tired from work last night.

“Oh, bubs.” He whimpered, pouting at you and moving the blankets from your body. He placed a hand on your back, feeling your hot skin under it. Next was your head, skin still hot to the touch. “Are you cold?” All you could do was nod, before your head began pounding again.

Mason had disappeared to the bathroom, and seconds later, the bath was running. He’d helped you from bed, undressing you slowly, and helping you into the tub. You were weak, your limbs shaking from the pressure you put on them from simply walking. He felt awful for you, watching as your body got used to the tepid water. He’d even washed your body and hair, as you just laid there, unable to move without your head thumping or your joints hurting. Mason had helped you out of the bath, drying you and getting you into some thin pyjamas. He knew just what to do, it was very helpful to you.

“Is there a cool setting on this thing?” He asked, pulling your hair dryer from the box beside your vanity. You nodded and pointed to the snowflake button on the side, Mason nodding and pressing a small kiss to your temple. You were sitting, looking at your pale frame in the mirror, as Mason dried your hair behind you. Every few minutes, you’d look up at him and admire the concentration on his face. Thanking God for gifting you with such an amazing boyfriend.

Now that your hair was dry, Mason had led you to the couch, laying you down with a light blanket over your legs. “Stay here, I’ll be back shortly.” You just nodded, not having the energy to ask what he was getting up to. You just laid your head back as he closed the curtains, falling asleep once again. Mason spotted you were out, and smiled to himself, relieved you weren’t going to be in pain for a while.

He had no idea if what he had done was helping, and was unsure of what to do next. So he quietly called his mum, standing outside the living room whilst he waited for the kettle to boil. You had woken up after half an hour, to the feeling of someone axing your head like a coconut. But you could hear Mason’s voice in the other room.

“She’s had a cool bath, I just don’t know what to do next. Do I need to buy anything?” Mason asked frantically, his mum on the other end beaming with pride at her son. You had a faint smile on your face as you listened to him talking to her, figuring out what to do next. Finally, he’d ended the call and entered the living room.

“Bubs,” he murmured close to your face, his hand once again smoothing over your hair, “I’ve got you some things.” You slowly sat up, resting your back against the sofa and pulling the blanket closer to your skin. Mason had given you painkillers and a drink, along with a tea, placed on the coffee table beside you. “I’m gonna run to the store to get some stuff, the TV remote is right there.”

You nodded at his instructions, happily accepting the kiss on your head before he left again. You couldn’t bare the sound of the tv, so you stayed in the dark, hoping for the painkillers to kick in quickly. The shop wasn’t far, it was within walking distance, but you knew Mason would drive, so he’d be even quicker.

“I’m back, bubs,” he called out, voice still gentle as he cared for your headache, “how are you feeling?” He sat beside you, pulling various things from the bag. “I got you some apple juice, some ice cream, some more painkillers, this weird heat pad thing, and I thought you’d like something to eat, so I got you a sandwich.”

“Thank you,” you croaked, reaching your shaky hand out to grab his, squeezing it as tight as you could, “for all of this, and everything you’ve done for me today. I mean it.” Mason blushed and kissed your hand gently, holding it close to his chest.

“Come here,” he whispered, laying beside you and pulling you into his lap, the blanket covering the both of you now, “what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t look after you? A very bad one, and I’d do this for you everyday if I had to. Get some rest.” He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, making sure you weren’t sweating too much or shivering, even helping to feed you.

You’d started to feel better two days later, springing out of bed and leaping onto the couch beside him as he watched Netflix. “I’m feeling much better now, Mase.”

“Call me, Dr. Mount. I know exactly what I'm doing if football doesn't work out." He exclaimed, squeezing your waist as you sat on his legs. It made you giggle, seeing how happy he was that you were feeling better.

#mason mount x reader #mason mount smut #mason mount imagine #mason mount blurb #mason mount #mase #money mase #mason mount request #mason mount one shot

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Hello friend!❤️ I absolutely adore your Miya Twins works. Every time you post something for one of them or both of them I’m so elated and excited to read what you’ve come up with! If your requests are open (your bio says they are) I was wondering if you could write something where the reader almost successfully escapes or calls for help? What are the twins reactions? What would they do? I love how you write their dynamic and would love to see this idea explored! If you don’t want to write for both of them, maybe Atsumu’s perspective? Personally he is my favorite twin! I hope you are well thank you❤️

Hey friendo! ♥ We actually talked about escaping them before, so this might be interesting for you! Thanks for requesting, I hope this is close to what you wanted! I needed a reason to just make it ‘almost’ ^^’

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"Keep it down, 'Tsumu."

His brother's warning only frustrated Atsumu more, but he grit his teeth in response, the last remnants of his voice fading through the hallway of the apartment complex. Maybe he had been a little loud as he tried to voice his anger, frustration, and fear, but how else was he supposed to come to terms with this situation? Not only had their darling found a way to crack the lock on the front door open, no, they also successfully slipped out of his grasp and outran him in the moment of surprise - HIM, a professional athlete.

It was almost too bad that they missed a step on the second to last staircase, making them fall right into the opposing wall. The twins' screams as they heard the maddening crack when their head hit the cement must have echoed throughout the whole house. Luckily, the twins weren't the only shady people renting an apartment here, and most were empty anyway. No one came to see what the ruckus was all about.

Their darling was anything but weightless as they were slumped against his back, Atsumu giving them a piggyback ride back to their home. Luckily, his muscles were good enough to easily carry them around, but taking three staircases with an extra person on his back wasn't the most comfortable task even for him.

"It's your responsibility. You let them get away," had been Osamu's reasoning as to why they wouldn't alternate carrying them. "Asshole," Atsumu grumbled, Osamu giving him a glare back over his shoulder. He knew just as well that Atsumu wasn't lashing out at him, both of them going through the same state of shock and frustration. But now, with the blood of their darling's head wound dripping onto Atsumu's shirt, they also had their hands full with worrying.

"Stop making a scene. It could be worse," Osamu reminded him, but despite the harsh words, Atsumu felt the same kind of relief. At least they didn't make it out. But at what price?

"Ya think they'll recover from that?" Atsumu asked quietly as Osamu opened the door for him, both of them frowning at the busted door lock. It was crazy to think that their sweet, docile darling was able to do such a thing. However, when their darling realized that their plan failed to pick the lock, they must have panicked so much they ended up opening it this way. "From their failed escape? Probably. That wound is a different thing."

Both of them were tense as Osamu spoke out what they wished didn't have to be voiced. They were no doctors. They could patch up a cut or put ointment on a bruise, but if anything was wrong inside of their brain, they'd be screwed. Bringing them to a hospital was out of the question. Less their darling might be taken away from them. Atsumu didn't even want to start thinking about all the people that would be all over his sweetheart, touching and caring for them while he couldn't. A stupid moment to get jealous, but who could blame him?

"Put them down in their room; it's the safest spot at the moment. Close the door just in case," Osamu instructed, opening the door for Atsumu before disappearing into his own bedroom. "Bring tissues!" Atsumu called after him as he carried their darling inside, trying to slide them off his back as gently as possible and laying them on their bed. His t-shirt was already ruined as he pulled it off, gently dabbing the fabric against the wound on their forehead, waiting for his brother to bring some bandages and ointment. "Shit," he mumbled, biting his own lip in frustration.

The person he was most frustrated with was himself. Yes, he knew about what kind of power balance reigned in their house. Yes, he knew that not all he did to his darling was in their best interest. But he didn't want it to end... like this. That's not what he wanted. Pressing the shirt to their wound, he lifted their hand with his free one, bringing it to his lips. They had done something bad. Something really, really bad. But at the same time, they were so vulnerable, so dependant, and they didn't even know it. They shouldn’t have run from them, it was their darling’s fault in the first place. But how could he be mad at them when they were in this heartbreaking state? Punishment was nothing he could even think about in that moment. What if they didn’t wake up again? Even with the blood dripping from their face, they were the most wonderful person he knew, and Atsumu feared to have told them that less than he should have when he had the chance.

"Move." Giving him an ungentle kick in the waist, Osamu made Atsumu free up the space directly next to their darling's head. He wished he could have his brother's place, but Osamu was just a bit better when it came to fixing stuff. So maybe, he could fix this too?

Pushing away Atsumu and his shirt, Osamu leaned over their darling, checking again if they were still breathing before taking a closer look at the wound. "Ya know how to do stitches?" Osamu mumbled as he looked at it from every side possible. "Are you crazy?" Atsumu hissed back. "Neither of us can do that!"

"And your better idea is...?"

Fuck. His stomach twisted and churned as Atsumu thought about this.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"You do it," Atsumu spoke monotonously. Trying to hide his fear and the shaking hands in his lap.

"Your hands are more steady," Osamu hissed back at him, not noticing that they currently were out of control, only trusting logic in this situation.

"Are you kidding?" Atsumu barked, ready to hit his brother if not for both of Osamu's hands being around their darling's face to steady it.

"One of us has to, and it ain't me! I just cook! You have finger coordination!"

"But..." Atsumu's voice cracked, his eyes falling onto their darling's almost peaceful face if not for the bloody mess at the side of their forehead. Osamu sighed. He pulled his hands away, fingers covered in red smears as he brushed back his hair. "They're bleeding, 'Tsumu," he whispered, and Atsumu heard the same damn fear in his brother's voice that he was fighting with. The struggle, the uncertainty. Fear of losing their darling and guilt of letting it come so far. Osamu had been farther away from their darling than Atsumu, but he was blaming himself just as much. "What do we do?" Osamu's voice was strained with the burden of a person's life on his shoulders as well.

That's right. Atsumu wasn't the only one hurting.

"Then the hospital--" Osamu sighed, catching his composure as quickly as possible, or he might have started to cry. Instead, he pulled out his phone. He hesitated before his lock screen flashed up, ready to call the emergency hotline. By now, time was of the essence.

"No," Atsumu decided right as his eyes caught the light coming from the display. "I'll do it," he stated, determined with an unknown strength.

"I will," he emphasized again, this time, trying to hide the slight shake of uncertainty in his voice. All their work, all this time they put into keeping their darling with them - it couldn't be in vain. Their love was not so shallow. "But..." Osamu mumbled, unsure if this was the right decision.

"I'm the older twin. Trust me."

"Debatable..." Osamu mumbled, glancing back at their hurting darling. "But I trust you."

It all felt unreal. Their first aid kit wasn't just a normal, store-bought one as Atsumu always thought. Somehow, Osamu seemed to have predicted there could have been worse wounds to befall them, owning everything they could need. Chaos reigned in Atsumu's head as he watched one video after another of how to stitch wounds on Osamu's phone while washing his hands maniacally as if to wash off the sins crawling over his skin. The time was pressuring him. There was so much to note, he was barely able to remember the first step once he was done watching it. Avoiding blood poisoning seemed to be the slightest problem when he couldn't even remember how to close a stitch.

Both of them suited up for the occasion, Osamu silently bringing a new shirt into the bath before washing his hands next to his brother. "We said we'd do it together when we brought them here," he reminded Atsumu as he helped him into the gloves. "You're not alone in this."

"I know," Atsumu sighed. "We always did it together, but I have to do this alone. For them. For us."

"I'm always right behind you," Osamu encouraged Atsumu as they stepped up to their darling. A moment of silent prayers passed as they looked down at the biggest mistake of their life. Their darling.

"Let's get it over with," Atsumu mumbled. There was something in his brother's eyes that Osamu had never seen before. He could only recognize it as a point of no return. A breaking point. And yet, Osamu handed the needle to his brother, who immediately pointed it to where he wanted it to go. However, before he could stick it in, he hesitated, his will faltering instantly. What if he'd mess it up? What if he couldn't do it? They'd die. Either way, they'd die.

"On three," Osamu caught his brother, who was falling into despair. Atsumu had to do it. There was no turning back, they had long ignored the right things, and now they were too deep in to go back. He'd prove his love once and for all. Atsumu breathed in.

"Deep breath. One. Two..."

Atsumu breathed out.

"Three."

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allyouneedisbuck · 3 years

Text

Champagne Problems

Summary: a companion piece to What Kind of Man. Harry never meant for things to end up this way.

Warnings: Cheating. Forgiveness after cheating. Don’t read if you don’t agree with that.

Notes: some of the scenes from harry’s pov & some new scenes to dive deeper into harry. this is just march! so it’s a companion to the first piece only & is short!

Left you out there standing

Crestfallen on the landing

Champagne Problems

March.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure when you and him had drifted apart. Logically he knew every relationship had points where things may feel repetitive or where both people struggle, but the two of you had never felt this cold.

That doesn’t stop the guilt that sinks his stomach and causes his lungs to constrict when you hang the phone up. “Y/N?” He asks in response to the obvious dial tone.

The guilt doesn’t stop him from staying at the pub. Niall had left hours ago with a hurried goodbye. Jennifer had declined going out at all, saying all she wanted was rest. All who was left was Mitch, Harry, Ally and their semester law intern, Hannah.

“Everything okay at home?” Ally asks kindly as Harry slips into the booth. Mitch raises his eyebrows as Harry shrugs. “She sounds pissed, but no emergency.”

“If she sounds pissed why are you still here?” Mitch laughs. It sounds uneasy to Harry as his friend looks him up and down confused. “I remember when you used to refuse going out with us because you didn’t want Y/N upset.”

Harry takes a sip of his beer and looks away. The pub was mostly filled with other suits. More lawyers from the firm who worked in offices Harry never visited. Doctors from the hospital two blocks away.

He turns his head back to look at Mitch when he feels a hand graze his knee. “I think you deserve a break.” Hannah says quietly. Harry watches as Mitch shakes his head, but turns away before his friend can say anything else.

(Because Mitch’s stare just forces the guilt up Harry’s throat and he’s afraid it’ll come out in vile. Things were never supposed to go this far with Hannah. It was supposed to be stupid flirting and compliments. Nothing that could break you. It was never supposed to break you.)

(Harry hadn’t done that good of a job.)

Harry wasn’t drunk. He hadn’t been drunk since law school. He was an adult. With a high paying position at a sought out law firm. He didn’t get drunk.

You didn’t leave the porch light on though, so it’s a little hard for him to focus on getting the key in the door and also being quiet. But he’s not drunk, so he can do it. He does it.

He pauses as he drops his keys onto the entry table. The entire first floor is dark. He slips his shoes off as well and leaves them by the door in order to avoid trying to find the correct cubby for them.

You had left the hallway light on upstairs, so most of the staircase was illuminated enough for Harry to make it up them without missing a step. That didn’t stop him from stumbling up the last three though.

He can see the bedroom light had been left on as well. He listens for the sound of you talking to Jack or even just the baby’s giggles, but when all he hears is silence, he assumes you had fallen asleep writing. He pushes the door open.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and twisting your ring around your finger as you gnaw on your bottom lip. Your head shoots up when you hear the door open and Harry’s eyes widen. “Y/N?” He feels his eyes squint at the bright overhead light feeling much harsher with your glare.

He ignores the pit in his stomach as he lifts his wrist the check the time, “Why are awake? It’s almost three in the morning. (He never meant for this happen. He was never supposed to be in this scene.)

You shrug and let out a laugh that Harry could only describe as empty. The pit in his stomach grows as you whisper harsh words, “I’m well aware of how ridiculously late it is, Harry. I figure I should be awake though, it’s the only time I’ll see you.”

Harry looks away as he pulls his jacket off and lays it on the bed beside where you were sitting. “What are you talking about?” In order to avoid your stare he focuses his attention to his white button up. He hands fumble and he notices you stand in his peripheral version.

His hands pause for a moment, like he expects your hands to steady his shaking ones like they normally did. You almost do, he notices, but a look crosses your face and your arms cross over your chest defensively.

“The kids missed you.” You say quietly.

Harry knows what’s coming as his hands fall completely away from the shirt and he finally looks at you. He feels tears rush to his eyes as the guilt from earlier in the night returns tenfold. “I missed them too.” He says quietly.

“Seph asked me if you were leaving us.” The words feel like a punch to the gut as you just watch him stand and process them. Seph asked that? Had he really been gone so often his first daughter, his best friend, was worried he wouldn’t come back one day?

“She what?” Harry flinches when he hears his voice crack. “I would never leave you guys, I love you.”

You look away. “Do you?” And if your words about Persephone had felt like a punch, these felt like a gunshot. Pain splintering from his chest throughout his entire body.

“What?” He almost yells. But he knew the kids were asleep. He never wanted to wake his kids up to fighting. He feels like he’s sobering up fast and it’s making him nauseous. He takes a hesitant step towards you before placing his hand gently on your cheek.

Or at least, attempting to. You flinch away and Harry’s hand falls to his side. “Y/N,” He starts quietly. “Don’t think-”

Your laughter cuts him off as your eyes flick angrily back to his. “if you wanted me to believe that, you wouldn’t come home smelling like another woman.” Harry’s heart freezes as his eyes widen. You pull his left hand up, “You wouldn’t leave your wedding ring out for me to see every time I was my hands.”

Harry tries to pull his hand back, ashamed at the idea of his ring haunting you, but your grip only tightens. “You wouldn’t have a hickey. One I didn’t give you considering we haven’t had sex in months.” Your other hand is point hard into his chest to where a mark lays covered partially by his shirt.

You let go of him as you fall onto the edge of the bed and look up at him with tears. He feels his chest constrict as he sits down next to you. He pulls both your hands into his, “Y/N...” He says quietly. “I am so sorry.”

Tears threaten to spill from his eyes as you try to pull away from him. “Am I not good enough?” You ask quietly. He pulls you to him but you thrash in his arms. “Seventeen years of my life. Four kids. Everything. I gave you everything.” You’re crying but your voice is cold.

You’re thrashing stops and it’s silent. Harry reluctantly lets go of you and you immediately stand up again. You look at him expectantly and Harry feels like he’s going to throw up as he looks down at his hands.

“It didn’t mean anything.” he says quietly. Truthfully. “It never meant- I love you.” He stresses. He falls from the bed to his knees in front of you. “You’re the love of my life.” He thinks of college. His law school graduation. He thinks getting promoted and buying your home.

He thinks of divorce papers as you look away from him. “How long?” You ask quietly.

“Please.” Harry begs. Where would he go if you kicked him out? Mitch would tell him he was an idiot. He loved you. Would his mom take your side? She should, he thinks. Gemma would want to kill him.

“How long?” You ask coldly. Your face has steeled itself. Harry can see the tension in your jaw and almost feels his dinner coming up.

“A month.” He wraps his arms around you. He nuzzles his face into your stomach. He sees your hand twitch, almost like you want to run a hand through his hair. “It meant nothing. Y/N. I’ll end it right now.”

Stupid. His head screams. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Okay.” You unwrap yourself from his arms and step away. Harry watches you confused as you move towards your side of the bed. “I’m going to bed.” You rub a hand over your face before laying down.

Harry stands awkwardly unsure of what to do with himself. He knew he couldn’t sleep in the bed. That something like that was probably the last thing you wanted to do.

“Take a shower. Sleep in the guest room.” Your back is facing him and he sees your arms wrapped around yourself. This bed is too big for one person, he thinks. That’s selfish of you; His conscious tells him.

He moves quickly to get pajamas from the closet. He debates showering in the ensuite, maybe he’d be able to see you again before sleeping, but he turned out of the room.

He would shower in the kids bathroom.

The guest room was cold. It was the only bedroom downstairs and that made it felt ten times lonelier to Harry. It was rarely used too. Gemma would stay in it when she visited L.A, but she had gotten her own apartment in the city and it was no longer used frequently.

Your parents lived only an hour away and had no need to spend nights at your house and his mother was rarely able to make the flight over the ocean. It felt like something staged for the sale of a house.

Harry sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed. With his head in his hands he thinks over where he went wrong. He had never meant for this to happen. For any of this.

The distance had been a byproduct of the stress. He was worried about the kids. He had done the numbers and sure you two were well off, but four kids was expensive. You had stored any more you’d made from your book in savings. A rainy day fund didn’t calm Harry’s nerves.

So he worked more. And he went out after work for a drink or two. And he talked. That’s what it had started out as. Just talking numbers over with Hannah, who helped him work them out. She wanted to be a divorce lawyer. Or maybe it was just broad family law.

Harry thought that was ironic now that his marriage would probably be over. It was running through numbers. Maybe there was a hand on the knee or feet that were just too class together. Things he had brushed off as accidents and completely unintentional. Then it had been him walking her to her car. Then she had kissed him and well- Harry isn’t blameless.

It would be ridiculous for him to say he was.

He falls back onto the bed and lets out a shaky breath. How had he been so stupid?

He sits back up immediately and pulls out his cellphone. He hadn’t even saved her number. They almost never texted and would usually just see each other at the bar. It had only been two weeks since they had kissed by her car. They had only-

He can’t believe he had let it get this far. He can’t believe he’s sitting here justifying himself with onlys.

He’s unsure of what to say. Should he apologize? It wasn’t anymore her fault than it was his own.

I have kids and a wife I love. This was wrong. I’m sorry.

Harry flinches. He felt gross and guilty. The shower hadn’t done anything but sobered him up. He felt everything over and over. Nausea, a headache bound to come on, guilt and just pain.

He pulls up Mitch’s message strain. Won’t be in tomorrow. Not feeling great.

He responds within minutes. Hope she doesn’t leave your ass. I’d take her side.

Harry lets out an empty laugh. Wouldn’t everyone? His mother loved you. She had since the two of you had met in college. When you had found out you were pregnant a semester before graduation his mother had been nothing but supportive; Especially when your parents had poorly hidden their own disappointment.

Gemma thought of you as the sister she never had. Her and Harry were close, but over the last almost twenty years you and her had grown closer.

His mind drifts to the kids. How could he do this to the kids? Force them go through what had been devastating to him. He may not practice family law, but he knew how it worked. You worked from home all the time and had been taking care of them their entire lives.

They would ask the kids where they wanted to go, they would refuse to leave their mother. Harry would too, you were home to everyone in the family. Life without you sounded meaningless.

Why did you do it then? He shakes his head. He doesn’t know. It wasn’t like you had stopped giving him attention, there was no time for sex and work got in the way of dates. It was his fault.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The word repeats itself over and over again in his head. . Even if he could find ways you had ignored him or cast him to the side it would be pointless. It would be placing blame on a blameless person. It was his fault.

He crawls under the comforter. It’s nowhere near as soft as the one you had chosen for the bedroom. The sheets weren’t slept in so they didn’t feel as soft and worn. Harry thinks of having to find his own sheets and bed, his heart drops.

He doesn’t sleep. Unable to stop the back and forth of how do I fix this and will she even let me try?

Harry’s fingers tap incessantly on the drivers wheel as he makes his way home from Serena and Oliver’s school. Persephone had been pretty silent to entire drive to her high school, but Oliver had done more than covered for her with his stories.

How had it gone from breakfast together at least once a week and and family game nights to Oliver wanting nothing more than to be in his mother’s car and Persephone sitting in pure silence.

Harry’s mind trails back to you as he drives. You had barely spared him a second glance as you sat down to join them at the breakfast table. He had felt his hesitant smile drop when you looked away from him. And even though talking to the kids all morning had caused his happiness to jump, there was still pain steadily flowing as he thought of what your plan was.

Would you kick him out? Selfishly, he thought that was his biggest fear. Not having you and the kids to come home to everyday and losing the comfort it had always brought him. he had taken advantage of it and now that it could slip through his fingers at any moment he felt disgusting.

The drive allows him to wallow in his thoughts, but pulling into the driveway is a far worse feeling. Knowing that you were inside and could give him news that would kill him.

Was he allowed to feel that way? He asks himself. Like you leaving him would kill him, when it would be because of his own choices. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to straighten himself out as he steps out of the car and begins the walk towards the front door.

He mumbles apologies and empty words as he walks up. Unsure of what he could say to you to break the silence. When he opens the door, you’re sitting with Jack as he babbles and plays with his toys on the floor.

“Forgot how much Olly could talk.” Harry settles on starting with. He lets out an awkward laugh as you stand and lift Jack up before placing him in the play pen. You lean down and tickle him gently. “Please don’t escape, little Houdini.” Once you let him go and step away the young boy crawls away with a giggle.

You make your way towards the kitchen silently and Harry walks behind you with a nervous buzzing feeling in his chest.

You take a deep breath and Harry watches as you slide a piece of paper over the counter and towards. As his eyes scan down the list he feels a sliver of hope creep into his heart.

“What’s this?” He asks quietly. It’s names and phone numbers that have his heart beating a million miles per second.

“A list of marriage counselors.” His eyes follow your finger as you point towards each name and number. “For us to see once a week.”

The hope in him is growing by the second as words keep coming out of your mouth. “You’re not leaving me?” He blurts out in shock.

Your stance turns defensive and Harry takes a deep breath trying to calm himself. “No.” You answer quietly. “Not yet anyways.” Harry can’t help the furrow of his brow as the words hit him. It wasn’t definite and this was a test. You sigh which forced Harry to move his attention back to you. “We have four kids together. A life. And no matter how much you hurt me, I still love you.”

Harry bites back the smile threatening to cross his face. Because despite everything, you love him. You still did. You both glance at your ring finger when he notices you twisting the ring around it. “You’re the love of my life. I don’t want to throw that all away without trying first.”

Harry can’t stop the smile this time as happiness bursts inside him. “Y/N.” He says quietly.

He kind of zones out as he watches you go over what you want to do from here. Counseling and cutting hours back at the firm. Neither a punishment in Harry’s mind.

“I’m not sure if you like, ended it with her.” You start and he nods hastily. “I have. I did last night. I’ll never talk to her again.” He promises. He feels guilt again but part of is held back by the unadulterated hope he has now.

He debates taking the steps towards you before finally deciding it was necessary. When you don’t move away, he pulls you into a cautious hug, one that he’s shocked to feel returned.

“Thank you.” He whispers and you nod.

He would fix this. He swore it. This wasn’t a maybe in his head, it was necessary.

Your heart was glass I dropped it.

Champagne Problems.

Notes:

Just a small piece while you all wait for third main part to wkm! thank you for the endless patience. hope you all are safe & healthy.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles #cheating #angst

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rynne · 3 years

Text

I...wrote a fic? XD Thank you to Pocketful of Recs for running the Exploring Tropes: Time Travel month!

Title: Another Road

Rating: T

Summary: Something in the Guanyin Temple goes wrong. When Lan Wangji opens his eyes, he’s fifteen again.

Fic on AO3

Lan Wangji woke up.

He was not in pain. He should have been. The temple had collapsed. He'd been unsure if he'd wake at all. The last thing he'd done had been to pull Wei Ying underneath him--

Wei Ying. Where was Wei Ying?

Lan Wangji opened his eyes, with none of the effort he would have expected after a serious healing. The jingshi's roof greeted him, rather than the infirmary.

Had he been unconscious long enough to heal completely? That seemed unlikely, unless something had kept him that way. But the Lan doctors knew that he would prefer to be aware, even if he must be in pain.

It was mao shi. His body knew that as well as it knew its own health. It was time to get up, and he had to find Wei Ying.

His own hand was the first indication he had that something was truly wrong. He pushed himself out of bed, but his hand was too small. He stood and glanced at the rest of his body -- the same. He was shorter than he was used to. Everything was smaller.

This was the body of an adolescent, not the adult man he'd been for so long.

What had happened? He'd read that qi deviations could cause physical regression -- but that was a particularly rare side effect, and surely he couldn't have experienced a qi deviation. He'd been emotional, but his energy had been in balance, even after having been sealed. And surely if his qi had deviated, he would have woken in the infirmary, not the jingshi.

Had something in the temple cursed him? Considering its history, that might not have been entirely unlikely, though this would be a strange curse.

Still, he checked his body as best he could and found no curse marks. He simply...looked perhaps fifteen or sixteen.

A dream seemed unlikely. His dreams were never this realistic and cohesive.

Could he have...somehow returned to his younger self?

Thankfully, there were more tests available.

The hiding place beneath the loose floorboard certainly did not hold alcohol. It contained what it had before the burning of Cloud Recesses -- pressed gentian flowers and other things that reminded him of his mother, the portrait Wei Ying had drawn of him during his library punishment. His heart squeezed -- he had lost all of this when the Wen attacked. The fire hadn't destroyed all of the jingshi, but it had certainly swept away these delicate treasures.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, unwilling to yet look at them more closely. When he was sure of what was happening, he would return to them. He could not bear it if they once again fell to ash in his hands.

Methodically, he moved through the rest of his morning routine. He typically meditated before breakfast, and it was only his own control that prevented his thoughts and speculations from running wild. What was more important was that his spiritual energy felt...different. His core was not as it had been when he had truly been sixteen, but neither was it the core of his thirty-five-year-old body.

When it was time for breakfast, he took a deep breath and went to meet his brother and uncle at his uncle's residence, as he had for most of his life.

Whatever was happening to him, it was realistic enough to recreate Lan Xichen at eighteen, smiling in welcome at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji inclined his head in greeting as they met on the path and started walking together. He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye, but he could find no indication as to whether Lan Xichen might be experiencing the same thing Lan Wangji was.

Should he say something? Lan Xichen had been at the temple. He'd been outside it at that point, with Jin Ling and Nie Huaisang, but he'd been there. Perhaps he knew how Lan Wangji had arrived here.

But no. Lan Wangji wanted more time to observe still. Something might come to break the illusion, and if not, he would still be able to speak with Lan Xichen later. If Lan Xichen did not know what was going on, any claim Lan Wangji made would likely be a source of concern and complications.

Breakfast with Uncle progressed peacefully and silently, as was usual, until finally Uncle put down his cup of tea and sighed.

"Wangji," Uncle said, and Lan Wangji straightened. "The waterborne abyss is going to take up more of my time, I'm afraid. I will not be able to spend so much of my attention on the guest disciples and their lessons. I may have to ask you to keep a closer eye on them yourself."

Lan Wangji remembered this. The waterborne abyss had occupied his uncle for several weeks, in the time between his return from the discussion conference in Qinghe and the fight between Wei Ying and Jin Zixuan. Classes had become both shorter and more sporadic. Wei Ying had spent as much time as he could in the mountains, and Lan Wangji had seen him far more rarely.

At the time, Lan Wangji had been both grateful and distressed. He had not understood why.

But this conversation helped him place when he was meant to be. He and Wei Ying would have already been punished and met in the cold springs, but Wei Ying had not yet brought him his rabbits. Lan Wangji's heart panged. The rabbits had been a comfort to him for most of his life -- what if something happened now to prevent Wei Ying from giving them to him?

He was starting to accept the reality of the situation, he realized. This experience was too close to life, too recognizable, to be a dream or hallucination. He knew of nothing that would actually be able to create this.

Bowing to first his uncle and then his brother, Lan Wangji excused himself. As he hurried away, he had to swallow around something caught in his throat, and he kept having to unclench his hands. For all he'd had it so briefly, he missed the feeling of Wei Ying's hand in his, Wei Ying's weight in his lap.

As dangerous as their time with Jin Guangyao in Yunping proved to be, it had also very briefly been one of the happiest times of his life. Wei Ying, in his arms. Wei Ying, professing love for him, wanting to spend their lives together. Wei Ying, kissing him and kissing him--

So. It would probably be best to treat this as if he really had found himself again in his youth. He should write down all the important events he could remember and try to trace their causality. He would need to plan for the burning of Cloud Recesses and how best to avert it. He would need to do something about Wen Zhuliu, to ensure Wei Ying never felt the need to carve out a piece of himself for a reprehensible ingrate incapable of appreciating his sacrifice.

With the waterborne abyss occupying his uncle's attention, Lan Wangji's morning was free. He decided to spend it at home; working on his plans in the Library Pavilion risked someone else accidentally seeing what he was working on. He would need to inform his uncle and brother, at least, but he would be better able to keep some control over the changes made the fewer who knew about it.

His solitary morning meant that, by the time he arrived at the dining hall for lunch, Wei Ying was just walking out of it, flanked by Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin.

The moment his eyes met Wei Ying's, Lan Wangji knew that it was his Wei Ying. His beloved was looking at Lan Wangji the same way Lan Wangji was looking at him: desperately, voraciously, disbelievingly. As if he could look at nothing else for all of his years and be satisfied.

Lan Wangji wanted to reach out immediately and pull Wei Ying into his arms. He cared about their audience no more now than he had when Wei Ying had first given him those precious words of love and devotion. However, he knew Jiang Wanyin well enough to also know that if Lan Wangji acted uncharacteristically around Wei Ying, Wei Ying would be the one who had no peace until he could explain it to his shidi's satisfaction -- and he was unlikely to be satisfied.

Jiang Wanyin had never liked Wei Ying's attention to Lan Wangji.

Instead, Lan Wangji met Wei Ying's eyes, then deliberately turned around and walked away, heading for one of the smaller, more secluded gardens.

"What did you do to him now?" Jiang Wanyin complains from behind him. "He didn't even want to go near you!"

"I don't know!" Wei Ying shouted. Oh, Wei Ying. He'd missed the sound of that voice filling the Cloud Recesses. "I'll go see! You two go on ahead, I'll meet you later!" And Lan Wangji heard the sound of footsteps hurrying after him.

He waited until he passed into the garden to see no one else there, and then he whirled around. He would have pulled Wei Ying into his arms, but he didn't need to -- Wei Ying jumped into them before he could do more than open them.

Something within Lan Wangji, something that had been held taut since he awoke that morning, and then for years and years before that, relaxed. His hands curled into the backs of white robes as Wei Ying rested more and more of his weight against Lan Wangji. Wei Ying buried his face in Lan Wangji's neck, his breath brushing against sensitive skin. A few times, his breath caught in little hitches even as he nuzzled his face more firmly into Lan Wangji's neck.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and held him. Birds chirped around them, and a stream burbled nearby, but the greatest source of peace in this garden was in his arms.

Some time later, Wei Ying drew back. Not far, but enough so that Lan Wangji could see his face, which was enough for him not to mourn the reduced contact. Wei Ying had always had...the most beautiful, engaging face. Lan Wangji never wanted to look away.

"Hello," Wei Ying murmured, letting go of Lan Wangji's robes to bring a hand up and delicately trace around his face. His thumb smoothed an eyebrow. His fingers trailed down Lan Wangji's cheek. Lan Wangji held still and let him.

"Wei Ying," he said. Wei Ying's fingers rested briefly on his lips, making them tingle, before moving away. "Do you know what happened?"

Wei Ying sighed and pulled back more fully, but he caught Lan Wangji's hand in his, like he was as reluctant to fully part as Lan Wangji was. Tugging on that hand, he led them to a bench and sat down, angled toward Lan Wangji, still holding on.

"I don't remember everything clearly," he said. "But there had been a variation on a transportation talisman that I'd been working on, before. Something to...try to get the Wens to safety. I didn't finish it on time. It still wasn't quite ready, but...the temple was coming down, and Nie Mingjue's resentment was so high. I just...wanted us to be safe."

"So you brought us back here?" Lan Wangji asked. His heart pounded. Even now, it surprised him how much of a marvel his Wei Ying was.

"Not entirely intentionally," Wei Ying admitted. "But you were in the most danger, and I just wanted to be with you, and I wanted us to be safe. I guess this is what the talisman decided that meant."

Lan Wangji thought about this. Such a talisman would require a great deal of power, to take the two of them back in time. The most likely source of that power was...Wei Ying's life force. Lan Wangji would never consider that an acceptable price, but if the two of them had been about to die without intervention…

This was not the worst outcome. Still. He cupped Wei Ying's face in his free hand, gazing into clear gray eyes.

He couldn't say what he wanted to say. As much as he never wanted Wei Ying to sacrifice his life for anything, it was not his place to restrict Wei Ying so, and Wei Ying would not obey him if he tried. Wei Ying would do what he thought was right, always.

And Lan Wangji would have done the same in his position. To follow Wei Ying, to stay with Wei Ying...he would have done the same.

Lan Wangji couldn't speak his thoughts, but Wei Ying smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know, Lan Zhan," he said. "Only as a last resort, I promise."

Lan Wangji closed his eyes for a long moment and nodded. Wei Ying knew. He understood.

Against all of Lan Wangji's expectations, his hopes were fulfilled. Wei Ying, loving him, listening to him, understanding him. Being allowed to love, to listen to, to understand Wei Ying in return.

The rush of emotion through his body made Lan Wangji tremble, and he removed his hand from Wei Ying's face, prepared to resume their conversation -- as happy as he would be to spend the rest of the afternoon staring into Wei Ying's eyes and touching his cheek.

"Only the two of us returned here?" he asked. "When I spoke to Brother earlier, nothing seemed amiss, though he had been at the temple."

"He wasn't in as much danger, and I wasn't focused on him," Wei Ying responded. "It should just be us."

Lan Wangji inclined his head. "Before I knew you had also returned, I planned to speak with him about this experience," he said. "Uncle as well. They would be able to help."

"I've barely been able to think about it yet," Wei Ying admitted. "I woke up to Jiang Cheng throwing pillows at me, and he's been with me ever since."

Lan Wangji studied him. He had not liked Jiang Wanyin even during his actual adolescence. Part of it had been jealousy at the apparent ease Wei Ying had with him, but part of it had been aggravation that Jiang Wanyin would presume to speak for Lan Wangji, and another part of it had been discomfort at the constant insults.

Once upon a time, Wei Ying had believed him an ally, had believed Jiang Wanyin would support him. Jiang Wanyin had decisively disappointed him.

"Do you know what you wish to do?" Lan Wangji would not let his own hatred for Jiang Wanyin influence Wei Ying.

Wei Ying could decide whatever he wanted, and Lan Wangji would support him regardless.

Lan Wangji was prepared for Wei Ying to think about it, but he immediately replied, "I want to be with you." The smile on his lips spread until he was beaming at Lan Wangji. The sun holding his hand. "I told you. As long as it's with you, I want it."

It...was not possible to resist that smile. Lan Wangji had wanted to get through his conversation before they started kissing, because he knew he would not want to stop once he started, but all plans should be adaptable.

Wei Ying's mouth was soft, but eager. Unlike the first time Lan Wangji had kissed him, Wei Ying pressed forward now. His body followed until he was leaning against Lan Wangji entirely, warm and firm at every point of contact.

At first, Wei Ying moved his mouth against Lan Wangji's as if he could not bear to let their lips part. He soon shifted into shorter kisses. Teasing. Lan Wangji could feel his lips turn up as he chased his mouth. Finally, Lan Wangji cupped Wei Ying's face in both of his hands and held him still so he could kiss him with more passion.

It was not all of the passion that Lan Wangji held close within him. If he let that loose, he would take Wei Ying right there in a public garden in Cloud Recesses. But he kissed him firmly, aggressively, deeply, and Wei Ying melted against him.

Something inside him, something he did not always like to think about, was deeply satisfied with Wei Ying's surrender. This feeling jarred him enough to finally pull back.

Languidly, Wei Ying opened his eyes. "Er-gege," he breathed. "Is that it? That's all I get?"

Lan Wangji turned away, feeling the tips of his ears heat. "Stop playing around."

Wei Ying laughed. "All right, all right, all right! I would tell you to make me, but just for now, I will stop."

Lan Wangji suspected Wei Ying would have enjoyed being made to stop. He briefly regretted that Wei Ying had agreed, yet he knew that because Wei Ying had agreed, he also knew it was important to return to their previous conversation.

"Lan Zhan, I…" Wei Ying paused, frowning. He took another moment before he started again. "It's been a long time since I was a part of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect."

He paused again, looking down at his hands. "Mn," Lan Wangji said, to let him know he was listening.

Wei Ying smiled, a smaller curve of lips. "I do want to see Uncle Jiang again. And Shijie. All of my shidis...I've missed them all. I want to stop the Wens and protect Lotus Pier."

"Mn," Lan Wangji said again, because Wei Ying did not sound like he had finished.

Wei Ying sighed and shook his head. "For all this time, I've been trying to move forward. To leave the past in the past. But now we are in the past! What does moving on look like now? My path is wider now, and while I would walk the single-plank bridge again if I had to, I would still much rather find another road."

Lan Wangji tightened his arms. They were still around Wei Ying, who had not yet pulled away.

"I don't know what to do about Jiang Cheng," Wei Ying confessed, his voice small and low. "He hasn't done everything that I remember, but now I know that he's willing to. And I've changed. I don't know if I can pretend to be the same person he's used to."

Lan Wangji understood. While he loved his sect and his family, many of his feelings about them and their actions had grown more complicated. Even now, without the scars of thirty-three whip marks on his back, he knew he would never be his uncle's perfect disciple again. He could never again see the Lan rules as the only guide he would need for a moral and righteous life.

"What do you want?" Lan Wangji asked again. That was his highest priority. Everything else could be worked around what Wei Ying wanted.

Wei Ying laughed. "I told you, er-gege," he cooed. "I want you. Maybe I need to figure everything else out, but at least this one thing I know. Whatever path I walk, I want it to be one I walk with you."

"I wish for that also," Lan Wangji returned, exulting in the smile that once again broke over Wei Ying's face at the words.

Wei Ying was still leaning against him, and he nuzzled the top of his head against Lan Wangji's neck and chin before pulling back.

"That's enough to start with, then," Wei Ying said. He took hold of Lan Wangji's hand once again. "We can build everything else on that."

It was enough. It was everything.

#mdzs #my fic #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #time travel #time travel fix-it #fluff #cloud recesses study arc #implied major character death (but they fix it)#not jiang cheng friendly #that feeling where you're a teenager again and all you want to do is smooch your new boyfriend

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