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#was it that he knew dreams negging him and really just telling him that he looks great rn (not subtle dream)
crystal-moon-101 · 2 days
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A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.
-Zak Saturday-
Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.
-Zak Sunday-
Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.
Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.
-Zak Monday-
The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?
I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.
-Zak Tuesday-
The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.
However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.
-Zak Wednesday-
Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.
The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.
-Zak Thursday-
When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.
So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?
-Zak Friday -
In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.
But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.
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httpsleclerc · 4 months
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just the three of us
charles and his girlfriends eventful Saturday afternoon
Charles Leclerc x reader
warnings; pregnancy, doubt in a relationship ? 
w/c: 1.5k
based off this request
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You smiled over at Charles, noticing the small but chubby baby girl babbling in his arms, your smile growing wider as you heard your boyfriend mimic her incoherent babbles. You had been with Charles for 3 years now, already engaged - no wedding plans yet, but you were working up to it - but you noticed that Charles had been avoiding the one very important talk with you; kids. The thing you wanted more than anything, but the very thing that he all but refused to talk to you about; you felt terrible for thinking it, but it made you feel like he didn't want them with you, especially as you watched him entertain the baby he held in his arms.
"Hey, are you okay?" Your friend asked you, noticing that your smile had disappeared from your face, almost longingly looking over at Charles. You shook your head of your negative thoughts, giving your friend the best reassuring smile you could muster in your heartbreak for the future that Charles may or may not see himself having with you. 
"Yeah, just distracted," You smiled, leaning forward to take a sip of the mocktail that your friend had made for you, you had made the suggestion to her since it was her gender reveal, it would have been fair for everyone else to be able to enjoy a drink while she couldn't. She smiled at you, leaning forward to rest her chin on your shoulder, following your gaze over to where Charles stood holding another one of your friends baby's.
"He's really good with her," She commented, looking at you with a grin. "Have you guys talked about kids yet? Cause that one is meant to be a girl dad, Y/N." She sounded so certain. You didn't know, though. Yeah, he was meant to be a girl dad, it was so blatantly evident in how he was with the now squealing baby he was tickling in his arm - His reluctancy to at least acknowledge your want for a child had you doubting that he was going to be one with you.
"He won't talk to me about it, (Name)," You told your best friend, frowning as you thought of him leaving you. "What if he doesn't want them?" Your voice was breaking as you spoke. (Name) had been your friend since you were both little girls, you had dreamed of having your babies be best friends like you were, assuming you would both be lucky enough to have girls on your first try. She sighed, wrapping her arms around you to hug you and try and comfort you.
"He'd be stupid, then, love," (Name) assured you, she knew how you were a bit of an over thinker at the best of times. "He wouldn't have asked you to marry him otherwise, yeah?" You sniffled as you nodded, quickly drying your eyes of tears before your mascara started to run and Charles would be able to tell that you were upset. "Charles loves you so much, Y/N. Maybe you should talk to him about it, he's a guy, he might be nervous to bring it up to you." She suggested, you knew that she was right, she always was and you knew that.
You knew that.
Maybe now you wouldn't trust your friend so much. 
You had excused yourself to the bathroom, and as you were walking past your lover and your friends, you had heard him tell another party goer that he wasn't sure if he wanted kids. 
Oh.
You swore as you heard every word leave his lips, that another piece of you crumbled. Thankfully for you, you could hide it well enough that you would be able to get home without Charles suspecting that you had heard him, that you would blame your puffy eyes on a poor nights sleep. You couldn't believe it - You weren't mad at Charles, no, you never could be, he was your boyfriend, soon to be husband; but clearly, never the father to be of your children.
"That's nice for your friend, a little girl," Charles beamed, his hand on your thigh as he drove the two of you home to your Monaco apartment. You hummed and nodded, unable to meet his eyes for fear that your resolve would crumble, and you would burst into tears. "Are you okay, mon Ange?" He asked you, concern lacing his voice as he took a moment to glance over at you, noticing your down mood.
"Yeah I'm um," You scrambled to think of an excuse. "I'm just tired, is all, I promise, my love." You quickly assured Charles, hoping that he wouldn't push you any further. He hummed, remembering that youhad been up early that morning, but only because you claimed that you had a stomach bug, caught from one of the girls that you worked with.
"Oh, okay," He seemed content with that excuse. "We can go to bed and get cosy when we get home, yeah?" Your heart swelled at his offer - Charles career meant that he was often gone for extended periods of time, and you could sometimes go a whole month without seeing him, so the offer of having time with just him made you want to start crying.
It soon became clear that your emotions were getting the better of you, however. 
As Charles pulled into the garage of your apartment building, putting his Ferrari into park, you started wailing. Charles, concerned, reached over to hold your shoulders, an attempt to try and calm you down.
"Woah, it's okay, love, just breathe," Charles coaxed you, trying to calm you down enough so he could make some sort of sense about what had made you so obviously upset. "It's okay, my love, just breathe, I'm right here," He knew it was working when your wails quieted down to mere sniffles, and you rubbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan. "Can you tell me what made you so upset, mon ange?" Charles asked you, his eyes gleaming with concern for you.
"I-I just love you so much and I miss you a lot when you're gone," You cried out, sobs wracking your body. "A-and I heard you say to one of our friends that you're not sure if you want kids and it just made me really sad because th-there's nothing I want more than to have a baby with you because I really love you." It clicked for Charles why you were so upset for the remainder of your friends party after you had gone to the bathroom.
"No, no Mon Cherie, it's not like that at all," He explained to you, grabbing your hand and holding in his own. "I want a baby with you too, more than anything. I just wasn't sure if it would be fair on you since I would be gone so often. I didn't know how to bring it up to you without upsetting you, but please know that there is nothing I want more than a little me or you running around." You looked up at him as he held your face in his hands, he always found himself admiring the little things about you, his beautiful girl, the love of his life.
"Y-You're not just saying that?" Your bottom lip wobbled as you spoke, looking up at him with wide eyes. He shook his head and placed a small kiss on your lips, you knew that he was serious, Charles could be a lot of things sometimes, but he was never insincere. "Well um," You sniffled as you looked down, fiddling with the frayed end of your cardigan sleeve. "I did want to tell you in a more romantic and nicer way," Charles tilted his head. "I'm pregnant."
The two words hung heavy in the air, you and Charles staring deep into each others eyes, you noticed the tears bubbling in his own and yours followed his hand as it made its way from your cheek down to your stomach.
"We have a baby in there?" 
His voice was gentle, breaking as he felt the tiny, but their bump of your tummy. You tearfully nodded, a smile growing on your face as one made its way onto Charles' own. He let out a greatful sob as he leaned over, wrapping both of his arms around you, minding to be gentle, even if you had little to no bump, that was his baby.
"We're going to be parents, Charles," You cried, looking at your lover, who's eyes held nothing but love and adoration for you as he leaned forward, locking both of your lips into a passionate, and heated kiss.
Well, maybe your best friend was right.
-
notes: lowkey hate this but we'll move on from it x
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itspyon · 3 months
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compilation post of commentary youtubers talking about dream, no drummyaches edition !
note, i might not exactly like 100% of the things said in these videos BUT they ultimately redeemed dream to a very large audience
starting with i think is the most viewed video right now, Will Dream's Response Actually Fix Anything? by Lessons in Meme Culture. it's 2:40 minutes long and the point is simply to open conversation about him being able to successfully redeem himself, but it has a lovely comment section if you want to scroll through that
Dream Just Responded To Everything by AugustTheDuck, had already spoken about Dream pretty positively, lovely guy, lovely summary [ touches earpiece the main studio is telling me august actually was a dream hater but turned around recently, so noting that down ]
Dream's Response was Perfect, But... by EntLaiser, who previously made a video actually speaking negatively of Dream, completely changed his opinion and talked about how meme culture is being used to justify mass harassment, along with being nice to Dream stans and defending them
Pyrocynical made a video. its bad. don't watch it. he gets cooked in the comments though so that's okay. Acheeto also made a video but i don't like the guy so i'm not linking that either, but it was a good video
Dream Finally Responded To The Allegations by sensitive soci3ty. i really like this video but i especially like the comments that bring up a lot of great points, it was refreshing scrolling through them
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LIES! by Omni. Omni is really big on the commentary community so his input is valued, this video is long and goes through a lot of unrelated stuff because it's a news segment, but i linked to the timestamp he talks about Dream. it is long, it is thorough, he READS THE DESCRIPTION which i haven't seen anyone do, pretty good
Dream Might Actually Be Innocent by Saverino. this guy is like, the perfect representation of "i only consumed Dream content through social media for years", the most passive onlooker in the world. and his video is awesome, he took a lot of notes, he resumed Dream's video pretty well, and i feel the way he thinks of Dream is how people will look at dream from now on
Dream Finally Responded by Dolan Dark. it's a slob but it's fucking Dolan Dark and he says he believes he's innocent so who cares W for us
other creators we already know and knew they believed Dream, Hot Sauce Beats did a live reaction and so did Nate Alyn if you'd like to go and support them
Dream's Response Was Actually Good by Saamuel. dream hater admitting he was wrong. all is good in the world
Dream Finally Responded To The Allegations by Optimus. don't watch this video lol. he says a bunch of stupid shit, his comments call him out for it, but i am linking it because this guy is huge on the community, a lot of people were waiting on this video on twitter, and he's very clear on saying the allegations are fake, along with shaming twitter antis for their behaviour
Dream's Response Wasn't Good Enough by luhrix specifically talks about the reaction from antis on twitter to the video and how unreasonable some expectations are when it comes to responding to allegations
Does Dream's Response Make Him Innocent? by Blissolic who VERY BRAVELY calls out coyglone ( the guy behind the dreamwastalen account ) for being a piece of shit
Dream Responded... by Repzion. excellent video no notes, less about dream himself and more a critique of how people consume serious topics as "drama" and farm engagement through it
I Was In Dream's Video by orangepeanut. it's kind of ass but he is in dream's video ! he's the "dream sucked his own dick" guy. he says sorry for baiting and actually apologises to dream which is kind of funny, and he does say dream is innocent. just noting it down for reference
Dream's Response Was GREAT! by TekuToji. another excellent video, nice summary. he did thought the poki xqc dms were real but he corrected himself on the comments lol
Dream Has Returned ( and why you should be excited ) by PurpleMatter. sweet video ! go leave a nice comment :D
this is a different one as it is a full reaction, but it is by Kenji, a VERY famous vtuber, and he was awesome about it and called out his chat several times when they spoke misinformed shit. it's very fun and i'm glad a completely different audience now has a positive view of Dream
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koqabear · 6 months
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Hiii congrats on 2k sol obsessed with everything you write!!!!💓 Could I request revisiting emo boy? Like what their relationship is like after and dates and how sex is like? Maybe beomgyu’s band really blows up and he’s quite busy, how does oc respond to this? And with smut? Tysm!!💝
playlist // beomgyu's encore outfit hehe // cont. of hey emo boy!
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 “The day of your one-year anniversary with Beomgyu was expected to be spent away from each other— but not if either of you can help it, far too in love to let anything get in the way of you two.”
bassist!beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 6.6K (everyone stfu rn) // genre: band au, opposites attract trope, established relationship, smut, tooth rotting fluff tbh, MDNI.
warnings: they are in love and it’s fucking GROSS!! barely edited, the two have hella piercings hehe (bg: snake bites, tongue, eyebrow // mc: smiley & nipple piercings) pet names (sweet thing, pretty, etc.) use of the L word bc they are literally obsessed w/ each other.
smut warnings: hard dom! gyu, sub!mc, needy sex sorry 😖, marking, manhandling, dry humping, biting, breast play, possessiveness, unprotected sex, bg picks the mc up, scratching, dacryphilia, dumbification, a lot of kissing lol, degrading, slight praise, fingering, creampie, cum eating…? lmk if i should add anything !
Notes: happy (late) birthday to the fic that’s probably my peak… this story single handedly changed the course of my blog me thinks. thank you to everyone who was just as affected by emo gyu as i was. 
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Being in a committed relationship with Choi Beomgyu, bassist of Tomorrow x Together and an absolute unattainable heartthrob, was not very easy. 
It was at first; with their blossoming career, it was more about the music than their looks. Fans were loyal simply because they liked their sound, their message, the way their concerts were filled with such energy and passion it left their hearts beating with adrenaline after— but of course, it’s hard to not notice the absolute eye candy on stage; low-lidded gazes, dark stage lights that barely highlighted their stunning features, and clothing that was just as alluring and flattering as the rest of them; inevitably, their popularity sky-rocketed, for better and for worse. 
Beomgyu was left with more money than he knew what to do with. Most of the time, it was used to spoil you, his pretty girlfriend he brought with him everywhere because he was just too obsessed with you— it made his band members wonder if he simply had attachment issues by how much his world revolved around you. But no, you were just as bad as him; present during rehearsals, always in the studio to cheer them on or give them a second opinion on a new song; it wasn’t long before you ended up befriending the rest of them as well, a tight bond forming simply because of all the things you went through together. 
As unfortunate as it was, they weren’t the only ones forced to bear with negative and hateful encounters from the public; while they had their experiences of being mistreated early in their career, you had to deal with immature or creepy fans that had taken a liking to harass you— inboxes on all social media platforms flooded constantly, your number even leaked once as you were forced to buy a new phone all together from how badly you were being spammed— Beomgyu had been quick to lash out and tell them to leave you alone if they didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. 
Overtime, they adjusted to their popularity. Schedules slowly became filled to the brim, their dream now a reality as they spent months on tour— and while you were more than happy and proud of them and their flourishing career, it’d be a lie to say it was all one happy and perfect life. 
You hadn’t seen Beomgyu in ages— decades, centuries, eons— in other words, two weeks. 
The band had more interviews and performances than you could keep up with; if they weren’t on some random talk show, they were at a photoshoot, getting interviewed for the next issue of a magazine you’d undoubtedly have on your coffee table the day it came out. Promotions, nights at the studio, it all added up— and before you knew it, your one year anniversary began to creep up, and all hopes to celebrate it properly dwindled down in your heart— but, having him here with you today was enough. 
You didn’t blame Beomgyu; you weren’t angry or upset, because it was simply something neither of you could control. And though it did suck knowing you wouldn’t be able to spend such a meaningful day together, it felt a little better to know that you weren’t the only one hung up on it. 
On the contrary— you think Beomgyu might be handling this worse than you. 
“Baby, baby please,” he cries, refusing to let go of you and cuddling closer to you instead, a mess of tangled limbs and blankets as he cups your face fondly, “pleaaase I know you said I shouldn’t feel bad but please come on tour with us this week, I think I’ll seriously die if you’re not here this time.”
“Gyu, baby, I really shouldn’t—” you say quietly, only to get cut off by his excessive whining and teary eyes. His bottom lip is jutted out in a ridiculous pout, squeezing your cheeks and holding back a smile at the way your lips puff out as a result; you attempt to push him off you, only for him to retaliate by rolling entirely on top of you, a loud squeal escaping you at the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress, his stupid face hovering over yours as he continues to plead you quietly. 
“Pleaaseee?” he whines, pressing his flat palms against your cheeks and getting your lips to puff out again; he ignores your half-hearted protests for him to get the fuck off, choosing to punctuate his every word with a kiss instead, his piercings a sharp contrast to his plump lips that crash against you with every word. 
“Please?” kiss. “Won’t you,” kiss. “come with us?” another kiss. 
“Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” 
He’s practically suffocating you at this point, refusing to pull away and mumbling the words against your lips, laughs breaking between the two of you as you yell at him to get off, that you can barely breathe with him on top of you; you’re pushing at his shoulders weakly as he continues to tease you, your unabashed laugh contagious as he quickly finds himself smiling as well— he only pulls away once he hears you yell a loud fuck, okay! Hovering over you with bright eyes and a wide grin. 
His arms snake around your waist before he’s rolling over, successfully switching so that you’re the one on top of him— he ignores the loud and exaggerated sigh of relief you let out. 
“It won’t make much of a difference though,” you say quietly, hiding in the crook of his neck as you confess your doubts, “You’ll be too busy and exhausted the whole day, I really don’t want me to be added to your list of concerns.”
You went on tour with him, once— but you learned it was better off to not be anywhere backstage with him during those times, the boy too concerned and constantly doting on you to remain focused; any mistakes he made hitting much harder, a subconscious pressure to be perfect and give his all only trifolded by your presence.
“What? No,” he says immediately, sitting back on his elbows and causing you to look up at him in response; his brows are furrowed and he seems a bit baffled by your comment, shaking his head adamantly to emphasize his point, “I like having you there. I know you like being there, I want you there— I wouldn’t be asking you to come with me if I thought you were a burden.”
He managed to pull out the exact words you were trying to skirt around— your face heats up at his reassurance, much too intimidated by the intensity of his gaze as you bury your face into his chest instead; his chest bounces from the laugh he lets out, flopping onto his back once more and hugging you close, bodies pressed flush against each other and one of his legs thrown around your waist in a childish attempt to pull you even closer. 
“Plus, don’t you wanna visit Europe with me?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he feels you nod shyly; he knows just how much you enjoy the travel aspect to his career, constantly asking for pictures or to facetime while he’s gone, “I wanna show you all my favorite spots this time, and not through some glitchy facetime— I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing.”
“Ugh, shut up,” you groan, hitting his chest weakly as he simply laughs at you softly, “you’re so corny.”
“You love it,” he coos, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, biting back a smile at the way he can feel your breath even out— you remain silent. Partly because you’re falling asleep from his touch, and partly because he’s right. 
⤬⤬⤬ 
Europe is breathtaking— you’ve never been so grateful for Beomgyu’s stubborn, persistent mind. 
The tour has gone as perfect as always, spending a few days at their shows before you simply resigned to stay at the hotel instead; after seeing that Beomgyu was so distracted trying to look for you during a show that he missed his cue (and played the notes wrong to another song) you found it better to wait for him and see him after instead— ready to help him wind down and relax after another energetic, adrenaline-inducing show. 
Most nights consisted of you practically carrying him to the bathtub; cooing soft reassurance as he whined about how tired and sore he felt, shampooing his hair, massaging his scalp and tense shoulders— most of the time, he’d fall asleep then and there, and it’d be another hassle to wake him up and get him out. You’d lure him out of the tub and wait for him to change into your matching pajamas— hello kitty ones, his idea, not yours—  and greet him in the bed with a warm embrace and lips that peppered kisses all over his face.
It was during these moments you found humor in the contrast of his stage persona to his true self; from his usual attire, chokers and ripped clothes, wardrobe consisting of black and multiple piercings that decorated his ears and face, your thumb brushing over his newest eyebrow piercing fondly— versus the man that slept soundly in your arms now, long hair tied back and cute pink barrettes clipping back his bangs, donned in hot pink fuzzy pajamas— and you’re sure that if his band members saw him like this, they’d never stop teasing him. 
You didn’t have to wait long to confirm that thought; Beomgyu didn’t bother changing as he met up with the others in Yeonjun’s room for breakfast the next morning, tugging you along and remaining unfazed at the way his band members burst out laughing the moment he entered the room— you felt a bit bad at the way you found yourself laughing as well, even more so because you’re the only reason he’s found himself dressed like this. (But again, he was the one who bought these clothes in the first place.)
“Happy anniversary, you two,” Yeonjun muses, smiling at the way you’re the only one who seems to process that, chirping out a cheery thank you! as you proceed to drag Beomgyu to the couch, “I feel bad that we have a concert today, ___. As vomit-inducing as it is seeing you two, you do deserve to spend the day together.”
“It’s okay,” you immediately say, brushing his teasing comment off and holding back a smile at the way Beomgyu is still struggling to gain consciousness, more tired than you thought as he simply stares at his waffles for a moment before finally digging in, “at least he’s spending the day doing something he loves.”
“Gross,” Hueningkai says, scrunching his nose playfully before laughing at the glare you send him, “you two are so mushy, it’s painful.”
The rest of the day leading up to the concert is spent peacefully; once Beomgyu has gained enough coherence to fight back against the member’s jabs, he’s pulling you away to show you new sights and stores he discovered from his previous visits, spoiling you beyond belief and buying anything you look at for a second too long; you end up with more bags than you know what to do with, and Beomgyu refuses to let you carry a single one as he proceeds to take you one of his go-to restaurants, as he told you; saying he’s been wanting to bring you here since the moment he found it, smiling brightly when he sees you enjoying the food as much as he did.
To say he’s reluctant to leave you to go to the concert venue is an understatement; you think he might start crying at any given moment as he stares at you with shining eyes, unable to let go of your hand as he stands by the door of the hotel room— not quite ready to leave yet, but knowing that he must eventually as he chooses to bring you in for another slow, loving kiss instead. 
“Are you sure you’re not coming tonight?” he asks you, trying to hide the sadness in his voice and failing miserably.
“And make you fuck up your setlist? I don’t think so,” you try to joke, only to panic slightly at the way his eyes gloss over; your hand immediately jumps up to cup his face, laughing softly at his expression as he simply pouts at you ridiculously. 
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you grin, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before you lean over to his ear, voice dropping to nothing but a whisper as you let your lips brush against his ear, “I’ll have a nice surprise for you tonight, so you better give your best show out there, okay?”
The low lilt of your voice is enough to have him perking up immediately; mouth parted slightly as he stares at you, unsure of what else to do but nod pathetically, knowing he won’t be able to control himself if he thinks about what you might have in store for too long. 
With one last chaste kiss, he’s leaving— and only because Soobin was pounding at the door, telling him they’d be late if he didn’t go out this instant— you think he might start crying as he gives you one last pouty glance, waving to you sadly before he slips out the door. 
You’re left alone, the room suddenly much lonelier and quieter than it was a few seconds ago— and you laugh, checking the time and running to your suitcase to get your makeup and outfit for tonight. 
A revealing shirt, a mini-skirt that’s a bit alarmingly short— you’re pulling out a sparkling, pink outfit like it’s nothing, throwing it all on and doing your makeup as you check the time absentmindedly; your phone lights up while you’re in the middle of doing so, and a notification reads that the staff are waiting for you outside to take you to the venue once you’re ready. 
Beomgyu loves performing knowing you’re in the audience more than anything; it’s something he’s made blatant to you, knowing that despite his mistakes, despite his small distractions, his energy always goes out the roof the moment he spots you there. So you knew how distraught Beomgyu would be to hear that you’re not going to the show tonight despite being able to, but the thought of surprising him is much more enticing than you’d like to admit. 
With one last check of your appearance in the mirror, you grab a jacket before you go; Beomgyu’s favorite oversized zip-up, the clothing item a stark contrast to the rest of your feminine and bright attire— and you smile, adjusting the purse on your shoulder before you’re off to the hotel lobby, where the staff are waiting and ready to escort you safely. 
The venue is almost full by the time you get there; you’re escorted straight to your barricade seats front and center, smiling shyly and waving at fans that seem to recognize you; your face feels hot and you walk faster at the way they get excited at the sight of you, not used to the fame that comes with being Beomgyu’s girlfriend— hell, you really don’t know how Beomgyu does it. 
You’re more than relieved once the concert begins, any attention that still lingered on you immediately getting stolen by the boys that appeared on stage; you winced slightly at the loud screams all around you, unable to help the way you eventually joined in— morphing into another fan in the crowd, the venue much too dark for any of the boys to recognize you just yet. 
They looked stunning in their concert outfits; the professional, matching and dark outfits tailored perfectly to each member, intricate with chains and rosaries and pretty layers. Your eyes widen as you watch Beomgyu walk to his position, taking note of his hair that has now been dyed back to black— you hadn’t realized how long it’d gotten until now, the layers framing his face and falling into his eyes as he goes to push back his bangs with a delicate hand. 
There are no introductions tonight— the music begins immediately, loud and abrasive and making the crowd jump along excitedly, screaming the lyrics and reaching out to try and get one of the members to pay attention to them— on the contrary, you try to remain hidden, looking away and bowing your head every time Beomgyu’s gaze sweeps around your area. 
God, you wish Beomgyu didn’t turn into such a ditz whenever he spotted you in the audience— because then you’d be able to enjoy more of their concerts, addicted to the borderline euphoric feeling you get from attending them, only for it to be multiplied as your eyes catch onto your boyfriend performing, your heart pounding against your chest at the sound of his voice ringing out into the venue— a surge of pride and love fills you as a grin spreads on your face, and it isn’t until you notice a member walking around that you’re able to look away from him.
Looking up, you make eye contact with Hueningkai. 
His mischievous smile and raised brows are immediately returned with a violent shake of your head; telling him to not say anything to Beomgyu, rubbing your hands together pleadingly the moment he glances back at the said man— then he turns to you, sending you a playful wink before he’s off to another section, not without sending you one last teasing grin and a wave; you’re glancing at Beomgyu in a panic, unsure if he’s spotted you, only to be relieved at the sight of him too concentrated on playing to even look up at the crowd.
It isn’t until the encore that they’ve all begun to move around, (save for Taehyun and Soobin, bound to their instruments as they’re resigned to simply wave at the crowd when they can) changed into more comfortable outfits during a small intermission— Beomgyu is decked in baggy jeans and an equally baggy shirt, long hair messy and makeup smudged as he walks along the stage, smiling and waving at fans that reach out for him— he plays his bass so effortlessly as he does, truly mesmerizing as he stops a few times to interact with fans; the sight has your heart fluttering hopelessly. 
But the closer he gets, the more you’re buzzing with nervous energy. Gripping onto the barricade tightly, having stood up long ago with the rest of the fans that are eager to get their attention. Beomgyu’s eyes scan through the crowd thoroughly, smiling cutely and returning hearts until he spots you. 
He freezes entirely. 
He’s no longer playing bass— he’s just standing there, in complete shock as he stares at you. You can only muster to give him a sheepish wave, an uncontrollable grin on your face as you laugh at his dumbfounded expression, trying to yell at him to go back to playing. But he doesn’t, and you’re jumping slightly at the way he takes off his bass and jumps off the stage, security frantically following behind as he rushes over to you.
His hands are on your face and he’s pulling you in for a kiss quicker than you can process; you hear the screams of the crowd around you, but Beomgyu’s got you in his hold so tightly that you’re unable to pull away, left to give in and melt against him as he kisses you for a little longer. Your face feels as though it’s on fire by the time he’s pulled away, his own alight entirely with joy as he grins at you, your head still in his hands as he leans against the barricade excitedly— you think he might just jump over it any moment now.
“You’re here?” he says exasperatedly, eyes scanning you frantically as though he were imagining you, “why didn’t you tell me, you should’ve— I would’ve—”
“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, placing your hands over his and laughing at the way he can only stutter stupidly, brushing his hair behind his ear fondly— watching the way his eyes crinkle cutely as he smiles, your own sweeping over the array of piercings that decorate him, hello kitty earrings glinting under the light— and pry his hands off your face, ignoring the pout he sends you as you scold him instead. “Get back on stage!”
Your words seem to snap him out of his reverie; his head is whipping back to look at the stage, at the way his friends can only laugh at him teasingly and yell at him to get back here— the way Yeonjun yells directly into the mic is slightly embarrassing, shrinking at the way all eyes are on you as the man’s words ring out the venue— Beomgyu, get the fuck back here!
He’s only able to leave with one last chaste kiss— the crowd is screaming at the sight, and you’re resisting the urge to cover your face in weak hopes that it could take all this attention off you— but you’ll bear it, especially with the way Beomgyu mouths a cute I love you! before he’s jumping back on stage. 
The poor boy is unable to take his eyes off you for the rest of the night— but on the bright side, there are no missed cues or wrong notes played. He’s just entranced with you for the rest of the encore, his energy seemingly replenished with the way he jams out to the music; mouthing the lyrics even when it’s not his part, maintaining eye-contact with you during songs he knows you’re particularly fond of— and suddenly, the idea of spending his anniversary at a concert isn’t as depressing as it was earlier tonight— because now, he had you by his side. 
⤬⤬⤬
“Beomgyu— Beomgyu please, not here…” you whine, unable to do much but bite your lip and swallow back whines that threaten to escape you, left to Beomgyu’s mercy as he immediately led you to his dressing room after the show— the said man is much too focused on kissing and marking your neck to listen, soft hair brushing against your face as he pulls you flush against him; back pressed against the wall, arched prettily from the way his hands snake around your waist and press your lower half against his— you’re holding back a groan at the way he’s already hopelessly hard against you. 
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be coming? Hmmm? Just wanted to be a tease? Was this your little surprise?” he asks, biting at your skin and huffing out a laugh at the whine that escapes you; your hands are gripping onto his shirt tightly, fisting it in your hands and wrinkling the material as he lets his teeth sink slightly near your collarbones, “god, you look so good tonight, you’d really expect me to be able to hold myself back?”
His hands are wandering down your waist; over the swell of your ass, fiddling with the hem of your mini-skirt before he’s venturing under it— feeling the way you shiver against him the moment his hands squeeze at the soft flesh, fingers decorated with rings cold against your skin as he comes back up to kiss you. It’s rough and desperate, lip rings scratching as he kisses you with such hunger it leaves you breathless; he grinds his cock desperately against you, eliciting a small gasp from you and allowing him to slip his tongue inside— the piercing that decorates it scrapes along your mouth, unable to help the way your knees weaken at the feeling of him— his touch is everywhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded as you can only melt against him, allowing him to press you flush against the wall with his own body; your miniskirt is riding up along your hips as he situates himself between your legs, panties already a mess as he begins to rut his cock into you. 
“Are you sure you want to wait now, pretty?” he asks, looking down at you with low-lidded and fucked out eyes— he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, laughing at the way you yelp and tighten your hold on him, “I could stop everything right now, send you back to the hotel like this and make you wait, just like you said— is that what you want?”
Oh, he’s cruel— even more so because you’re left shaking your head no deliriously, your mind fogged with such need that your eyes are glossing over at the very thought of not having Beomgyu inside you right now; your voice is pathetic as you plead Beomgyu to finish what he started, throwing a hand over his shoulder and entangling your fingers into his hair as you pull him back into you— he’s more than eager to return the kiss, tilting his head and pressing himself more against you as a hand reaches down to your thigh; grabbing the back of your knee, guiding you to hook it around his waist as he begins to rut into you mindlessly.
“So cute, my pretty girl,” he mumbles against your lips, eyes trailing down your low-cut top to spot his favorite zip-up, a smile tugging at his lips as he merely sends you a cute smile, “did you miss me that much? Already so needy from a little bit of kissing— god, I love you so much…”
You think he’s mostly talking to himself at this point— spewing nothing but filth as his hands shove your shirt over your chest, grinning as he remains impatient enough to not take off a single item of clothing, choosing to push tug your bra down harshly before he’s swooping down to mark your breasts with a cruel smile.
“Looked so fucking hot out there, just made me wanna take you backstage and fuck you there,” he confesses, listening to the choked whine you let out, his pierced tongue playing with your hardened nipples, leaving them swollen and sensitive. He’s looking up at you with doe eyes that contrast greatly with the way he sticks his tongue out for you, letting you watch the way he circles and toys with the cute jewelry he bought for you earlier today, pulling away with a coy smile and leaving them soaked with his spit— he blows softly on them, watching with tentative eyes as you keen at the feeling. 
“God, you know I’ve been wanting to do this every time I see you at one of our shows? To make sure that everyone that looks at you knows just who,” he rolls his hips into you, nice and slow and letting you feel the length of his cock press against you as you flutter your eyes shut from pleasure, “you’re here for?”
“Fuck, gyu,” you pant out, snaking your hands under his shirt and up his back, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him into you— as if there’s still space between the two of you, as if you’d die if you weren’t touching him at all times, “‘m only yours, only want you…” 
He’s sneaking a hand down to move your panties to the side, the two of you much too desperate to shed off any layers— and as you listen to the clinking sounds of his belt, undoing his jeans and pulling out his hardened cock, you busy yourself by sucking and biting at his neck, listening to his stuttered breaths as you suck and tease at the joint of his neck, his most sensitive spot as you bite at it playfully— you’re only pulling away at the feeling of Beomgyu grabbing at you hair and tugging you away, letting out a baffled laugh at the satisfied look you give him in return. 
“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” you coo out softly, grinding your pussy slowly against Beomgyu’s tip that teases your entrance, your mouth falling open at the feeling of him mirroring the action, running along your folds and swiping at your clit, “all mine, my pretty boy…”
He laughs fondly against your lips at that— bringing you in for a slow kiss, feeling the way your mind goes blank the moment his tip slowing enters you; he’s swallowing a soft moan from you as he bottoms out slowly, keeping himself deep inside and grinding his hips slowly against yours— and he stays there, a tease like always as he watches your brows furrow and your lips pout, telling him softly to move, to do something.
“Mmmh, all yours,” he mumbles softly, pulling out slowly to let you feel the way every vein runs against your walls, clenching and fluttering against his length as he hisses at the feeling, “I’m yours, belong only to you, fuck…”
He’s not able to keep this agonizingly slow pace up for long— as much as he wants to tease you, to have you crying and pleading for him to fuck you stupid, he isn’t fairing that well himself— so it isn’t long before he’s beginning to snap his hips into you, cock curving and aiming for that spot that has your knees buckling, pretty nails digging into Beomgyu’s shoulders and biting at the skin in order to try to stabilize yourself.
“Such a perfect cunt— fuck, ah, just wanna fill you up, wanna see it dripping down those pretty thighs— stupid fucking skirt can’t hide anything, ugh—” his voice is deep and breathy as he continues to talk into your ear, his hands sliding down to the swell of your ass before he’s holding it there— lifting you up, forcing you to hook your legs around his waist as you’re left to his mercy; his chest is pressed flush against yours as he fucks you, and you can only bury your face into his neck to try and muffle your sounds, the rough way you bounce from his thrusts causing your nails to slip and scratch down his back— he hisses at the feeling, only to be spurred by the stinging sensation it leaves behind. 
“So loud, shit,” he laughs meanly, grinning at the way you only bury your face into him more to try and muffle your sounds, “want everyone to hear you? All the staff, the members— I’m sure they’d like to see what a pretty doll you are for me.”
You shake your head at that— but your body gives you away as your cunt clenches around him pathetically, the wet sounds of skin against skin filling the room and undoubtedly filtering outside— but you remain persistent to keep your moans to yourself, choking back on sounds of pleasure as Beomgyu only begins to fuck you rougher; your silence is a challenge, one he’ll gladly take as he begins to roll his hips into you just the way you like it. 
“Come on pretty, I wanna hear you,” he purrs into your ear, a hand snaking around to rub at your clit while the other remains firm on your ass, “don’t you feel good? I can make you feel even better— so, so so good, just let me hear your cute little sounds.”
You’re playing hard to get. And Beomgyu takes absolute pleasure in it, watching the way you shake and dig your nails into him helplessly, your body being wound up from how good he fucks you; your thighs are sticky and shining from your arousal, poorly concealed pleasure only fueling Beomgyu’s ego further as he reaches up to tug your head out from it’s hiding spot.
He thinks he might just cum on the spot; your makeup is ruined, tears of mascara running down your cheeks as you merely let out soft hiccups of moans, your lips parted and brain completely empty as you stare at him— he smiles at you in return, capturing your lips in another kiss as his hand begins to trail down; toying with your breasts, nimble fingers pinching and rolling your nipples as you jolt and whine into his mouth at the sensation. 
“Gyu— gonna— need to, ah…!” the choked whimpers you let out aren’t enough for Beomgyu, and he only slows down at your request; fresh tears stream down your cheeks as you plead softly, breathy voice barely above a whisper as you whine quietly to keep going, don’t stop, please gyu, pleeaaase…. 
“Hmm? What’s that? I can’t hear you, baby,” he murmurs softly against your lips, slowing to nothing but a grind as he presses himself against you— pelvis grinding against your clit, the feeling making you tremble as you dig your nails into his shoulders once more. “Come on sweet thing, tell me what you need.”
You’re telling him— begging, pleading, breathy whimpers and soft cries escaping you as you roll your hips into him, biting your lip and sighing exasperatedly at the way he simply watches you with dark eyes, slowing down until he’s simply bottomed out inside you. 
“What do you want?” he asks softly, breathy voice intertwined with a lilt so sweet you’d almost think he pities you— and by the way he’s looking at you, he just might, swollen lips caught between his teeth to try and suppress a smile. You’re still weak and quiet as you try to voice your wants, looking at him through wet lashes, a pout on your face as your hands run absentmindedly up and down his back.
“Wanna cum?” he coos, pretty hand reaching down to circle and pinch your clit teasingly, “Want me to fuck you? Fill you up? Hmmm?”
All you can do is nod along to his words stupidly— and obviously, it’s the very last thing your boyfriend wants, abandoning your clit and reaching up to grab your face roughly; fingers digging into your cheeks, forced to look at him as he merely glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth. 
“Tell me,” he says, voice sharp and dangerous as he narrows his eyes, “use your words— or, don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already.”
He’s unhooking one of your legs from his waist at that; you’re stumbling slightly, leg too weak to let you stand as you merely cry at him to wait, bringing him closer to you in fear that he might pull out and leave you like this— his fingers still dig into your cheeks as you speak, drool building up at the corners of your pouty lips as you stutter out exactly what you want— what he wants to hear.
“Want you to fuck me, use me— wanna cum, please,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes your head teasingly, as though to say and what else? “Want you to cum inside, baby please, just wanna feel good—”
You’re rambling at this point. But Beomgyu enjoys it nonetheless, telling you to keep going as he begins to move again; slowly at first, allowing you to feel the drag of his thick cock against your walls as your words become stuttered through weak moans, the sight making your boyfriend laugh as he slowly begins to pick up his pace. 
“Like it when I fuck you like this, yeah?” you’re nodding in confirmation to his words; staring at him with pleading eyes, whimpering a soft harder, faster, that the man is immediately obliging as he coos at the way you yelp at the sensation. “Want it harder? Hmmm? Want me to fuck you ‘till you can’t even walk—? Have to carry you out of here, let everyone see the way your sweet cunt is filled up by me?”
All you can do is nod to his words at this point; whimpering a weak yes, yesyesyes, want you to fill me up, use me, more more please—
Everything crashes down on you unexpectedly; your eyes are shutting tight and you think you might just black out as your orgasm hit you suddenly, cunt squeezing and fluttering around Beomgyu’s cock as he groans at the sensation— he lets you ride it out, cooing soft praise into your ear before he’s pulling you in for another kiss; you’re barely able to kiss him back, moaning into his mouth and letting him do whatever he wants with you.
It isn’t long before he’s cumming inside you as well; you’re so tight he can barely move, your cute whimpers and warm cunt guiding him through it as he fucks into you slowly, making sure none of his release slips out as he continues to fuck you, even after he’s become horribly sensitive. Then he’s still, lips still on yours and arms wrapped tightly around you as though he’s afraid to let you go.
“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment, still lingering close to you, taking in your appearance with tentative eyes. You nod softly, still attempting to catch your breath as you chest heaves against his; he huffs out a soft laugh, caressing your cheek fondly before he’s going to fix your clothes— your mini-skirt remains up on your hips, his cock still bottomed out inside you as he coos about how good you were for him, caressing any skin he can get his hands on (which is a lot, considering your wardrobe) with a smile.
“Pretty girl, so perfect,” he coos, finally pulling out and tucking himself in before he’s going to fix your clothing; not without slipping his fingers inside your cunt one last time, watching with hungry eyes as you curl into him and cry that you’re sensitive— he’s only satisfied after his cum is left snug in your pussy, smiling darkly at the way he brings his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean— you do it without any hesitation, and Beomgyu swears he might just be getting hard again. 
“Love you so much, thank you for coming to see me today,” he says instead, bringing you in for a warm hug and a loving kiss; you merely hum tiredly in response, hands slipping out from his shirt only to be thrown over his shoulders leisurely.
Your face feels hot the moment he’s trying to get the two of you to leave back for the hotel— because your legs are absolutely not cooperating with you. 
“Holy shit, I was joking about that whole fuck you till you can’t walk thing,” he laughs, only to get cut of by the way you hit him in response— he’s letting out an exaggerated whimper at that, rubbing his arm and telling you sorry, sorry baby, with a cute pout.
“Ugh, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, fuck,” you mourn, only for Beomgyu to pull you into his side firmly, sending you a smile that’s not as reassuring as you wish it was. 
“I’m sure no one will notice,” he says simply, swinging the door open and immediately being met with Soobin passing by. 
He slows down at the sight of you two, glancing at your appearances briefly before he keeps walking. 
“Try to keep it down next time please,” he yells out, turning the corner and disappearing from your sight before you can retaliate. You feel slightly mortified by his words, but Beomgyu isn’t affected in the slightest as he leans over to murmur softly into your ear.
“Should we continue this at the hotel, pretty?”
You don’t answer his question. But he already knows the answer, sending you a giddy smile and intertwining his fingers with yours as he leads you to where the staff car is waiting for you two— and you hold back a smile of your own as you trail (limp, kinda) behind him. It’ll be a long night, but you couldn’t ask for a better way to spend your anniversary, no matter how unconventional it is.
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cuubism · 5 months
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PLEAAE write dreamling pregnancy crackfic you MUST and PLEASE include Sad Crying I Forgor cat dream
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Behold, lovely anons, some nonsense.
---
“Um, Dream,” says Hob, staring at the tiny plastic stick sitting on his bathroom countertop, “what is that.”
Dream comes to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder. “It is a pregnancy test.”
“Yeah, why?” Hob picks it up, squinting down at it. “And why is it negative?”
He realizes a second later that the first question out of his mouth should, in fact, have been why the fuck do you have a pregnancy test? Unless it’s not Dream’s and someone just broke into his flat and left it there, which might actually be less weird.
“Presumably because I am not human,” says Dream.
Hob puts the test down. Turns around, takes Dream by the shoulders, and steers him out of the bathroom. Once they’re back in the living room, he means to say a number of things, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What.”
“The test does not work because I am not human,” Dream repeats. He’s definitely being deliberately obtuse now, if he wasn’t before.
A million questions swirl in Hob’s mind, and a rising swell of panic. He mentally shakes himself. Forces himself to get it together. He’s not a seventeen-year-old kid who got a girl pregnant. He can handle his shit.
He holds Dream still by the arms. Tilts his head until Dream meets his eyes. “Dream, do you have something that you want to tell me? In words, maybe?”
Unless he doesn’t know. But he’s like, a concept, how could he not know?
Wait, is this why Hob was having random dreams about babies last week? He is going to kill this man.
Well, he’s going to give him a hug first. Then he’s going to kill him.
Dream looks into his eyes. Oh God, he’s serious now. So this wasn’t all just for kicks, not that Dream really does things for kicks, anyway. “Hob, I am—”
Hob hauls him into an embrace before he can finish the sentence. Perhaps he should let Dream say it. But he can’t not hug him.
Dream relaxes into his hold. Hob hadn’t realized how tense he was until he did. Oh, poor thing. Just because they’re not young people floundering about on the precipice of adulthood doesn’t mean it’s not stressful. Especially that in between moment, when he knows, and Hob doesn’t.
“I have known for a few weeks now,” Dream says, face pressed to Hob’s shoulder. “Are you upset?”
“No, of course not.” Upset? He’s having their child and Hob’s upset? He supposes they didn’t exactly plan it, but, when has he ever planned anything when it comes to Dream?
He pulls back at last, kisses Dream’s temple, and steers him over to sit down on the couch. He sits beside him, their knees touching. Takes Dream’s hand and squeezes it. “If you already knew, then why did you bother to use the test?”
“I was curious if it would work,” says Dream.
Somehow, Hob doesn’t think that’s the whole truth. “Please tell me you weren’t just going to leave it somewhere and let me guess?”
“I would have crafted some more dreams as well,” Dream says. Blasted idiot. Why is Hob in love with him? Oh yeah, because he’s even more of an idiot.
“Wasn’t picking up on it,” Hob says. “I didn’t think this was possible, to be honest. We’ve just been recklessly having unprotected sex for how long? And you never thought to mention this was a possibility?”
“I forgot,” Dream says morosely, the most pitiable frown on his face. “It is not as straightforward as it is for humans. But yes, it is possible. Evidently. I suppose I have been caught up in the… joy of our moments together. I have not had a lover in a long time.”
“Oh, love.” Hob holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “It’s alright. It’s my fault, really. I should have asked. Wrap it before you tap it, Hob.”
Dream wrinkles his nose at the phrasing. Hob kisses him on the tip of his nose.
“Maybe I was thinking about it a little bit,” Hob admits. The thought has definitely… crossed his mind, before. And it’s easy to get drawn in, when Dream is in his bed, when he looks so gorgeous, when Hob makes love to him and fills him and—
Oh, this is his fault. This is absolutely his fault. He’d thought it was a safe fantasy to indulge in, impossible in reality. Meanwhile he was fucking one of the few beings made of both fantasy and reality at once. Hob’s really the king idiot.
“A little bit?” echoes Dream, raising an eyebrow.
Hob cringes. “A lot a bit?”
Unexpectedly, Dream smiles. “You are happy, then.”
Hob goes still, staring at him. “Did I not say?”
“You expressed that you were not upset,” says Dream. “Which is not the same thing as being happy.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Hob holds him closer, kisses his cheek, his brow, the corner of his lips. “I love you so much. I’m so happy.”
“Truly?”
Hob kisses him on the lips this time, long and deep. Takes Dream’s face in his hands and caresses his cheeks. “Truly. Obviously.”
Dream hums, sounding pleased.
“Are you happy?” Hob asks. Though he suspects Dream would have been rather obvious in his displeasure if he wasn’t, he usually is.
“I believe so,” says Dream carefully. “I… would like to be. Only, I have failed before, when I had a child.” Hob pulls far enough away to look at him. Dream’s expression has twisted now. “I do not wish to repeat that.”
“You won’t.” Dream looks unconvinced, so Hob repeats it. “You won’t. You’ve learned from that. So have I.” Hob certainly made many of his own mistakes with Robyn. But he still wants to try again.
“There are many terrible endings to this story,” Dream says. Of course, Hob’s just looking at the beginning of the thing, and Dream’s looking at the whole arc, especially the end.
“And good ones,” Hob says. “I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make it good.”
“I do believe that,” says Dream, finally offering him a small smile. “You have been able to make many things good for me when I thought it impossible.”
That might just be the greatest success of Hob’s life. To make Dream see that things can be good.
“It will be good,” he vows. “You’ll see, darling.” And Dream smiles again.
Hob lays his hand over Dream’s lower belly. He doesn’t know if this pregnancy even has a physical component at all—Dream himself barely has a physical component sometimes—but it’s instinct to hold him there.
Hob can already feel himself wanting to coddle him. He’s going to have to stop himself from doing that, he highly doubts Dream will appreciate it. He has to remind himself that what happened with Eleanor won’t happen again this time, that modern medicine is so much better, and that Dream isn’t even human in the first place. For all he knows, the baby will just be born out of the clouds.
“Hob,” says Dream. “You are drifting.”
Hob shakes himself. “Sorry, love.”
“What were you thinking of?” Dream presses, brow pinching. “I felt the nature of the daydreams turn… darker.”
Hob grimaces. “It’s really nothing. Just me in my head, you know.”
Dream keeps looking at him expectantly.
Hob sighs. “It’s just, it didn’t go so well last time, with Eleanor, you know? And I know this is different, you’re different, so just be patient with me if start being a mother hen, yeah?”
“Hob…” Dream takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’m sorry, I had not considered. Do you not want…?”
“No! I do want this. I just worry, is all.” He kisses Dream’s cheek. “It’s because I love you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”
“I must do what I can to make it good, then,” Dream says, and Hob smiles at the turnabout of his words. “You need not worry. There is no danger to me. And the baby is not human, besides.”
"It's not?" Hob supposes it's not that much of a surprise. "What is it, then?"
“I am not quite sure. I expect it will become evident soon.” He rests his hand over Hob’s, which is still on his stomach, and he looks fond now. “Perhaps once I can see its dreams.”
“You can see its dreams?”
Dream casts him an amused look. “I am made up of those dreams. And all others. Why should our baby be different?”
Our baby. It’s so affecting to hear him say it like that.
“Our baby,” Hob repeats, just for the sound of it.
“Yes,” says Dream. He sounds properly happy now, which is so lovely to hear. “Ours.”
“Well, now I’m glad we forgot to talk about magical birth control,” Hob says. “Irresponsible sex for the win! Now I get to meet our magical baby.”
“I have never known you to be a man particularly driven by responsible decision-making,” Dream says solemnly.
Hob gapes at him. “Hey!” It’s true, though. It’s all true. “I’ll be the most responsible parent you ever saw. I’ll only let them have the iPad for twenty-three hours a day instead of twenty-four.”
“I can create fantastic spectacles to which the likes of ‘Cocomelon’ cannot hope to compare,” Dream says indignantly, as if this was really an open question in Hob’s mind.
“You can be in charge of screen time, then,” Hob tells him, and Dream’s scowl shifts into a smile.
“When do I need to be ready for this?” Hob asks. “Is it like a nine months thing, or…?”
“Unclear,” says Dream. Fantastic. Typical. For all Hob knows, Dream will show up with a whole baby in his arms tomorrow. Either that or it’ll be a hundred years from now. “I suspect there will be an element of surprise.”
Of course. Dream’s sense of time passing is pretty bad at the best of times, why would the baby be any different?
“I’ll have to get to the shops, then, seeing as I don’t currently own an iPad,” Hob says.
Dream hands him one that definitely was not in existence a moment ago.
“Did you get that—”
“From a dream, yes.”
Hob stares at it in wonder for a moment, wondering if it even has normal apps, or strange ones only dreamt of, then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, Christmas shopping with you will be a cinch.”
Dream is quiet for a moment. “I would not wish to burden you with these things,” he finally says. “To upend your life when you are already well-occupied.”
“Nope, none of that.” Hob takes Dream’s hands and pulls them close. “First of all, I’m very old and can afford to buy a lot of iPads, so don’t worry about it. But more than that, I love you.” He taps Dream’s belly, though he still doesn’t know exactly how or where this not-human baby is meant to grow. “And you. So don’t think like that. I know I can’t expect a nine-to-five, normal daily schedule from you. I’ve never expected that from you.” As of now, Dream just visits whenever he can, often at odd hours. Hob doesn’t expect he’ll be able to change that much, even now. He is still Dream above all else.
Dream doesn’t deny it, either. He looks down at their joined hands. “Would that it were otherwise.”
Hob rubs his thumb back and forth over his knuckles. “It’s okay. I needed some new excitement in my life anyway. Besides—” he gestures to the dream-iPad—DreamPad? Dream will hate that name, so Hob will definitely have to use it—“even if we can’t always have you, we’ll have your stories, hm?”
Dream smiles, then, a fragile smile. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Course it is.” Hob kisses his cheek. “We’ll figure it out, love. Don’t worry.”
“That is one skill you certainly do possess,” says Dream—in contrast, Hob supposes, to his lack of rational decision-making. “‘Figuring it out.’”
“My PhD is in Winging It,” Hob agrees. “Speaking of, though, we are going to have to have an actual talk about how not to have another ‘surprise’.”
“Yes,” Dream agrees ruefully. He seems quite embarrassed about it, actually, and Hob can’t help but hug him again, squeezing him tight, kissing his cheek and temple. Despite the shock and confusion, Hob really is happy, powerfully so. A baby, his and Dream’s baby. He can’t even imagine the possibility of it.
Dream squirms under the attention, but hums, seeming pleased deep down.
“A little baby Dream,” Hob sighs. “They will be a terror.”
Dream raises an eyebrow. “And you think your influence has no effect on that?”
“I was a delightful child,” Hob protests.
“Do not tempt me to draw proof to the contrary from your dream records,” Dream warns.
“You’ll be a terror,” Hob says. “‘No, Da, I definitely didn’t cheat on that exam,’ ‘Mm, that’s not what your dream at 2:34 am indicates.’”
“Precisely,” says Dream. He sounds quite proud of himself, really. Little nightmare.
Hob kisses him again, on the lips this time. Yes, they will definitely be absolute terrors, the both of them.
But it would be boring otherwise.
319 notes · View notes
diorsluv · 3 months
Text
feather , part 22
“ with you out my life ”
series m. list previous chapter next chapter
( socialmedia!au )
yourusername
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liked by lhughes_06, _quinnhughes, edwards.73, and 81,177 others
yourusername she’s officially a single pringle nowww ‼️ if u see me on tinder no u dont 🫢🫢
view all comments
jackhughes i love pringles
→ yourusername pringles don’t love you back
→ trevorzegras jack’s been a single pringle longer than you have yourusername
→ lhughes_06 oh 😒
luca.fantilli is that why you popped up when i searched up the girl of my dreams
→ yourusername good thing it’s called a dream for a reason 🥰
→ luca.fantilli i knew i shouldn’t have turned to tiktok for pickup lines
→ lhughes_06 oh 🫤
username20 why is luca flirting with mini drizzy this aint right
mackie.samo swipe right when you see me
→ yourusername why are you all doing this
→ rutgermcgroarty not if she sees me first
→ adamfantilli jokes on you she swiped right on me already
→ lhughes_06 oh 😓
trevorzegras not for long 😘😘
→ yourusername get the hell away from me i’m barely legal
→ trevorzegras you are not “barely legal” 🙄 AND ALSO stop making me look like the bad guy
→ yourusername you are the bad guy
→ trevorzegras i’m fighting the urge to strangle you
→ yourusername i don’t my brother would really appreciate you saying that 😒
→ lhughes_06 oh 🤬
edwards.73 your hands look pretty
→ yourusername hand kink????
→ edwards.73 WAIT NO FUCK
→ markestapa eddy this is not what we discussed
→ luca.fantilli bro you did it wrong
→ edwards.73 i’m sorry 😕
→ lhughes_06 oh 😨
username12 why the hell does luke keep going “oh”
→ username3 and why the hell is everyone tryna make a move on my girl 😟😟
colecaufield my friend’s younger brother was asking about you
→ yourusername jokes on you i know you don’t have any friends
→ jackhughes is this about who i think it’s about
→ colecaufield no one of our friends’ brothers actually asked me about her.. jackhughes
→ lhughes_06 oh 😞
markestapa damn how’d you manage to crop me out of that first pic
→ mackie.samo the implications are wild
→ dylanduke25 wow u were in her bed 😱
→ yourusername yes dylan he was in my bed WAITING FOR ME TO PAINT HIS NAILS
→ markestapa HELL NO i was just watching you do yours 🙄🙄
→ lhughes_06 oh 😧
username99 luke keeps oh-ing i’m slightly scared for him!
username45 SHE’S FINALLY FREE
→ username24 escaped booking.com’s basement
→ username27 BOOKING.COM???? 😭😭😭
username71 are they all commenting this shit on purpose lmfaoooo
username36 if their goal is to make luke mad i’m sure they’re succeeding
→ username2 fr i can hear him sobbing from here
jamie.drysdale
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liked by _alexturcotte, mackie.samo, rutgermcgroarty, and 64,312 others
jamie.drysdale reminder to never break up with someone over text
tagged: yourusername
view all comments
_quinnhughes she’s gonna kill you LMAO
→ jamie.drysdale oh please she can’t even push me
→ trevorzegras jamie last time she quite literally almost knocked your head on the corner of the counter
yourusername first of all JAMIE I CANT BELIEVE YOU
yourusername THIS IS SO FUCKING FOUL
yourusername LIKE THATS AN OUTDATED PIC YOU CAN’T USE IT
yourusername I’M NEVER FUCKING VISITING YOU AGAIN
yourusername and it wasn’t text it was warzone because he blocked me on everything else 🙄
→ jamie.drysdale one, that’s embarrassing, and two, STOP SPAMMING MY COMMENTS
→ yourusername ok mr proper grammar
→ jamie.drysdale your so annoying
→ yourusername okay i take it back your grammar is ass
adamfantilli aw was she crying
→ jamie.drysdale yeah we got a noise complaint from our neighbors
→ yourusername i can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not 😕😕
→ adamfantilli aw were u crying ☹️😔😖😣😩😪
→ yourusername aw did i accidentally block you ☹️😔😖😣😩😪
colecaufield don’t tell me she was actually crying over blaker
→ jamie.drysdale she was!
→ yourusername she was not!
username27 first pic is me knowing dryshughes is never gonna happen
→ username89 IT WILL HAPPEN
→ username37 DONT PUSH UR NEGATIVE THOUGHTS ONTO US
→ username14 ur praying for our downfall arent u
username54 honestly tho she’s a mood
username28 i cant believe jamie actually posted this
jackhughes i just realized you have her saved as “fucking menace 🥰”
→ jamie.drysdale i hate her
→ yourusername don’t u think that’s a little mean jimmy johns????
→ jamie.drysdale god here you go AGAIN with the nicknames 🙄
→ yourusername YOU LAUGHED AT MY NICKNAME FOR JACK WTF DO U MEAN
→ jackhughes HUH WHAT NICKNAME????
→ yourusername don’t worry about it jacky boy
edwards.73 i could’ve sworn i heard a witch screeching but ig it was her crying
→ mackie.samo it’s okay man we all heard it
→ jamie.drysdale can confirm that’s what it sounded like
→ yourusername can confirm i’m being harassed by my friends and brother
→ dylanduke25 we were never your friends yourusername
→ yourusername oh 😥
yourusername i forgot to say i’m not heartbroken
yourusername so STOP MAKING ME LOOK LIKE I’M SAD
→ jamie.drysdale i thought i told you to stop spamming my comments
→ yourusername i’m not even spamming ur such a baby 😒
→ jamie.drysdale RESPECT ME IM OLDER
→ yourusername whatever
next chapter notes ) like i said in my other post i’ve been so tied up in school it’s been hard to get these chapters out WITH GOOD QUALITY nonetheless i hope it was still enjoyable albeit late 😭 also i forgot to mention but u mightve noticed the song lyric at the beginning of the chapter is NOT in order (yes it annoys me) but i didnt wanna repeat lyrics so that’s just how i’m gonna put them in for the rest of the song: if the lyric has been repeated then i’ll skip it til i get to the next new one 🙏🙏
tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys
307 notes · View notes
xrenjunniesx · 3 months
Note
Hi I love your account can you please write dreamies revealing their relationship with a non idol reader
when they reveal your relationship
Idol!nct dream x non-idol!reader
a/n - I really struggled on this for some reason so I’m sorry for the longer wait
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mark
you two were just trying to enjoy an evening at a bar for a friends birthday. the back of the bar was booked out meaning no fans were going to even be allowed in. it wasn’t fans that were the problem, but rather it was one of the staffs who recognised mark as an idol.
a photo of the two of you hugging each other and another one of mark kissing your cheek was revealed to the public and immediately the response was strong.
people you knew were recognising you and contacting you, EVERYONE was freaking out.
mark didn’t know at first until you called him, panicking as you explained what happened. he left his schedule as quick as he could and went home to you, calling the company to set a meeting to see where to go from here. he is rather mature about the situation and oddly calm, mainly because he knew this kind of thing was bound to happen one day.
doesn’t mean he isn’t panicking though.
renjun
he was the one who saw the post revealing photos of you two shopping together. in fact he saw the post before it even reached the general public. he was quick to get staff and his members to try and get the post taken down but it grew more popular by the minutes and eventually it was making headlines.
he called you and talked to you through what had happened. he was trying to be calm because this wasn’t the end of the world but damn did it feel like that as he read through the public’s opinion.
he did see a few positive comments but the negative outweighed them, so he deletes his social media apps of his phone, only posting photos on Instagram every now and then before deleting again. goes inactive until everything has calmed down for his own mental health and his suggest you do the same - even if it takes months.
jeno
you two were talking in the background of a behind the scenes video uploaded to the youtube channel. the editors thought you were a staff member, they didn’t even notice you and jeno hugging in the background that was only shown for a split second.
the clip was instantly being spread around and the youtube video was re-edited but it didn’t stop the original from being shown.
when he saw it he was a little shocked since he didn’t even notice that there was any type of camera in the room at that moment, which was why he was comfortably talking to you in the middle of the room.
you contacted him minutes later after he first saw it, crying in a moment of worry for what this all meant for you both.
he will reassure you but he will also be just as worried and be telling you to be careful if you go out anywhere JUST IN CASE.
haechan
on a live one of the fans asked what time it was there and he showed the fans his phone, not realising he hadn’t turned notifications off. you sent a message at that exact moment saying, “love, I’ll be home soon.” he moved the phone away quickly but he knew he was done for. he laughed it off awkwardly at first before apologising and ending the live.
he called you as soon as the live was over. “BABE I JUST REVEALED YOUR TEXT OH MY GOD”
you’re both freaking out but once you’re home he tries to calm down and think maturely about this. “look… they can’t ALL hate me? I’ll still be able to make music…” He is thinking positively and refusing to pick his phone up because he knows if he goes online he will only think negatively.
jaemin
you were somewhat a youtuber, and in one of your vlogs, in the background as you walked with the camera through your house there was a picture of you and jaemin.
people managed to recognise it immediately and you were shocked because you didn’t even notice it when you were editing. you contact jaemin, worrying what he would say. you speak so fast into the phone that he didn’t even get to say anything until you were done speaking.
“love… it’s okay we can sort this out.” “I am so sorry jaemin.” “it’s okay, I’ll contact the company then I’ll call you right back, okay?”
you both ended up just coming out about the situation and admitting your dating. you take a break from your socials.
the only positive to this situation is that he gets to see you more since he doesn’t have to hide anything anymore. you can go to his place and he can go to yours!
chenle
there was two instances where he accidentally revealed it and he didn’t even realise that fans would connect these two instances. the first thing was when he accidentally followed your account on instagram. he went on bubble not long after he made it seem light hearted, “oh I accidentally followed an account while going through reels.”
the second time was when a fan asked to be daegals mother and he instantly said, “she already has a mother. WHICH is me I’m the mother and father. I’m the only one she needs.” he panicked as he spoke and tried to play it off.
fans put the two times together and looked more into it, figuring out that you two HAD to be dating. the one and only time the crazy fans were right.
he is panicking when he realises fans were figuring it out and instantly gets in contact with both you and the company. you’re a bit more calm over the phone about this than he is but when you see him in person you’re also freaking out.
jisung
you two were seen together out in public. it was really late at night when the two of you were going for a walk to a local shop near your place to get some late night food.
fans approached jisung, leaving you both shocked since he was disguised pretty well in your opinion.
the fans kept pestering you both so you two ran away- literally.
it made headlines the next day, and you laughed at the photos of you running away with jisung. your laughter was really just covering for how nervous and worried you were though. He on the other hand was texting everyone he trusted and getting all sorts of different advice.
he is really worried about what this meant for his future and he might consider a hiatus to avoid having to face the fans for a bit if the response is really negative.
226 notes · View notes
lily-blue · 3 months
Text
Prince in disguise
☆ characters: crown prince!san & florist!you ☆ genre: modern royalty au, fluff ☆ warnings: mention of a break-in ☆ summary: you like to joke about how San carries himself like a prince; one day it turns out, it’s because he’s indeed royalty ☆ words: 7,9k ☆ a/n: this story was inspired by this video of San ☆ also: merry Christmas to the lovely @restlessmaknae 💕 i wish you a peaceful holiday, so that you could regain your energy and start the new year stronger than ever ☆ massive thanks to: @dat-town for proofreading the story 💕
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You often teased San about how he was the embodiment of your childhood crush, Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. There was just something in the way he held himself, with so much effortless elegance and pride, that screamed royalty. However, up until the very moment three grown ass men in suits and sunglasses stormed into your flower shop, undoubtedly looking for him, you had never been able to decipher how he really felt about your lighthearted jokes. He definitely didn’t hate them, that much you could tell. He knew you would have stopped as soon as he showed any signs of frustration or discomfort, yet his most common reaction was a small smile and kiss on your forehead. 
It had never, not even in your wildest dreams, when you let yourself dream about your future, occurred to you that he was an actual prince. Like a real prince with a queen as a mother and a kingdom to rule.
‘Miss, I would like to kindly advise you to refrain from any form of dishonesty,’ one of the men said, his voice calm and collected despite the photo in his hands and the urgency of the issue they were dealing with. You had never given any thought to the qualities a bodyguard (a royal bodyguard!) should have possessed, but you had to admit that he must have ticked off all the boxes on that imaginary list. ‘We have been informed that the Crown Prince, in fact, entered this flower shop and he could not have possibly had enough time to leave before we came in.’
You could feel your heart picking up its rate and your palms getting clammy, but you refused to show how nervous his way of speaking made you. You also refused to think about all the negative consequences your inner need to protect San could bring you. You knew that as soon as you let your brain come up with those worst case scenarios you would fold like a folding chair. And you simply couldn’t afford to be weak.
‘Thank you for your advice, sir. However, I also need to kindly remind you that you need a warrant in case you wish to enter the staff only area,’ you stood your ground, grateful that the owner of the shop wasn’t present, so she couldn’t grant them access to the storage room. That might have put both San and you into an uncomfortable situation. ‘I have already told you that your Crown Prince is not here. You are wasting your time,’ you claimed, impressed by how calm your words came out despite the hurricane of emotions inside of you.
What would you tell your parents if you got arrested for lying to these men? It wasn’t like you were hiding a criminal, right?
‘Disobeying the Queen is considered high treason,’ the royal bodyguard stated firmly and you gulped down the knot in your throat when you realised he wasn’t talking to you. The warning was dedicated to the guy who was currently hiding behind dozens of bouquets of lilies and sunflowers for a summer themed banquet tomorrow.
‘Sir.’ You cleared your throat to gain his attention or more like, to divert his attention from the storage room’s door that he was eyeing with intent. You didn’t know what you could have done if he decided to push you aside and enter the staff only area anyway. He clearly had the muscles for that and he also had backup even if the other two men were lingering by the front door. ‘I am a South Korean citizen and we are in South Korea. With all due respect, your Queen has no power here,’ you reminded him, mustering up all the confidence that was left in your body, which wasn’t too much to be honest. You were a mere commoner standing in front of a royal bodyguard, after all. Hell, you were a petite woman in her twenties against a man who had biceps the size of a smaller melon.
In the back of your head, you wondered how long your protective instincts would take you. For the sake of San and yourself, you hoped you could hold on long enough for these men to give up and leave. If things had gone there, you didn’t know how you would have explained to your boss why you had stayed overtime on a Wednesday night.
It took time, and a horrendous amount of awkward and pressuring silence, but eventually a new customer came in and your afternoon regained some of its normality. You helped the girl choose the most suitable flowers for her confession and gave her a gift card for free partly because she was adorable and partly because you were so genuinely grateful for her presence. Her ramble about her childhood best friend slash crush had successfully taken your mind off the predicament you were in with a prince in your storage room.
Unfortunately, after that, the rest of the afternoon kept you on your tiptoes. Two of the men in black suits left, but the third bodyguard refused to leave the shop and made sure you didn’t have a moment of peace with his countless questions and polite warnings of which quite a few were meant for San. At least, you honestly doubted his intention was to appeal to your emotions when he brought up the people of their nation, their well-being and the well-being of the royal couple. As much as you could tell from the morsels you actually understood - at one point the guard started to speak the same language San spoke when he was frustrated -, San’s parents were healthy, but his father was too drained to keep ruling the country for much longer. They wanted him to go back and be the king he had always been meant to be. They wanted him to settle down and have his own heirs.
The latter felt like a fist in the gut, like a knife in the stomach even though your translation’s accuracy was heavily dependent on context clues, so you might have been wrong.
You hoped you were wrong.
‘Sir, we are closing. I have to ask you to leave,’ you spoke up ten minutes before eight and let out a relieved sigh when he didn’t argue. You could handle his ice cold stares, but you were doubtful whether you would have had the energy to get into a fight after hours of cold war. His presence alone had drained you dry and honestly, the only things that kept you going were the knowledge that you were doing this for San and the cinnamon rolls from the vintage coffee shop across the street. They closed at ten, so they usually weren’t out of sweets when you visited them at the end of your most tiresome days.
A little paranoid that the bodyguard might have been still lingering out there, waiting for the moment when you foolishly let your guard down, you busied yourself with the online orders that came in in the last hour and stock checked the customer area. It took almost one and a half hours before you informed San that the coast was clear.
The boy walked out from the storage room with his lower lip between his teeth and a rather embarrassed smile on his face that - based on the months you had spent getting to know each other more - was meant to be reassuring.
‘Are you okay?’ San asked, warmth swelling in your chest due to his first words. Of course, your well-being was his top priority. His apologies and weak attempts at making excuses, so you wouldn’t have been mad at him always came second. ‘I’m so sorry.’
You clenched and unclenched your fists as you looked at him. Did he seriously believe that you could be angry with him for longer than a couple of minutes? You had gotten to know the truth hours ago. You were over the initial shock and done being sulky.
At that point, you just wanted him to be safe.
Therefore, you destroyed the distance between the two of you and not giving a damn about his title, you wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him impossibly close to your body. You could feel your cheek being squeezed as you rested your head on his chest.
‘Are you okay?’ You threw the question right back at him, feeling your heart picking up its rate with each second that passed you by in silence.
San’s lips were soft against your scalp when he kissed the top of your head and wrapped his own arms around your petite frame.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbled against your hair, his tone urging you to pull away and look him in the eyes, hence that was what you did. You pulled away with your hands still around his body and rested your chin on his chest, picking apart his facial expression as you tried to decipher what he was thinking.
Your breath hitched when he pressed his lips against yours briefly.
‘I promise I will explain everything,’ he said, his forehead fitting close to yours before he lifted his right hand and brushed a stubborn lock behind your ear. ‘But first, I need to take care of a few things. Important things,’ he claimed and with that - and another tender kiss pressed against your parted lips - he was gone.
You looked after him in trance for minutes before you shook your head and willed yourself to walk in the storage room to finish the stock checking. There was a cinnamon roll waiting for you at the coffee shop across the street.
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You hadn’t heard from San that night, which was a tad bit alarming considering that he was living in your apartment unofficially for over a month. He had his own clothes at yours, his own towel, shower gel, shampoo and toothbrush. You had his favourite plant-based milk in your fridge along with his favourite instant coffee. His mug that matched yours was in your cabinet, waiting for him to come home. So why hadn’t he? The number of possibilities made you anxious.
What if those men had found him and he was already out of the country?
By the time the second night of radio silence rolled by, you were checking your phone abnormally frequently and couldn’t stay focused for longer than five or six minutes. It came to a point where even the Thai series you were currently obsessed with couldn’t keep you on the couch. You had to move around, clean up something, do something, anything that might have been able to take your mind off San’s absence. 
You almost knocked off the half-empty mug of hot chocolate from the kitchen counter, the marshmallows still in your hands, when your front door opened out of the blue. You threw the sweets into your drink with a yelp and grabbed the first potential weapon that you came across: the cutting board you kept behind the knife organiser.
‘I have 112 on speed dial,’ you threatened, lowkey wondering whether you should have been more daring and grabbed one of the knives as you walked towards your bedroom, not turning your back to the front door. There should have been a key in the lock from the inside. You should have been safe once you reached the bedroom.
‘Well, that’s good to know, but why are we calling the police?’ A very tired, very amused San asked from the threshold, walking into the open space of your living room slash dining room with a bag of takeout in his hand.
You could feel the rocks being lifted off your chest.
‘Are you crazy? San! You scared the shit out of me,’ you accused, more relieved than angry. Seeing his tired eyes, you were reminded of the bodyguards and wanted to run up to him and inspect his body for injuries. You wanted to make sure he was okay; however, your limbs were frozen, hence you just stood there like a way too realistic statue from Ancient Rome.
Then, your gaze fell on the plastic bags in his hands again and your brain supplied you with all the worst case scenarios it could come up with: San coming over for a last minute farewell dinner before he moved countries; San asking you to change your relationship status to long-distance relationship; San breaking up with you with your favourite black bean noodles. You weren’t ready to let him go after putting so much effort into winning him over.
‘I’m sorry, petal. I thought you would know it’s me. After all, there aren’t many people who know your passcode and your parents are out of town,’ he said. There was something in the way he broke the situation down to you that made you feel a little dramatic. Of course, you should have known it was him. Other than your mom and your best friend, he was the only one who had access to your apartment.
You pressed your lips together and pouted. He had no right to make you feel silly when your survival instincts were the ones to blame.
‘What are the noodles for?’ You asked as soon as you put yourself together, finally finding the power to move your legs and walk up to him. The furrow between San’s eyebrows and the confusion in his eyes shouldn’t have been so adorable.
‘It’s Thursday. You never have energy to cook on Thursdays and Fridays,’ he explained, like you were some kind of alien who wasn’t accustomed to the local habits yet or a person who had just woken up from years of coma. He must have thought that your question was so damn ridiculous, but it wasn’t what you had meant.
‘You didn’t come home yesterday,’ you said, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the whiny edge of your statement and the fact that San had his own place to sleep at. His lease wouldn’t expire for at least three more months, so you hadn’t moved in together yet. You had no right to call him to account regarding his whereabouts and still, after what had happened the day before, you kind of felt like you had.
You took the bags out of his hands and helped him unpack the still pleasantly lukewarm food. You also started to prepare a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows for him, too, without asking whether he wanted some. He never said no for hot chocolate.
‘I was with Wooyoung,’ he said, filling a tray with numerous tiny bowls containing various side dishes such as kimchi and yellow radish. ‘I needed his help to contact my oldest cousin, Seonghwa.’
You nodded along with every new revelation, paying close attention to every detail while you slid San’s drink towards him on the dining table. It was your first time hearing about any of his family members, at least from him, so you were admittedly curious.
Even though the trays on the table made it obvious that San’s initial intention was to have this conversation on the couch, you didn’t move an inch from your poor excuse for a dining room. You just stood there, with your elbows on the marble, one of your soles resting on the inner side of your other leg and dove into your food with a pair of wooden chopsticks. You didn’t take your eyes off San while he told you everything about his situation.
‘I left the country with Woonyoung’s family when I was fourteen,’ he started, assuring you that he wasn’t a runaway prince per se, and that he had never hid from his parents. Both the queen and the king of their country knew how to reach him in case of emergency, teenager San had just convinced himself that that day would never come as his parents had never bothered to contact him after he had moved out of the palace. With years of neglect behind his back, his adult-self never thought about the possibility that things might have changed.
You placed your hand on top of his and squeezed it as a sign of your support. You were afraid that he would interpret your sympathy as pity, therefore you tried your best to keep your emotions in check. Instead, you gave San all of your attention, hot chocolate momentarily forgotten.
‘Would you like to go back? Now that it’s an option?’ You mustered up the courage to tear off one of the band-aids; the unsaid inquiry whether he wanted to become a king in the first place hiding between the lines. Somehow, it sounded such an insensitive question, you didn’t have the heart to phrase yours like that despite your curiosity. Therefore, you decided to focus on the fact that the royal couple was his parents. ‘To see your mom and dad?’
After a few seconds of contemplation, San shrugged.
‘I guess so,’ he said and you hated yourself for feeling disappointed. They were his parents. Of course, he wanted to see them again. Who were you in comparison to his family? Without much thought, you took your hand off his; however, San didn’t hesitate to reach after it and intertwined your fingers with a soft smile. ‘But that can wait until Seonghwa’s coronation. It’s been over a decade since we’ve last seen each other. A few more months is no big deal if it means they will let me come back to you.’
As touching as it was that he was willing to delay their reunion to be able to stay with you, your first instinct was to remind him that he was his own person and no one had more power over his life than him. But then you swallowed down the words as your brain caught up with the situation. You might have been absolutely right about this matter in general, but San was a prince. Clearly, general rules didn’t apply to him.
‘What do you mean Seonghwa’s coronation?’ You tried to fill in the holes that made it hard for you to fully comprehend the situation. You thought he was the next in line to rule. You definitely remembered the bodyguard referring to him as the Crown Prince.
‘Well, that’s the most important part of our plan,’ he started, pushing the food closer to you, encouraging you to start eating before it got cold. Albeit reluctantly, you eventually gave in, allowing him to steal himself a couple of seconds as well as he dove into the perfect mixture of noodles and red bean sauce.
Then, he proceeded to tell you about the plan they had made with Woonyoung and six of their mutual friends including his cousin and Seonghwa’s personal bodyguard, Jongho. Since San didn’t wish to become the new ruler of their country, but knew that his parents wouldn’t back off without a fight, they intended to prove to them that Seonghwa was the better choice in every aspect: maturity, dedication towards his people and the country, connections, political and economical knowledge. The way he presented their idea and backed up each one of his reasons made even you think that Seonghwa was more fitting for the role. It made you feel hopeful.
‘Do you think your parents will let you give up the crown?’ You couldn’t help but ask when it became obvious that he didn’t have anything more to say.
The silence that followed was palpable. Still, you let him drag it out and pull you into his lap, so he could wrap his arms around you instead of giving you a definite answer. Now you knew that he wasn’t close to his parents - that their relationship could only have been described as distant. Making guesses based on childhood memories would have just given you false hope. You much preferred his soothing touches and the desperation in the way he held you close.
‘I love you,’ he murmured into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, hinting the soft and sensitive area with feather-like kisses.
You sucked in your lower lip, holding your breath. Even though his actions had shown you, even before you two had gotten together, that you were an important person in San’s life, the two of you had never exchanged I love yous before. As much as you hated to acknowledge, it had a bittersweet undertone to it. You wished you could have told him how precious he was to you under different circumstances.
Nevertheless, you said it back.
‘I love you, too. So much.’
That night you eventually relocated to the living room and got comfortable under your fluffy blankets on the couch. You had two mugs of freshly made hot chocolate with you - this time, without marshmallows to lower your already high sugar intake - and some salty snacks you could munch on while you talked. And you talked a lot. You talked about the day before, how the bodyguards had found him and how serious their threats had been. San was almost sure that his parents would have never imprisoned him for high treason if he had refused to go home willingly. By the way his lips curled upwards and his eyes gouged your reaction, you knew he was only trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it was too early, hence it wasn’t funny. Life imprisonment with a cheap excuse was exactly how they could have kept him in the country! How could San not see it?
‘Don’t even think about joking about this again, you hear me? It’s not funny,’ you scoffed when he tried to ease you with lingering kisses atop of your head, temple and on your blade bone. Him disappearing on you just wasn’t it.
‘I promise.’ He nosed your temple, holding you in his arms a big tighter to make up for the anxiety he had unintentionally caused. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added, repeating it like a mantra until he successfully coaxed a chuckle out of you.
With the show you had been watching before his arrival as your background noise and his warmth surrounding your body, you fell asleep on San’s shoulder while he was talking about Seonghwa’s bodyguard, karaoke, imported beer and apples. If anyone had asked you, you were sure you would have failed to draw the connection between all four, but you knew your boyfriend would have never used your tiredness against you. On the contrary, he would have been grateful that you still felt safe in his arms.
And you did. You did feel safe. Because for you, he was your home.
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In the back of your mind, you were aware that your story wouldn’t end up being a fairy-tale, and that even those had some dark twists to them here and there when they were told by the original authors. Still, coming home for a messed up apartment and no San in sight knocked the air out of your lungs. No matter how much you tried to rationalise the happenings or keep your cool, panic overcame you in a matter of seconds. You didn’t know what to do. Would calling the police have made things worse? What if it had been those bodyguards? You didn’t intend to put San into a tight position in case the pitiful state of your home was a consequence of their family quarrel.
On the other hand, what if he had been kidnapped? You had left work pretty late that night, so there was a possibility that San had been home when things had escalated.
Hands shaking and mind pushed into an overdrive, you fished your phone out of the bag you had previously dropped on the floor and dialled San’s number. He didn’t pick up, so you did the next best thing you could think about without losing it: you called him again. Again. And again.
You called him as many times as it was necessary for him to answer your call, his calm voice breaking something in you as your knees gave out as soon as his greeting reached you and you fell on the floor, crying.
‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ When you sniffed into the phone instead of answering, his voice lost its calmness. ‘Petal, what’s happening? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’
You weren’t hurt, not physically at least. But the chaotic mess your mental state was in was secondary to the fact that San sounded to be oblivious of the intrusion into your home.
‘Please, petal, talk to me,’ he tried to coax you and while it didn’t work immediately, when he started to do a breathing exercise, you automatically mimicked the way he sucked the air into his lungs. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.
‘Where are you?’ The words felt like sand on the tip of your tongue, your urge to know for sure that he was in public or at least among people who could help him in case of emergency pushing all your other worries aside.
‘I’m with the guys at Wooyoung’s place. Do you need me to pick you up? Where are you? I will pick you up,’ San said, the distant sound of keys chiming and wood cracking assuring you that he was ready to leave as soon as you gave him the sign. Hell, he might have left the boys without you explicitly asking for it considering the worry in his voice.
But as comforting as the thought was, you didn’t want him anywhere near your apartment.
‘No!’ You objected, maybe a tad bit too vehemently for which you might have felt awkward under different circumstances. Now, emotions like shame and embarrassment were at the end of your priority list. ‘Can I visit you instead? I promise I’ll tell you everything in person,’ you negotiated. Not realising that you were holding your breath, a relieved sigh escaped through your pressed lips when San chose to withhold his questions for the time being.
Some matters were wiser to discuss in person. Matters that could put you in a tight position if anyone found evidence about your scheming. Especially when you were up against an opponent so powerful, they had the resources of actual royalty.
Looking around in your fucked up apartment, without your heart threatening to explode in your ribcage, you knew you didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. You had to be smart about your next move.
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You showed up at Wooyoung’s place an hour later with one sports bag packed with your most necessary belongings and was greeted with a worried San who didn’t understand why you would have brought your entire bathroom cabinet to his best friend’s apartment when you loved your home. You definitely had a lot to unpack, both literally and figuratively.
‘I can’t believe they’re willing to go this far,’ a guy with sharp eyes and nose said, the same guy who had taken it upon himself to bring you a mug of herbal tea when you made yourself comfortable on Wooyoung’s couch. His name was Hongjoong or something similar if you remembered correctly. ‘I start to think that we might have underestimated them a little.’
‘A little?’ Two or three of San’s friends asked in chorus at the same time San lifted his head up from your shoulder and said:
‘I doesn’t matter. Our plan is good, they’ll have no other choice but to go along with it.’
Just by looking at his friends, you couldn’t tell whether they actually believed what San had said, but it was clear as day that they believed in your boyfriend, hence you leaned against his broad chest and let yourself relax. Neither San nor you were alone in this. You had allies and strategies. You had a good plan, and even if that failed, you had options. San’s parents might have been powerful, they could clearly break into your home to scare you, but they had no real authority in Korea.
A voice in the back of your head also reminded you that you lived in the era of social media. You doubted they would have risked bad publicity by pushing their son too much and causing irreversible damage to those he cherished. Or so you hoped.
‘Our plan is good, but will princess Yuna actually agree to go along with it?’ Another guy, whose name you hadn’t memorised yet, asked, his question piquing your interest. It was the first time you heard about this princess and with your obsession with Asian dramas, you did not like the first scenarios your brain threw at you as it tried to fill in the gaps. Who was she? Why was she an important part of the plan? Was she interested in San?
‘Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about before petal came. She said yes,’ San said, the hollering and overflowing happiness in the room making you feel weird, like something wasn’t quite right with the situation: like you were missing something crucial that would have given you a perfect explanation for the odd reaction the news received.
With naturally pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows, you placed your hands on your lap along with the pleasantly warm mug and turned towards San. His smile was so beautiful. He was genuinely happy about the progress they had made now that this princess was on board.
‘Who is she?’ You asked, mentally reminding yourself that you were San’s girlfriend. You had every right to ask him about this girl until you remained clear-headed and didn’t throw a temper tantrum for no reason.
‘She is the most sought out unmarried royalty in Asia. Her family’s country is very small, but their economic power is remarkable.’ Hongjoong said.
‘She is two years older than San, but they’ve known each other since they were babies, so he’s allowed to talk to her informally. Her kindness isn’t just for show, she really is the most warm-hearted royalty I’ve ever met,’ Wooyoung added before his wide grin turned into a frown. ‘She never lets me talk to her informally, though. Like I haven’t known her for just as long.’
‘Yeah, she’s so unfair.’ Yeosang’s voice was teasing as he altered it to sound more mocking: like Wooyoung’s but a pitch higher. ‘It’s not because you called her Yuna in front of a bunch of politicians when she explicitly told you to use her birth name when people other than your family were present.’ The bombastic side eye the blond boy gave to Wooyoung almost made you laugh. Almost.
You had to admit, this princess Yuna sounded pretty amazing. Gosh. You were such a horrible person.
San must have sensed your inner turmoil, because the next thing you noticed was the light touch of the tip of his nose against your cheek and his pillowy lips against your jawline.
‘She’s also Seonghwa’s fiancée,’ he murmured, placing one of his warm palms on the other side of your face, so that he could turn your head a bit more and make you look at him. You gulped, more shy than nervous. ‘That’s what she said yes to. Seonghwa proposed to her a few hours ago.’
You sucked in your lower lip, but before you could have done any damage, San pulled it out from between your teeth with his thumb; the fondness in his eyes simultaneously took your breath away and made you feel unworthy of his love. How could you have seriously thought that he would have included someone in their plan - felt so happy about her joining their team - if she had any interest in him romantically?
‘So it’s not a fake marriage?’ You inquired, coaxing a small laugh out of your boyfriend. His eyes almost disappeared because of the pure amusement on his face. It didn’t take long before you gave into the urge to hide your own in the crook of his neck.
Going easy on you, San semi-successfully bit back a chuckle and put his chin atop of your head, stroking your hair.
‘No, it’s not a fake marriage. They’ve also known each other since childhood, obviously. And they’re pretty much in love,’ he reassured you, letting you have all the time in the world if that was what you needed to be able to look him in the eyes again.
Fortunately, you didn’t need that much to get over the fact that you were only human; a girl with fears and insecurities. The herbal tea in your mug was still pleasantly lukewarm when you pulled away and straightened your back.
‘So cute,’ San whispered, pressing a soft peck against your lips before he helped you readjust your position on his lap, so you wouldn’t hurt your neck too much with the way your body was twisted and turned to be able to be chest to chest to him.
‘Oh, stop that!’ Wooyoung’s frustrated voice came from somewhere beside you, your brain not registering that he was teasing, or that he was talking to you until he said: ‘One royal wedding will be shocking enough for your parents. I don’t think they will be able to handle two.’
Failing to disregard the sudden attention on you, your cheeks became warmer and more pink with each second; however, you refused to seek comfort in the crook of San’s neck because you just knew that would have made things worse. You concentrated on your tea instead, on the feel of the porcelain against your clammy palms, on the fluffy blanket on your thighs. On everything and anything that wasn’t your boyfriend or his friends.
‘You’re making her shy,’ one of the boys cooed and some other joined, pushing your heart to the verge of an explosion. You didn’t realise that your hands were trembling until San slid his fingers between yours around your mug and leaned close to your ear.
‘Let’s kick Wooyoung out of his bedroom. I know where the clean sheets are, and it can be locked from the inside,’ he whispered, his lips curling upwards, therefore grazing along your earlobe. You hesitated only for a split second before you nodded.
You got up from the couch and let your boyfriend lead you towards his friend’s bedroom. As the key turned in the lock the thought crossed your mind that you had never done anything so scandalising before, but somehow the immense amount of guilt never came. Instead, you felt excited.
Excited, hopeful and safe in San’s arms.
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You were arranging a bouquet of light pink carnations and peach-coloured buttercups for an anniversary when San walked out of the storage room at your workplace with a new roll of lace wrapping and his phone in his hands. With the way he dragged his feet, walking impossibly slowly, you just knew that his eyes were glued to the small screen; you didn’t need to tear your gaze away from the flowers that had your attention to be a hundred percent sure.
‘Have they started it already?’ You inquired between two twists and turns, holding the whole bouquet together with practised ease even when you had to take the wrapping from San with one of your hands. You still remembered how many you had dropped on the floor during your first few months at the flower shop. The number of flowers that had gotten destroyed in your care haunted you up to this day.
‘No, they’ve been focusing on mother and father so far. Mostly on father, but that’s kind of understandable,’ he said, your lips twitching at the mention of the royal couple.
Prince Seonghwa and Princess Yuna’s wedding had been a week ago and while you hadn’t attended the event, nor had done San, your boyfriend’s parents had made it to their mission to put you through anxiety when they had demanded to talk to you as soon as San had picked up the phone for them the day his cousin had announced the big news. They hadn’t gone as far as to threaten you or bribe you with more money than your type could comprehend, but you were well aware they didn’t think you were worthy of their son. God, they had quite literally told you he could have done much better.
‘Last minutes being a king. I wonder how he feels about that,’ you commented, putting in a bit of extra effort to not sound rude. You didn’t want San to think you hated his father even if, rightfully so, he hadn’t been your favourite person in the world.
‘I don’t think he minds it that much. He was only twenty-two when he took the throne. Three decades is a long time,’ he explained while he leaned the phone against a vase on the counter and put a part of his weight on his palms that laid flat against the marble. ‘The only thing he might be upset about is Seonghwa taking my place.’
You regretted the snort the moment you did it. Your hands froze around the perfectly wrapped bouquet and so did the air, which made it hard to look your boyfriend in the eye.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful,’ you apologised, putting the flowers in water before you took San’s hand in yours. ‘They are your parents and I’ll be forever grateful to them for your existence. For sending you to this country out of all the countries they could choose from.’ You shot a small albeit genuine smile in his direction. It might have sounded a little cheesy, but you meant every word. Without them you would have never had him.
‘I’m not mad at you,’ he reassured you, squeezing your hand and pressing a soft kiss atop of your shoulder blade before he turned back to his phone and you reached for the next pieces of flowers. You had five more bouquets to finish before your lunch break.
Seonghwa’s coronation officially started when your bibimbap was still in need of some more mixing, but that didn’t keep you from leaning closer to San’s phone and watching the live stream with more excitement than you had had for his father. You might have never spoken to your boyfriend’s cousin before, but you had heard enough stories about him from the boys to know he would be an amazing king. Mostly, because he cared for his people and because he genuinely wanted the responsibility that came with the title.
‘He looks like a leader. So serious-looking,’ you commented, shoving a huge spoonful of food in your mouth and humming in appreciation because goodness, it tasted just like your mom’s homemade bibimbap.
You lifted a bite in front of San’s mouth, so he could try it, too.
You watched the ceremony in complete silence; sometimes you fed him, sometimes you put your head on his shoulder while munching. It was nice. You hadn’t been so content in weeks if not in months.
‘Aren’t you disappointed?’ San asked you after the crown was put on Seonghwa’s head and the sovereign’s sceptre and the sovereign’s orb were placed in his hands.
You furrowed your brows in confusion.
‘About what? The ceremony?’ You asked, completely oblivious of what was going on in his head. You jutted out your lower lip; you didn’t like feeling as though you were kept in the dark. It made you feel stupid.
San shook his head, failing to hide the fond smile that was in the corner of his mouth.
‘Yuna is officially a queen now,’ he mumbled and despite how embarrassing it was to admit, it took you a couple of seconds to decipher what he was hinting at: you could have become a queen, too, if only he had gone along with a different plan, with a different goal in mind. You were pretty sure, based on your impactful experience with his parents, that they would have let him keep you if the other option was their nephew on the throne.
‘And you’re officially free. I think it’s an amazing day for everyone,’ you teased, gifting your boyfriend one of your happiest smiles, so that he wouldn’t have doubted that you loved him for who he was instead of what he could have become. You didn’t care about the title or the fortune that golden crown came with. Honestly, all you focused on was how heavy it must have been to carry it, especially when one wasn’t keen on looking after an entire nation.
One careful glance at San was enough for you to know that a well-thought-out retort was already on the tip of his tongue - maybe something along the line that his salary was barely enough to save up a decent amount in each month -, but he never got the opportunity to actually put his concerns into words. The bells above the front door cut him off and naturally, your conversation came to a momentary end.
The new customer was a middle-aged man with a little girl on his right, her tiny hand getting lost in her father’s much bigger one before she pointed at one of the peonies and the man let her explore the flower shop on her own.
‘Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?’ You greeted the man with a smile as soon as his steps came to a halt in front of the counter.
Like most people who visited your workplace, the man had only vague ideas of what he was looking for, but you were fluent in the language of flowers, hence it caused you no headache to help him find the most suitable bouquet for his wife’s birthday. He wanted something that expressed his dedication to make the woman smile, therefore, you gave him options like pink tulips and yellow flowers in general.
Meanwhile, the little girl pulled on the hem of San’s tee and didn’t let go of the fabric until he stood up and followed her towards the customer area that you liked to refer to as the jungle. The corner with the spiller plants for example were like a sight from a botanical book or the children’s book with the gorillas and the little boy taken in and raised by said wild animals.
You bit back a giggle when you saw San lifting the little girl up, so that she could see the red roses from up close; however, your subtle smile froze on your face anyway when the little one asked San:
‘Are you a prince?’ In the most innocent voice you had ever heard in your life. She was so pure. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about and yet, both of you needed a few seconds to realise she wasn’t onto something bigger than her - something that could have put her in harm’s way. ‘Can I be your princess?’
The mortification on her father’s face almost cracked you up, and you did chuckle discretely when looking up, you took a better look at the girl. What looked like a summer dress at first glance turned out to be a princess costume. She even had a tiny, plastic tiara on her head.
San put her on the ground and crouched down to be at eye level with her.
‘I’m sorry, princess, I would be honoured to become your prince, but you see, I already have my own princess and I need to treat her right,’ he explained with utmost patience, then took the little girl’s hand in his (with her permission and her father’s approving nod, of course) and pressed a feather-like kiss on the back of it. ‘Will you forgive me and keep my secret?’
You couldn’t see the little girl’s face, but she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, so your best guess would have been that she wasn’t entirely placated. Still, eventually she nodded and made grabby hands at your boyfriend, insisting that she wanted to see more of the flowers. That, you did not mind at all. In fact, you found it rather adorable.
(San with a tiny human being in his arms was adorable. They turned your legs jelly and your knees uncharacteristically weak.)
‘I’m sorry about Minah. They had Occupation day in school today and she insisted that being a princess is a full-time job, so her mother and I let her dress as one,’ the man explained and you shook your head with an endeared smile. You weren’t mad at his daughter nor were you jealous of the attention she got from your boyfriend. If anything, his willingness to humour her made you fall for San harder.
‘Minah is right. Being a princess is a full-time job,’ you said without contemplating whether your words sounded ridiculous, although before the whole royal guard incident, you would have thought she was childish, rightfully so. She couldn’t have been older than seven.
You didn’t talk much with the customer after that, but you didn’t mind the silence. It gave you the perfect opportunity to listen to San’s conversation with the little girl, which was just as hilarious as cheesy, especially when you caught him declaring his love for you with such vehemency as if real-life princes also needed to defeat magical creatures to protect their loved ones. Where was their debate about good dragons and bad dragons coming from?
A light shade of pink crept up your cheeks when the little girl asked San straightforwardly whether he was talking about you, but you tried to remain composed.
‘It’ll be 30,000₩, sir,’ you informed the customer with a customer-service smile and gave him the bouquet before you took his money; the exchange smooth and fast. The prices were written on the board above your head, right behind the counter; however, some people liked to criticise your craft in hope of a discount. Those customers never failed to make you feel anxious.
‘Thank you. It’s beautiful,’ the man complimented the arrangement before he bid his goodbye and turned towards his daughter. ‘Minah-yah! It’s time to go. Say goodbye.’
Albeit reluctantly, the little girl wrapped her arms around San’s right leg and hugged him. Then, like a real princess, she walked up to you and did a curtsy, which you returned with a few-second-long delay. You were too taken aback to react immediately.
You were still a little shocked when the door closed shut behind the two, but then San hugged you from behind and reality caught up with you. You melted against his broad chest.
‘She was cute,’ he commented, coaxing a hum out of you.
Closing your eyes and letting out a content sigh, in the back of your mind you knew that you still had a very serious conversation on hold. A conversation in which your boyfriend would tell you over and over again why he wasn’t enough: how he had barely enough savings, hence how you couldn’t possibly depend on him in financial emergencies. Like money was the most important thing in a relationship! Like you didn’t have your own savings.
Turning around in his arms, you linked your arms behind his neck and pressed your soft lips against his. You wished these gestures were proof that his heart of gold had won you over years ago; that you didn’t wish to become a queen and even if you did, you didn’t need the title because he already treated you like royalty. He was everything - kind-hearted, attentive, loyal and so much more - and you wouldn’t have changed a thing in your lives. 
Crown Prince or not, San made you happy and excited about the future. About your future. Even if you had a long way to go and might have had numerous battles to march into to earn his parents’ approval.
the end.
184 notes · View notes
hauntedparadises · 11 months
Text
Bruises & Bitemarks Ch.2
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“Did you get stabbed?” You ask, knowing the answer to your own question.
"No, I got a papercut at the office. Of course, I got fucking stabbed." He replied sarcastically.
Bakugou X Reader, Mafia au
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A03 / Prev Ch.
General warnings for Chapter: Cursing, Drinking, Pet Names, Adult Situations, Slight Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Dymanic, Mentions of Kidnapping, Foreplay, Vaginal fingering, Praise Kink, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Mention of other Kinks, Slight Angst.
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It had been almost a month since you had your very bizarre meeting with Bakugo. The fact that you had come so close to an apparent mafia boss, was still rattling around in your mind. When you were dropped off that evening by Kirishima, you found out his real name you did look Bakugo up. And sure enough, there were a plethora of news articles pointing to him as the head of a crime family.
He was telling the truth.
Well, every news article and post you came across had no solid proof that he was in fact a mafia boss. It was all speculation. Everything was shady eyewitness accounts of suspected gang activity. Or extremely blurry photos of someone who may have looked like Bakugo and his friends. But nothing actually connected him to any crime or illegal activity.
It’s not like it really mattered to you anyway, You haven’t seen or heard from him since that day. He had your number and you had him, but neither one of you had been the one to reach out to yet. You started to wonder if he hadn’t given you a fake number just to make you feel better. But you also wanted to desperately cling to the hope that maybe he was just busy with whatever he was doing. And he hadn’t had a chance yet to call.
It’s also not like you were spending your evenings sitting at home. Curled up on your busted and still blood-stained couch. Searching the internet for anything that had to do with him. You definitely weren’t watching the news now either, hoping they would run a story about your mystery man.
Yeah, totally not you.
Who were you kidding, the man probably didn’t even remember who you were. You were just some casualty that happened to him. Who knows if he remembered your name, or even what you looked like? He was an important guy with a lot going on. He didn’t have time to play nice with some random off the street, even if you stitched up a stab wound for him. He was nice enough to not kill you that night. You tried to not let the fact that you were once again alone bother you. Shooing the negative thoughts away. Before it made your already gloomy headspace swan-dive off the deep end.
So you did anything you could to erase the man from your mind. Going as far as to convince yourself that it was just some wild fever dream you had and that you imagined it all. Even if you still had a small trail of blood stains on your carpet and your couch.
For the past month, you had thrown yourself at the mercy of your boss. Working any overtime he tossed at you, working hard and late into the evenings. All you did was work and come home anyway so why did it matter if you felt like you were half dead on a Thursday evening? Finally driving home for a long weekend. Your music blaring as you sing along to the lyrics you knew by heart. You had a full playlist for nights like these. When you were exhausted and needed to keep yourself awake long enough to make it home. Every song was old, but upbeat and loud. It always managed to give you a bit of serotonin and just enough energy to make the drive home.
And it’s days like today that you needed it.
You were in a sour mood, to say the least. Worked sucked today, and I mean really sucked. You were already at the mercy of your manager. For skipping out on another day of ‘important’ party preparations. You left him short-staffed. When you decided to sleep on that luxurious leather couch in Bakugou's office. So your boss naturally was making you pay for it tenfold. You were currently demoted to the office errand girl. Running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Delivering mail, answering emails for people you didn’t even know. Hell, for the last two days you had been stuck on the lowest level of the building. Pulling and sorting tax records from five years ago. Pulling an endless amount of papers out of old dingy boxes. And having to sort through and make new boxes with the correct dates and file them away.
It was all the small annoying shit that nobody wanted to do, and now it was your job.
You were trying your best to keep yourself in a better mindset, but your mood was shit. Work was even shittier and you had zero friends to share your frustrations with. Not to mention as you were leaving the basement today. You managed to get the side of your skirt stuck on something that was jutted out from the wall. And it ripped almost the whole seam out of the side. And you had to quickly and quietly make it to your car before anyone got a glimpse of your mid and upper thigh.
You were tired and on the verge of a breakdown.
But it was the weekend for you, technically at least. You were gifted the opportunity to take a three-day weekend, by some miracle and you leaped at the chance. It wasn’t often you even got to take time off of work because money was always tight. But the sheer amount of overtime you had put in the last month alone gifted you the ability to take an extra day. You wanted nothing more than to fall into your bed and sleep all three days. Blissfully unaware of just how sad and boring your life had become.
You didn’t mind being on your own, not really. It’s just kind of how you were raised, to be independent from an extremely early age. And that very much carried over into your adult life. You never had the luxury of being a kid. You either had to help around the house and eventually find a job as soon as you were old enough to. If you weren’t doing one of those two things it was looking after your siblings. Making sure their homework was done or getting them ready for bed. You were used as another set of hands, a stand-in parent for them.
But you were fine like this right? You weren’t happy, but you were surviving. There had been more than enough times where your life could have ended, but you made it out ok. You could deal with the shitty job and lonely life if it meant that you had your own freedom. You didn’t have to rely on anyone or anything to make it in life.
But maybe you could go get a pet. Maybe a cat or something. Yeah, a cat could help with the existential dread you have been feeling for a while now. Something that relied on you to love and support it in life. Something that needed you to make it home every day even if it was for only a few head scratches and to feed them. It made a smile finally grace your face at the thought of walking into the local animal shelter. And picking the most scruffy and disgruntled cat you could find and making it love you. It would be worth the extra money each month to be able to have a companion.
But the smile on your face vanishes as quickly as it came. When you feel your car start to stutter and then die, smoke rising from underneath the hood. “What the fuck?” You yell in a panic.
Your engine light was flashing red and you had no choice but to let your car roll to a stop. Banging your hands on the steering wheel you let out the loudest yell you could muster. Well, this, was fucking wonderful, wasn’t it? As you throw the car into park and unbuckle yourself, get out of your car and slam the door shut behind you. It took you a couple of tries but you finally managed to get the hood popped. Black smoke billowed out as soon as you did. You wait for the smoke to clear some before you stick your under the hood for a closer inspection. Looking for any signs of immediate damage.
Your car was old as hell, but she had been good to you until now. Never causing you any problems, even if you were late a few times to get the oil changed or the spark plugs replaced. Unfortunately, you didn’t know the first thing about cars, other than how to drive an automatic. With a frustrated sigh, you slam the hood down and walk back to the driver's seat. Reaching for your phone you try to look up towing companies nearby. You didn’t exactly have the extra money right now to dish out for it, but you had to have a car for work.
It took you almost an hour to find someone who was willing to come that deep into the city to tow you. They were on the other side of town, but they were willing to come to pick your car up and take it to a shop to be looked at. It was going to cost you an arm and a leg, but it had to be done. You sit and play a clicker game on your phone until you get a text. Giving you an estimated time on when the tow truck would arrive.
It took over an hour, but you were relieved when you saw the flashing yellow lights driving up behind you. A tall lanky looking guy stepped out of the tow truck and walked to your window. He told you about what he was going to do, and where he was planning on dropping your car off. Having you sign different pieces of paperwork, getting your car insurance information. And finally the key to your car. As he starts hooking your car up to the tow truck, you grab everything that you needed from your passenger seat. It wasn’t a lot but you managed to stuff everything into the small backpack you had.
The tow guy offered to give you a ride home, but you declined. While he seemed nice enough you never trusted anyone, especially strange men. You watch sadly as he gets back into his truck and drives off with your car attached. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands you start your now long journey in the direction of home.
It wasn’t the fact that you had to walk home that bothered you. Right now your main problem was with the impractical fucking shoes you decided to wear to work today. The heels you chose went well with the outfit you picked, and like the fool you were. You started regretting your life choices before lunch had even rolled around. Your feet were aching by the time you sat down to eat, but by that time you had no choice but to suffer through it. You made any and every excuse you could think of to get off your feet. Even for a minute to ease the sting of your heels. Finally chucking them into the floorboard once you reached your car.
But after only twenty minutes of walking. You thought about just cutting off your feet to save yourself from the agony of having to walk any further. All you wanted right now was to yell at whatever deity you had managed to piss off or cry. Maybe you could do both because this was completely unfair. And as if the day couldn’t get any worse you feel the one tiny droplet of rain hit your forehead.
That’s great, just fucking wonderful. So not only were you regretting your choice to live. But you also now had the absolute pleasure of walking home in the rain.
Yep, no. This was fine, as the single drop of rain turns into two, then four. By the time you made it down two blocks, the rain had started coming down in a steady pour from the night sky. You huff out the saddest laugh possible as you feel yourself start to cry. But hey at least with the absolute monsoon you're having to walk in nobody will know you are crying!
You completely gave up on trying to rush through the rain. Instead, you slowly trudge your way down the sidewalk. You spot the neon blue and purple lights of a seedy little bar on the corner. You always pass by it, but until now you never thought much about it. It looked exactly like the type of place you shouldn’t be in. there was trash littered around the sidewalk, and bars on the front windows. But those neon lights were calling your name as you walked closer.
With another sigh, you turn your body towards the front door and step inside. If you were gonna kill over tonight, you might as well have a little liquor in your system.
Much to your surprise, you are met with the inside looking clean, but still darkly lit. It was a lot more vibrant than the outside led you to believe. The walls were painted a dark color, and it smelled just like a bar. Smokey, and with the remains of spilled drinks on the floor. There was a stage set off center, a pole jutting out of the floor. and as you studied the place more you saw that there was a staircase, leading to an upper-level bar.
The music was soft as you walked further into the bar. It looked mostly empty, but then again who goes out for a hard night of partying on a Thursday? There were a couple of people sitting in a booth next to the stage. And a bartender cleaning a couple of glasses at the end of the long bar. You make your way over to the bar and sit on one of the old rocky stools, and wait for the bartender to acknowledge you.
That acknowledgment came in the form of a red rag handed to you. It was well used but freshly clean.
"It won't help much, but at least it will dry your face and hands." He softly laughs as he hands you the towel.
"Thanks." You mutter, your mood dampened by the day.
As if he can tell he starts making you a drink. Not bothering to ask what you would like. Watching him work was fascinating. With precision, he pours a mix of three different clear liquors into a tall glass. Mixing in a splash of a brilliant blue liquor, and topping it off with what you assume to be lemonade. He pops another cup over the glass and shakes it vigorously.
“I hate to tell you but I’m not supposed to let you in here without a chaperone.” He says, Popping the seal between the two glasses.
He pours the liquid into a dainty goblet before sticking in a straw, giving you a wink, and sliding it over to you.
“What do you mean?” you ask a little confused.
As far as you knew you didn’t need to have anyone with you since you were of legal age to drink in a bar. At least that is how you always thought it was. You were never the type to go out and party anyway, you always had to work or take care of things at home. Maybe the laws changed recently and you just weren’t aware. Because up until a month ago you hadn’t started following the news.
“Legally women aren’t allowed into a gentlemen’s club unless they have a male escort.” He tells you. “But I’m not saying anything if you don’t” He finishes before giving you another wink.
“I’ll be out as soon as the rain lets up, I promise.” you try to assure him.
You didn’t want this poor man's act of kindness to get him into trouble. He looks at you for a moment before pulling out his phone and walking away. He must have had something he wanted to say privately, which wasn’t your business to pry. Instead, you finally bring the drink closer to you and take a sip of the mystery drink. It was very fruity and sweet, you couldn't even taste the liquor. It was delicious, peach, pineapple, and lemon being the front runners of flavor.
Oh, this could be dangerous for you. You giggle to yourself as the thought runs through your mind. For the first time today, you relax, as the alcohol enters your system
You pull out your phone and try to dry it off with what little part of the towel that was still dry. Lucky for you the protector you kept on your phone shielded it from any water damage. You idly scroll on your phone checking your social media, and it was bare. Not that you expected anything different.
You had made it through your fourth drink when the chill of being wet hit you. Despite being cool in the place the alcohol was giving you the illusion of being warm. You really should be heading home. The rain had let up slightly, and it was getting late. Deciding now was the best time to signal the bartender and pay your tab. That was before you heard the front door open and what sounded like a group of men enter the establishment. You don’t turn around to see exactly how many of them there were before you hear the stool next to your slide back. Someone was standing slotted between the stool and you. The bartender's earlier words come back to haunt you.
You weren’t supposed to be here without an escort. And there was probably a good reason for it. Who knows what happens to women like you? That were brave or stupid enough to enter a place like this unprotected? You try your best to turn your body away from the person next to you. Hopefully hiding the fact that you were a woman alone in a seedy place.
“Evening sir, what’ll it be?” The bartender asks the man beside you.
You look up just enough to see the bartender’s friendly smile. He didn’t look worried about your safety, so maybe you would be ok.
“I’ll have what the lady is having, and bring her another one.”
The sound of that rough and familiar voice forced you to whip your head in the man’s direction. When your eyes finally meet his deep crimson ones he has a smirk of pure sin on his face. It was the very same man who had been plaguing your thoughts for almost a month now.
It was Bakugou.
“Tsk. I distinctly remember telling you if you got into any trouble to give me a call.” He gives your pitiful state a look over before bringing his eyes back up to meet yours. “You look like a wet rat.”
“I, uh. Hello to you too?” you say as a question rather than a statement. “What are you doing here?”
Holding up a bag in his hand he nods towards it.
"Figured you might want to be dry and catch a ride home."
That did sound like the best thing ever at this point. You were sticky from the rain, your clothes clinging to your every curve. You were starting to feel gross like you were covered in slime from all of the rain. Maybe it was your brain going on autopilot or the steady flow of alcohol in your system. But you didn’t question him any further. He backs up from the bar and holds out his hand for you to take. With a soft smile, you hop down from your stool and let him guide you.
“The red room is free currently.” The bartender says.
Bakugo nods his head at the bar behind the bar and starts leading you towards the back of the club. As he pulls you along you start to see that he had a small group of people with him. Currently sitting at a table closer to the stage. And they were all familiar faces it turns out as you pass by the table. It looked to be the same men who were responsible for busting down your door that night. And holding you at gunpoint.
They simply smile, Kirishima even giving you a friendly wave as you pass by the table. With your free hand, you wave back excitedly at the men as you pass by.
Walking the short distance to the back you are met with a set of doors. Bakugo picks the one on the left, opening the door and holding it open for you. Once you were inside you were met with a completely different atmosphere than the rest of the bar. It looked like some kind of private room. With LED lights running along the top and bottom of the floor-to-ceiling walls. It was the strangest room you had seen so far. No matter where you turned you could see the entire room, thanks to the mirrors. Right in the middle of the room stood a Fancy looking chair. Decorative and gold, the low light highlighting its design.
"What is this?" You ask looking around.
You had a good idea of what it may be. But the alcohol in your system was making you a little clueless and curious at the same time. You knew it was stupid to ask such an obvious question, but you couldn’t help it. You knew what a gentlemen's club was, but you didn’t know what a room like this would be used for.
"You don't wanna know." He huffs a laugh at you.
He walks close enough to you to hold out the bag for you to take. As you go to open the bag a smile lights up your face at what you find. You pull out a large black hoodie, and a pair of black joggers. They were big, even for you but you weren’t one to complain. Sitting the bag down and placing the dry clothes on top of it you start to strip. Kicking off your stupid heels, letting them hit the floor with a thud. You reach around to your lower back and grab the zipper for your skirt. Sighing in relief as you pull the zipper down and are finally able to untuck the wet shirt you had on. You barely started to pull the shirt up your body before you hear Bakugo speak.
"Woah, I'm standing right here!" He barks, turning his face away from you.
When you look over at him you meet his eyes in the mirror. HE had turned himself around, but he was still able to see you thanks to mirrors.
"The room is full of mirrors silly!"
He shields his vision with his hand before he speaks again.
“I’m trying to be respectful here Sweetheart, and you're making it hard.” He laughs softly, shaking his head as he speaks.
I mean correct me if I'm wrong," You say unhooking your bra and letting it fall into the pile with your shirt. "I'm pretty sure you've seen this before."
You have been tipsy, but you still remember the ashy blond walking in on you mid-change. He even yelled at you for not shutting the door before you started to undress.
“Just like then, I’m trying to be respectful.” He says still holding his hand over his eyes.
"I don't know, guess I'm just not shy about it." You laugh, as you peel your panties down and let them collect on the top of the pile.
That was a bold face fucking lie. You were one hundred percent shy about being stripped down to nothing in front of him. Even with the alcohol making, you feel lightheaded and carefree. You could still feel your heart beating away in your chest. You stand there for a minute frozen as you look at him. Maybe your heart was racing. Because you were secretly hoping he would lose that respectableness' and take a peek at you. Maybe you wanted him to see you stripped down to nothing, waiting just a few feet away for him.
The man standing before you was probably the most good-looking person you had ever had a chance to see. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones high and he had that hot ass body too. Lean and all muscle, and heavily tattooed. You had come to terms with the fact that you wanted him. Hell, you wanted him that first night. Even if he was injured and bleeding you still would have taken the chance to jump him. If only you were bold enough to make the first move.
In the back of your mind, you had the tiny hope they maybe he liked you too.
Shaking the thought from your mind you quickly turn to start redressing. He was probably losing patience with you already for having to drag himself out here to rescue you. The first thing you throw on is the joggers, they fit fairly well for a men's style cut. They were just too long for your legs. You wondered who they belonged to because it definitely wasn’t the man with you.
Now, the hoodie on the other hand looked big enough to fit him. It was almost like nothing to slip it on. Pushing your hands through the sleeves and bunching them up so your hands were free.
"You can turn around now." You smile at his back, even though he can't see it.
When he turned around he gives you a glance as if to confirm that you were in fact fully dressed. Before he turned the rest of his body. Looking down at the discarded clothes on the floor. He looks at them for a moment before locking his eyes back with you.
"You ready?" He asks.
Nodding your head you bend down to grab your wet clothes and shove them into the bag. It was easy enough thankfully you were able to hide your panties from him before he had a chance to see. Stuffing them deep into the bag under the rest of your clothes. With one last wet plop into the bag. You pick it up and walk towards him, slinging your backpack over your shoulder as you went.
“Ready,” You say and he holds his arm out for you to take.
The walk back into the main part of the bar was quiet. The only stop you make is when the two of you come across the table of his men, Now surrounded by four nearly naked women. One woman was rubbing the shoulder of the black-haired guy. The guy Bakugou had called dunceface had a topless woman straddling his lap. A goofy smile plastered on his face. And Kirishima? Well, there was a woman who had her ass barely sat on the table in front of him, her hands roaming the curves of his arms. If it wasn’t for the two inches of space left between them, she would have been sitting on his lap.
"I'm taking princess home, if anything pops up let me know," He says looking at Kirishima.
“No problem,” The redhead nods to Bakugou. Turning his attention away from the woman seated in from of him he smiles at you. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble,” He says with a wink.
"I'll make sure he is a good boy" You winked back at the redhead.
The round of laughter erupts from the table and fills the empty bar. Even if the situation was a little weird you couldn’t help but smile. It also didn’t hurt that you had your mystery man back, just to rescue you from your dreadful night.
He doesn’t linger as the men turn their attention back to the scantly clad women in front of them. Guiding you to the front door you see that the rain was still coming down hard. But a blacked-out SUV was parked and waiting on you. A man you've never seen before hops out of the driver's seat, umbrella in hand and runs over to you and Bakugo.
When he hands off the umbrella he stops himself before he walks. Glancing down to your free hand he sees the pair of heels you still had yet to put back on. Wordlessly he turns and picks you up with one arm. He doesn’t even grunt as he bears your weight with ease. Out of instinct you go and wrap your legs around him, and squeal at the attempt, he was going to make at carrying you.
“No, I’m too heavy for that!” you say panicking as he adjusts his grip on you.
“You calling me weak Sweetheart? I could hip thrust three times your weight easily.” He says with a smug tone.
He doesn’t give you any time to complain as he starts walking. Making sure that he keeps the umbrella over you, shielding your body from the heavy rain. The poor driver stood by the back passenger side door waiting for you to get close enough so he could open it. In a few quick strides, you made it close enough for the driver to open the door and let Bakugo sit you down in the seat. You quickly scoot over so he can follow you in. The door closed and you saw the driver round the big SUV and open his door, jumping inside.
The car had been running the entire time, so the inside was nice and warm. The leather seats were nice and toasty as you settle yourself into them. Bakugou’s thigh came to rest next to yours as the driver puts the vehicle into drive and takes off down the street. You soak in the quiet warm atmosphere of the car, thankful that you were rescued from such a terrible day.
"So wanna tell me what happened?" Bakugou was the one to break the silence.
You sigh loudly, not wanting to relive the day's hellscape.
"Long day at work, boss is a pain in the ass. Has me doing intern work, fetching coffee delivering mail that kind of stuff. I ripped my favorite skirt halfway through the day. I just wanted to go home and forgot about all this shit. I was driving my car, singing my little heart out, then poof!" You make an explosion sound effect and use your hands to make an explosion. "My car died. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Oh, I bet she knows just about everything there is to know about cars right?" You laugh at your joke." It's all a lie, I don't know the first thing about cars! So I spend money I don't have to get my car towed. Decide to finally walk home, in these horrible heels."
"Then it started raining on you." He finishes your long rant about the day's mishaps.
"Exactly! Like I can't catch a break today." You sigh again, finally leaning back into the seat.
"You have some shitty luck sweetheart, lucky for you I showed up."
"How did you know where I was?" You finally ask.
He just smirks at you "I have my ways."
What the hell does that even mean? You were certain he had completely forgotten about you, but maybe he was keeping tabs on you this whole time. But why? You weren’t important, and you didn’t serve much of a purpose other than giving him some shitty stitches.
"Fine, keep your secrets." You pout, sticking your tongue out at him.
He laughs at you. "You’re not hard to track down."
'Excuse me?" You gawk "I work and go home, I don't have time for anything else."
"I know.' He says casually.
"If I didn't know any better I would say you were calling me boring." You huff out.
"Nah, just overwhelmed. Can't enjoy life when all you do is work and sleep."
I mean he was right. You didn't have time for anything outside of working and sleeping to prepare for work. As bad as it sucked you had no choice but to live like that. You had to work overtime every week just to be able to pay your bills. But you were a single woman in the city, you had to do what you needed to survive.
"That obvious Huh?" You laugh a little sad.
"As I said, you're easy to track. But it seems like your weekend is free now." He looks at you and winks.
Even with the alcohol flowing through your system, you can feel your cheeks flood with heat.
"I appreciate you taking me home, by the way." You say turning your head away to look out the window.
The only problem was. That you were slowly making your way in the opposite direction of your apartment. To the suburbs outlining the city. And come to think of it Bakugou didn't tell the driver and directions, he just took off.
"Yer staying with me tonight, I wanna make sure you don't get sick."
"What no! I'm fine, I don't get sick easily plus I don't wanna put you out." Your panicking rant falls from your lips.
"Are you arguing with me, sweetheart?"
"No, I just. You don't have to do that for me. You've already done more than enough to help." You say pointing to the dry clothes and waving your other hand around to the vehicle hour sitting in.
He looked a little taken aback by your words, his eyes widening for just a second but you were able to catch it.
"Just let me be nice, I don't get to do it often."
Well, that was unexpected coming from him. Because despite how the two of you had met just a month prior he had been nothing but nice to you. You hadn't done anything to deserve him being nice for no reason. You definitely didn't want to call yourself trusting of others. Because time and time again you were proven to be a fool.
But who knows maybe he was taking pity on you.
The vehicle you were in continued to drive down the highway. Away from the lights of the city, and you were headed to the suburbs now. The fancy gated communities and manicured landscapes. Started making their appearance once the driver found the right exit. Pulling up to a guard shack the driver waits for the arm blocking the lane to move. Hearing a click and like magic, the arm lifted allowing him to continue to drive.
Bakugo was typing away on his phone, his leg bouncing next to yours. It was silent again between you, but you wanted to be the one to break it this time.
“Fine, but next time I get to kidnap you ok?” you say laughing softly at the running joke.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “And where do you plan to take me?”
You think on for a moment, as he looks at you. He had his phone in his hand, lighting up his face.
“I don’t know, but Maybe we can do something fun that doesn’t require me to break out a suture kit, or drown in the rain.” You shrug nothing was immediately coming to mind, now that you were put on the spot.
You feel him turn in his seat, adjusting himself to face you. A sly grin plastered on his handsome face.
“And what if I decide to keep you huh?” He says leaning towards you. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble so far.”
From the way he worded it you would have taken it as an insult. But it was the way that said it that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. His voice dropped, leaving you clutching on to each deep and rough word he said. Not to mention how he was steadily invading your personal space by how close he was leaning into you. Your breath catches in your throat. But before he has time to elaborate the vehicle you are in comes to a stop. Feeling the park being put into park and the driver rounding the car.
He pulls away from you right as his door swings open, the rain still pouring down right outside. The driver once again offered the umbrella in his hand to Bakugou as he slid out of the seat to stand. Adjusting his clothing a bit before he turned his attention to you.
“You comin?” He asks, a smirk still on his face. “Or are you gonna make me drag you out?”
Oh, fuck. Why did that make your stomach flip so hard? The thought of getting manhandled by him, makes your brain shut down for a minute. But apparently, it was more than enough time for him to keep good on his promise. Before you realize what is happening he leans into the vehicle and grabs your ankle. Tugging you roughly across the seat. Sliding right up to the edge of the car door, your legs landing just outside of his. You can’t help the embarrassed yelp that leaves you as you are then grabbed by the hips. One of his hands finding your mid back and hoisting you out of the seat like you weighed nothing. You quickly throw your arms around his neck and lock your legs around his waist.
He carried you just like that all the way to the front door. The driver holding the umbrella again. As he had one strong hand firmly planted right above the swell of your ass. His fingers dug into the fatty area. With his other hand now free he quickly typed in a code on the security panel by the front door. And you hear a set of clicks as the door unlocks.
The problem was he didn't let you down once you crossed the threshold into his home. Instead, he kicks off his shoes by the door and walks you further inside the house. Using his other hand to switch on lights as he passes them. He didn't stop until you had walked through the living room and into the kitchen. When he finally lets you go, he sits you gently on the counter.
He doesn't let go of you right away, he only pulls his head back far enough to look at your face. His eyes meet yours for a moment before his eyes dart down to your lips. A smile creeps onto his face when you subconsciously run your tongue across your lips.
"What?" You ask feel rather shy now.
This man must love intimidating people because every time he had close contact with you. He had the same shit-eating grin on his face. His hands find your hips, grabbing hold of them like he was waiting for you to fall over or something.
“Probably wanna get a shower in before I feed ya.” He says low, almost like he had something else he wanted to say instead.
“Yeah, actually that would be great,” You say innocently.
“Up the stairs, second door on the right. Can’t miss it.”
Your stomach was doing the thing again where it felt like it was on a huge drop on a rollercoaster.
“Oh, you don’t wanna carry me there too? Some kidnapper you are.” You blurt out trying to be funny.
And you thought it was hilarious too until you feel his hand come up and hold you under your chin. His thumb was on one side of your jaw, and his fingers splayed on your other cheek. The pressure he held on your face caused your lips to pucker out and part, forcing a small gasp to escape.
“You enjoy being a brat huh?” He asks leaning forward far enough so his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. “Just so happens I specialize in taming that shit. So I suggest you take your pretty little ass upstairs and get in that shower, or else.” He practically purrs in your ear.
You are fairly certain you blacked out there for a second. With the heat of his breath fanned out across your skin leaving goosebumps behind. You could only sit there frozen in his grasp. Maybe it was your wishful mind playing tricks on you. But you could swear that was intended to get this exact kind of reaction out of you. He knew you were attracted to him, and he was using it to probably play you. There was absolutely no way this man found you attractive.
“I, I-” You can’t help but stutter.
Your brain felt so foggy, and your body warm. And the hand on your hip slowly works its way down your thigh. His fingers trailed lightly over your clothed leg. Drifting further and further towards your innermost thigh. When he pulls back even the alcohol in your system couldn’t blur the way his pupils were dilated, his breath heavy. Like he was trying to keep himself composed around you.
Maybe you weren’t reading it wrong after all.
He pulls his head back just enough to place a soft kiss on your cheek before he lets you go. Backing up completely from you, and leaning against the counter a few steps away from him. He crosses his arms and stares you down, His eyes raking over your body. And you can’t help but do the same to him. You let your eyes wander down to the tight shirt he is wearing. How each crevice and crease lands right where a well-defined muscle is. How his pants sit perfectly around his hips. And your eyes can’t help but widen when you see the clear outline of a bulge sitting in his pants.
Darting your eyes away you can’t help but feel heat flood your body.
“Go on Sweetheart, I’ll find something for you to wear.” He says with a soft laugh at your embarrassment.
You are on autopilot as you hop down from the counter and shuffle your way out of the kitchen. You didn’t even bother to really take in his house as you ran away. Your mind was still too busy clearing the fog to worry about the lavish home you found yourself in. Making your way up the staircase, you find the door he mentioned just a few minutes before. And when you open it you are greeted by a Black and red bedroom. Everything from the soft lighting to the deep red and dusty black was a sight to behold. The room was massive, probably the same size as your entire apartment. The curtains were already drawn closed over the windows. And you glanced around at the minimal art that was around. Decorative and expensive-looking pieces hung from the walls. Walking towards the open bathroom door you pass over a lush carpet beneath your feet.
As you finally enter the bathroom the light comes on automatically for you. And while you never thought you would ever say this, the bathroom is stunning. Dark-colored tile made up the floors and walls. Soft lighting emits from various places around the tiled walls. There was a double sink in the same dark brown color as the tile. n elegant oval tub sat behind a pair of glass doors on the back wall. Everything was sleek and dark, a true beauty to behold. The only problem was that you didn’t see the shower. Walking further into the bathroom you see there is a half wall just to your left. As you peer around the corner you finally see the shower. Large open, with wood slats as the floor.
“Touch the panel to start the water.” you hear Bakugous voice call out.
Whipping your head back around the corner and to the door, you don't see him, but he was definitely in the bedroom now. Seeing as the doorway was clear you turn back around to search for the panel he mentioned. Spotting it right by the entrance of the shower. You tap the screen lightly, and it comes to life. It was easy enough to figure out. Tapping a few buttons to fix the temperature you tap on the start button and the shower magically starts.
You peek around the corner one more time to check if he had walked in. Suddenly paranoid he might catch a glimpse of you naked. Even though just an hour earlier you were completely bare. Just a few inches away from him silently hoping he would turn around to see you.
When the coast was still clear you quickly began to strip. The large black hoodie you were wearing slipped off your boy without a struggle. And one swift tug to the joggers you wore left them in a little pile around your feet. Stepping out of them, you scoot the used clothes to the side, making sure to remember to pick them up later.
And you were pretty sure this was close to heaven as you were ever gonna get. Steady streams of water jutted out of the wall, cascading over your body. While the rainfall shower head in the ceiling melted away any and all care you had at the moment. The water was so warm compared to the last rain bath you had received. You let yourself soak in the water for a few minutes. Just enjoying the soft massage of water hitting your tired skin.
You grab the bottle for the shampoo and pop it open. You are met with hints of rosemary and thyme, maybe even a little mint. Whatever it was it smelled delightful. Dropping some into your hand you wash your hair. Making sure that you work your fingers through any tangles you find. Once that was done you grab the matching conditioner and do the same. Loving the way it made your hair feel after it was washed out. The only other bottle that was left was a body wash, popping the top open you bring it up t your nose and take a whiff. Instantly you catch notes of woodsy amber and smoke. A rich masculine smell that was for sure. It definitely reminded you of the flirty blonde that was somewhere in the house, waiting for you.
You have to admit you were a little sad when you finally tapped the screen in the shower to turn it off. But you couldn’t very well stay in there forever. You peek around the corner and to your surprise, you see that the clothes you had kicked to the side were missing. And there was a fluffy black towel hanging almost eye level with you. Looking around you see a pile of clothes sitting on the edge of the long sink. The only thing you could think of was that he had quietly made his way in and put the items there for you.
Grabbing the towel you wrap it around yourself and start to dry off. The towel was long enough that it wrapped around you with ease. It didn’t even leave a gap in the front like your other towels did at home. Once you finally step out of the shower mostly dry you head to the clothing that had been laid out for you. Picking it up you see that it was a large and very comfy-looking shirt, one that had been worn for years. Faded and soft in your hands. Under it, you find a simple pair of black boxer briefs.
You throw the shirt on, making sure to pull your hair up and out of the way. It hit you about mid-thigh and felt so soft against your freshly clean skin. You turn and grab the pair of boxer briefs and laugh slightly as you pull them on. They clearly weren't your size, and they fit you more like a pair of boxers would than anything else. But still, you appreciated the courtesy. Of him not leaving you completely bare under the shirt.
Once you were dressed you made your way back down the stairs. As soon as you hit the bottom of them you were met with the delightful aroma of food being cooked. It was more than enough to have your mouth watering just from the smell alone.
The tiled floor felt cold as you shuffle your way back to the kitchen. And there is where you are sure you felt your jaw hit the floor. There stood Bakugou his back to you. No shirt to be seen, and a pair of black sweatpants. That were dangerously close to showing you more than you thought you would ever be ready to see. In the light of the kitchen, you could see the detail of the tattoos on his skin.
Almost all of the skin on his back was covered in ink and was beautiful work. Highly detailed and looked like it took quite a few sessions to complete. You could also see the faint lines from scars on his back and shoulders. Spread out among his absolutely ripped back.
“We’ll pick you up something a little closer to your size tomorrow.” He says casually, not bothering to turn to you. “Go sit, I'm almost done.”
You don’t know why but you nod your head and walk towards the breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen. Feeling embarrassed once again because he didn’t actually see you nod your head. You just silently followed his demand. Scooting yourself further, you see he already has two cups and silverware for the two of you.
You watch as he starts plating the food, and walks over to you. He sits your food down in front of you and instead of taking the spot across the table like you thought he would. He sits down right beside you, pushing you into the corner more.
“It looks delicious!” You say and you finally glance down at the food in front of you.
He doesn’t reply, but he gives you another smirk. Like he knows just how good his cooking skills are. You both eat in peaceful silence. Neither one of you bothered by just enjoying the company of each other as you eat. And you didn’t realize just how hungry you were until you were stuffing the last bite of food into your mouth. a dopey smile on your face.
“So it was good huh?” He asks like he didn’t already know.
“I’m gonna need that like, every day.” You giggle looking at him.
“So food is the way to your heart, got it.” He smirks before grabbing your empty plate and used fork.
He sits them on top of his own plate and drinks the last of the drink in his cup. Before taking it too and walking over to the sink. Sitting them down, and starting the water.
“I can do that!” You chime scooting yourself over to the edge of the bench and standing up. “You cooked, I can clean.”
I mean that was the least you could do given all the things he has done for you this evening.
“I’ll wash and you can dry, then we can go to bed. How about that?” He asks.
You nod your head in agreement, the threat of sleep was luring you in. And it was quick washing up the mess from dinner. He grabbed and scrubbed the dishes before washing them off and handing them to you to dry. Each one fits into the drying rack like a game of Tetris.
Once it was done he takes the wet rag from you and hands you a fresh one, letting you dry your hands off, and setting it down.
“Come on, I’m beat.” He says nodding towards the stairs.
You follow shortly behind him as he leads the way out of the kitchen and turns off the light. All the way up the stairs and into the short hallway. His hands reach out and one by one the house starts to go dark behind you. You follow him into his bedroom unsure of where he wanted you to go. You stand a little awkwardly in the middle of the room while he works his way over to a shiny long black dresser. Opening the second drawer and pulling out a single pair of red-checkered boxer briefs.
“You can lay down, the bed is way better than that shit you sleep on,” He says over his shoulder.
You glance between him and the bed, was he really going to have you sleep in here with him?
“Are you sure you don’t wanna put me in a guest room or something? I don’t wanna invade your personal space,” You say a little shyly.
“Sweetheart, I know I didn’t take you to dinner. But I’m pretty sure those little moans you were letting out meant the food was good. “ He gives you the most devilish smirk “I’m getting a shower, I’ll be quick.”
Oh, fuck did he really just throw your stupid joke back at you? The memory still made you cringe every time you thought about it. How you accidentally let it slip that he needed to take you out for dinner before he tried to get you into bed. This was just proof he was never going to let you live that down.
You almost wanna throw yourself onto the bed though, it was large and looked comfortable. As you hear the water start up in the bathroom, you think it's best to do as he says. The last thing you needed was for him to accuse you of trying to sneak a peek at him. by continuing to stand in directly in line with the still open bathroom door. You advert your gaze before you see him start to shamelessly strip and head for the bed. Pulling the covers down just far enough to climb inside.
And why you ever thought this was a bad idea you will never know. As soon as your head hits the pillows you are once again brought to the edge of heaven. The pillows, the blankets, even the bed left like you were laying on a cloud. It was almost too much for you to comprehend in your still slightly drunken state.
You lay there in bed blissfully unaware of the sound of the shower turning off. or the light switching off IN the bathroom. The only thing that had you coming back down to earth was the slight dip the bed made on the opposite side of you. Hair is still damp and not as spiky as before. his chest bare and those boxer briefs clinging to his muscular thighs. leaving nothing to the imagination.
You turn your head away before you get caught staring yet again. And you feel the covers being pulled back so he could lay down. There was still a decent amount of distance between you, but he didn’t let that last long. As soon as the final light went out he threw a large arm around your waist and pulled you close to him. Your back resting against his chest, his head resting just above yours on his pillow.
He felt so warm against you, one of his legs pushing between yours as he made himself comfortable. The only problem you had was that you suddenly forgot how to breathe. As his hand finds its way under the hem of your borrowed shirt and rests gently on your stomach.
“You good?” he asks his head dipping slightly to look over at you.
All you can manage is to shake your head slightly and close your eyes. You were nervous as hell, You hadn’t been this close to someone in a very long time. Even if you were struck stupid by his good looks, You still had that lingering fear that he didn’t like you like that.
“You can talk, I’m not gonna bite. Yet, at least,” He whispers the last part into your ear.
“You can’t say stuff like that!” You finally manage to get out.
You tried to squirm against his hold on you. But all he did was wrap his arm tighter around your midsection and push his leg further up between your legs. Forcing a gasp out of you when you feel his thigh rub right against your pussy. Giving you just the tiniest amount of friction.
“And why not?” He asks again, but this time he kisses your exposed jaw.
“I know you don’t like me, and that's ok. I jus-”
He didn’t let you finish before he bites down gently on your neck. Forcing a whimper out of you as his teeth sink into your tender flesh. At the same time, he pushes on your body forcing you to roll your hips against the thigh slotted between your legs.
“Sweetheart,” He starts before forcing you to roll onto your back and look at him. “ You think I’m gonna go out of my way to pick up a woman from a dingy ass strip club if I didn’t find her attractive?”
You tried to turn your head away but his hand shot up and grabs your chin forcing you to keep eye contact.
“ You think I would bring you all the way to my house, cook you dinner and let you lay in my bed if I didn't like you?” He asks again
He rolls you over to lay flat on your back. And he sits up long enough to slither between your legs, the shirt you were wearing riding up in the process. He looks down at you and even in the dark, you can see the hunger in his eyes.
“The only fucking reason I’m not ripping off your clothes and fucking you into these sheets. Is because you're still drunk.”
You whimper as he rolls his hips into your clothed core. The added fricken from the growing erection in his boxer briefs catching on your clit. He may be saying one thing, but his body was saying something completely different. With another roll of his hips, he grinds you harder on him. Leaning forward enough to meet your lips with the faintest touch of his.
“And I want you to remember every single moment when I completely ruin you.” He all but whispers into your lips.
You lean up just far enough to close the distance between the two of you. His lips crashed down on yours. Taking the time to take your bottom lip between his teeth and suck on the supple flesh. His kiss turned hungry as another whine escapes you, begging him for more. You were never the type to fuck on the first date. But just from this, you were thinking about throwing that all into the wind. You wanted everything and more that he was willing to give you. Your body was aching with the need for that sweet release.
“Please,” You beg between kisses.
He groans as he hears the whiny plea fall from your lips. His hands coming up to grope at your breasts through his shirt. His fingers easily find your pert nipples. And roll one between his thumb and finger. His head dipped just low enough to suck the other one into his mouth, and rolling his tongue over it. You didn’t care if he completely soaked the whole shirt, you wanted more.
“Please,” You whine a bit louder, you wanted him to take you.
He lifts himself away from your chest long enough to say. “ I’m trying to stay respectful, and you're making that hard. So fucking hard.”
In the back of your mind, you knew that you were pushing a limit with him. But the call of your body was forcing that thought to be drowned out with pleas for ecstasy.
“Respect me tomorrow,” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them.
He growls before he lifts himself off of you. Staring at your exposed skin with hungry eyes. You see his resolve slipping as he stares down to where you two are still connected. barely anything keeping him from keeping his word of not fucking you into his mattress. He gives himself a moment to think before he grabs the hem of your borrowed underwear. And jerks it down and over your ass, your legs flying up at the intensity of his strength. He pulls your legs up with the underwear as he slides them off of your legs. Letting them fall from his hand and onto the floor next to the bed.
As your legs bounce back to the bed, he grabs a hold of your thighs, forcing them apart. Sliding them down until his thumbs catch on your lips and he uses his thumbs to pull them open. Taking a moment to appreciate the already soaking wet slick seeping out of your hole.
“I’ve barely even touched you and look at how fucking wet you are.” He smirks, “But I’m still not gonna fuck you tonight Princess,”
You didn’t get to open your mouth to protest before you feel one of his long thick fingers dip into your folds. A sinful moan breaks free as his finger finally comes into contact with your clit. He rubs a soft circular pattern against your sensitive bud. that already had you bucking against him. His free hand comes up to grab your hip stilling your movements.
“But maybe I’ll let you cum on my fingers if you ask nicely.”
Even the sound of his voice sent a shock straight to your pussy. You just knew he had to feel it when you clenched around nothing as he spoke.
“Please, Let me cum.”
You didn’t have to bed very hard for him to cave to your request. Because as soon as you said those words he lets his hand dip lower. The same finger that was on your clit, was now teasing your entrance. If only he would let go of your hip you could easily force his finger to slide into you.
“You want daddy to take care of you baby?” He coos at you.
And you feel him slip his finger just a little bit further into you. At this point, you had no problem sounding like a wonton whore, willing to do anything he asked. Just as long as he stopped teasing you.
“Please Daddy, I want your fingers in me.”
In one solid motion, he pushes his thick finger inside you. Hitting that perfect spot just outside of your own reach. Pulling the digit out he instantly pushes back into you. Setting a rough piston of his finger, drilling into the spongy little bundle of nerves. He finally releases his hold on your hip and lets you rock in motion with him. Meeting the pace he set. When he sees just how hard you working to meet his hand, he was quick to add another finger. Stretching you wider to fit his girthy fingers.
“What a needy little slut I found huh? All fucking soft and sweet, just waiting for me.” He says curling his fingers, Forcing a high-pitched whine to echo on the walls. “You gonna be my good girl and cum for me?” He asks, slapping the outside of your thigh for extra emphasis.
“Yes, please wanna come so bad.”
Your eyes lolled shut, and you bit into your lower lip as you feel the telltale signs of your climax creeping up. You never came this easy before. It had been barely ten minutes and this man was already on the verge of making you lose it.
“God, you're clenching my fingers so fucking tight. I can’t wait to have that little cunt wrapped around my cock.” He Moans slipping a third finger into your already tight hole, he drives the digits onto you with a purpose. “Come on show me how much of a good girl you are.” His thumb rises up long enough to start assaulting your clit. Everything from the pressure he had to the pace he set was intended to make you come.
Fuck, that was all it took to have you falling over the edge, your climax shooting off in your body. The overwhelming sensation as his fingers still move in and out of you. Working with your body to ride out your high. His thumb still moving in strong strokes against your bundle of nerves. Had you crying out in pleasure. His own choked moan left him as he rocked himself with you, working you through your orgasm.
As you tried to catch your breath he took a moment to catch his own. Before he finally pulled his fingers out of you and hold them up to inspect. He reached with his free hand and tapped a button and the bedside lights turned on. With the light on you could see just how covered his hand had become with your release. Sticky clear lines connected his fingers.
Before he had the chance to move his hand, you grab it and bring it down to your open mouth. Pulling his long slick covered digits into your mouth. Sucking and swirling your tongue around each one, cleaning up the mess you had made.
“Oh, fuck, fuck!”
You watch as his eyes roll back and his hips stutter against you, A breath moan catching in his throat. His other hand comes up to grab your hip, grinding your bare pussy against his strained erection. The grip he has on your hip is mean, his fingers digging into your skin. All the while his hips buck into you. You watch in a post-orgasm high as his head falls forward and he lets out a breathy chuckle. Popping his fingers slowly out of your mouth you give him his hand back, still covered in your spit.
“I can’t believe I fucking came from that.” He laughs fully as he lifts his head to meet your fucked out expression. “That was a dirty little trick you just pulled.”
You can’t help but giggle as he pulls himself away. And you both stare at the evidence of his unexpected release. Leaving quite a damp spot in front of his checkered boxer briefs. He rolls himself off of the bed and disappears into the bathroom, the lighting turning on as soon as he walks in. Just a minute later he comes back out with a damp cloth in hand. Stopping on long enough to grab two new sets of his underwear from the dresser and beelines to the bed. Crawling his way back to you.
He takes the warm cloth and starts to clean you up. Making sure you move gently around the overstimulated area. Tossing the rag to the side he takes the fresh pair of boxer briefs and slides each leg through the holes. Pulling them up and over your ass with ease. He moves off the bed again only long enough to strip his soiled briefs down and let them hit the floor. This time though you didn’t bother to turn away. He had just been three fingers deep in you, the least you could let yourself do was stare at his ass. While he wiped away his mess. As soon as he was clean he redressed and let the now cold rag hit the floor. Walking back over to his side, he crawls in and pulls the rumpled covers over both of you.
Pulling you into him once again, your back resting against his chest. He kisses the back of your shoulder before letting his head hit the pillow.
It didn’t take long at all for sleep to claim you. Now that your body was finally exhausted and worn out from the intense orgasm you had. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed anymore, because as much as he tried to talk shit.
You made him cum in his fucking pants.
644 notes · View notes
linddzz · 2 months
Note
32 with Dreamling? 👀
Smut Prompts:
#32: A suffers from pent-up stress and frustration. B offers their body for them to use to get rid of negative emotions.
Edit: Full fic on AO3
Wordcount: 6977 (nice)
Warnings: Canon typical descriptions of violence. Dream being an unhinged little nightmare, but Hob is so down for it. Also, it's a smut prompt. So there is smut. Dicks abound. In typical fashion it took me a while to get to said dicks though. No beta and only the barest editing.
Summary: Service Dom Hob is here to give his bizarre Eldritch boyfriend the tenderest, gentlest domming of his Endles existence. Dream is still going to be a hissing little brat about it. Tbh I waffled a bit on which way to go with this one, but realized that what I really want sometimes is to have Hob scruff Dream like the pissy wet cat that he is and tell him to SHUSH while Dream goes all ragdoll. I also fully embraced a horny headcanon of mine where Dream is more sensitive to physical touch in the Waking.
Shout out to @amahhi, because I picked little bits from our RP here and there for this. What can I say, we got a good Dream and Hob.
Edit 2.0: trying to get the blog unflagged, so the read more has the fic up to the spicy bits. Full fic is in the AO3 link 🙃
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It's been a very normal, mundane, and drab sort of day when Hob comes home at the end of it. There's the standard London drizzle tapping away at his window, transforming the world outside into a melting blur of darkening gray shot through with bright smears from electric street lights coming on one by one.
Electric lights. Brilliant. Literally brilliant. They're all going to pay for it in the long run of course, but fuck is it nice to just come home and flick a switch - like so - to light a room up. 
There's a corpse on his sofa. 
The corpse is on its back, arms rigid at its side. Its skin has a drained, cold paleness with veins as gray as the current sky. The face is perfectly still and perfectly expressionless, with flat blue eyes open and unseeing towards the ceiling. The startling ghastliness of the corpse is offset by the soft black t-shirt, along with black pajama bottoms decorated with alarmingly cheerful blue stars.
This is also, increasingly, a normal part of his day.
"All right, love?" He asks, shutting the door behind him. The first time he came home to Dream lying out stiff and apparently lifeless in his flat there had been a bit more yelling and panicking, followed by careful explanations about what the unexpected sight of a pale and unmoving body with open, unseeing eyes showing up in a safe and comfortable space can do to someone who has been through a few wars.
It kept happening, which meant Dream did not actually understand. But now Dream always makes an effort to put his form into pajamas first, possibly with the logic that if he were dressed comfortably for sleep, then he couldn’t possibly look like a corpse. Which meant he was trying, even if severely misguided. It's more touching than it should be.
The corpse on the sofa routine all started when they became...whatever they are now. The best explanation Hob ever got was that a chunk of Dream’s duties involve delving into the vast unconsciousness of himself, sinking into the wild depths that were made of every dreaming mind that created him to make sure everything was flowing smoothly. 
It was all very metaphysical in all the ways that Hob tries not to think about too much. When he compared it to a computer shutting down for maintenance, he got himself a curdled look of such offended disgust that he knew he was on the money. He compared it to sleep instead, which mollified Dream at the time.
In the past this deeper delving into himself was done from the throne room. Then Dream started showing up in Hob's flat every now and again, refusing to explain why. Hob isn't stupid, so he doesn't ask why after the first few times. Whatever the metaphysics of it, Dream wants to come here and lie on Hob's furniture being vulnerable in the Waking world, despite all his grumblings about said world. Dream may not be able to explain the want for a space outside of work to go to, but Hob gets the difference between grading papers at his office and doing it in his living room. The fact that Dream seeks this space out makes Hob's chest go all fluttery and hot, and he will never question it ever.
It's why he doesn't make a fuss about the fact that Dream hasn't figured out that he looks like a fucking horror movie prop when he does it.
“Obviously.” Dream rumbles in answer. His voice has a deep, slow resonance that's being dragged up from the darkest fathoms. It's a growling sneer, the sharp warning crack of a cliff face about to give. It says that asking things like “all right?” is the most low, simple mindedly human thing Hob could ask, because there is no reason Dream would be otherwise.
“That sort of day then? Budge up.” Hob tosses his coat to the chair, which earns him an annoyed huff of a sound, and shoves a space for himself by Dream's hip, which earns him a growl. 
“What. Sort of. Day?” Dream asks darkly. He turns his head, slowly. His movements are always slow when he's coming up from his not-sleep, and Hob is always fascinated by the process. He imagines Dream reeling himself back from wherever he has gone to, a long thread of his consciousness spooling up to refill the shape of his body. The waxy deadness in his skin doesn't exactly liven up, but it becomes more luminous. The stiffness melts from carved stone to…well not relaxed but something with a bit more give to it than stone anyway. The eyes change the most. The empty flatness of them turns into a clear, bright blue. They're flashing with liquid fire when Dream looks up at Hob, even if the rest of him is still an angrily stiff bunch of sharp edges.
“Not a great one, I think.” Hob leans, propping his shoulders on the back of the couch with Dreams waist and arm against the small of his back. Dream turns his head with his jaw clenched, and Hob reaches out, brushing the backs of his curled fingers in the barest caress over the plane of Dreams cheek.
There's a nearly imperceptible tremor in the core of the body he's leaned himself against. The corners of Dreams mouth tightens, and his eyes flare, like that lightest touch has opened a raw nerve. 
“Maybe the sort of day I could help you forget?” Hob murmurs. He hasn't decided exactly what he's offering when he offers it. They could just stay here, watching some meaningless picture while Dream stays pressed between Hob and the sofa, and Hob combs his fingers through that downy soft black hair until all the tension melts from him. Hob could make that milky, sugary lavender infusion Dream is fond of and kiss him slow and sweet for hours. They could have a wild shag or the easiest love making. Whatever will help ease the coiled tension that’s churning just beneath Dream’s carefully still surface. Anything.
The caress continues. Hob traces his fingertips up the edge of Dreams cheekbone and sinks them back into the wild black hair to cradle around that impossible skull. There's a suspicious scraping sound down by his hip.
“That better not be you clawing up my upholstery.” He hums, rubbing his thumb over the hairline at Dreams temple. “Come on love, what do you want?”
“What. I. Want?” 
The stillness breaks. A hand snaps up and clamps around Hob's wrist. Dream surges up, sitting awkwardly with Hob nearly in his lap, his eyes flashing dark and his teeth bared close to Hob's mouth.
“You would offer yourself then? A sacrifice to what you would call a bad day?” Dream asks, his voice dropping into a hard scrape. There's a sharp prick against the skin of Hob's wrist as claws grow from Dreams fingers. “You ask for what I want?”
“Obviously.” Hob repeats Dream’s earlier answer back at him. This is always the most uncertain part, when Dream is in one of these moods. This night could go a million different ways, but Hob finds himself keen for any of them. Any that keep Dream right here with all of his attention, snarling or otherwise, right on Hob that is.
There's a hiss of sound, sharp and explosive. The sharp pricks against Hob's skin turn into bright bursts of hot pain, and he feels the wet slide of blood down the inside of his arm. There's a shudder, and Dream suddenly curls down against him with his forehead ground into the curve of Hob's shoulder at the base of his throat. It's an awkward reach, but Hob brings his far arm around to run his palm up the knobbed curve of Dreams spine.
“It's alright, love.” He whispers. The slump is not a loosening at all. Hob can feel the jerky tension in every line of Dream’s body, and his love feels like a spring winding tighter and tighter.
“No.” Dream spits. “You ask what I want. The things I want. You are foolhardy. Brash. You understand nothing. Ignorant.”
“Flattery gets you nowhere, my Dream.” Hob keeps running his hand up and down Dream’s spine, thinking that he really is wound up if those are the best insults he can come up with.
There's a bizarre, inhuman sound. A sharp, jagged, snarling grind. Dream's other hand splays against his ribs, vibrating and sharp. The Endless goes quiet again, and Hob keeps stroking his back, happy to wait for whatever comes next.
“The way you say my name.” Dream whispers. “I want to open your ribs and make you say it. I want to pull each apart, one by one, like the petals of the rarest flower. I want to splay them, pin them. Expose the secret parts of you. I want to see how your lungs fill and shrink when you say my name, when you scream it. I want to see how your heart beats when you dream of me. I want to put my hand around it and feel the precious fluttering of it when I punch my fingers through the chambers. I want to feel it burst like the most wondrous fruit plucked out and crushed in my grasp. I want to feel the pockets of your lungs crackle against my palms when they fill with air. I want you to be screaming my name when I do it.”
His hand moves as he talks. Long fingers drag along the valleys between Hob's ribs, slow and methodical. They're also shaking, a sharp electric buzzing of claws through Hob's button down shirt. 
That sort of night then?
“If you're trying to scare me off, you’ve already done that sort of thing in a few of my more exciting dreams.” Hob points out.
“I want to do it here.” It isn't even a whisper now. It's just an exhale shaped into words. Hob notices that it isn't a threatening snarl, or the low purr of Dream enjoying the build up to a grand old violently nightmarish time. There's a shivery dread. A horror deeper than the obvious goriness of it all.
“You fantasize about killing me?” Hob asks, curious. Ok fine, it wouldn't actually kill him, but it would feel like it.
“You can't die.”
It's an immediate response. Breathless. Rapturous. Terrified. Hob is starting to get the idea of what's going on here.
“Scariest thing you've said to me, that was.” He observes with some interest. It's true, after all. He's just learned that his immortality fuels his love's apparent wish to vivisect him in the plane where they both know it would hurt the worst, where the violence of it would be all of the bloody screaming reality without the cushioned fantasy of the Dreaming. Dream admitted that in a way that was clear that he thinks about it regularly. It is, objectively, a scary thing to learn. There it is. Horrifying and alarming. Huh! How about that.
He doesn’t pretend to be surprised at himself when his cock twitches against his jeans. The only thing he isn’t sure of is if it’s the violent idea itself, or the fact that Dream is very obviously holding himself back from affectionately mauling him right this instant.
He's still petting his hand up and down Dream's spine, and he can feel the way his love bunches in on himself with a cracked whining sound that makes Hob's chest ache like his heart’s already been torn and exposed for the soft tender thing it is. There are talons still scraping anxiously at Hob's ribcage. There are still claws dug into his arm, but with less force than before. Dream is tense, already in a state, and in the fine process of working himself up into what could possibly be a legendary tantrum of self loathing.
“Right.” Hob declares, coming to a decision. “First thing: put a pin in that idea. I have to sit on it a bit and work up to it, but I did just get a little hard there, so it's not entirely off the table. I don't think that's what you want right now though.”
Dream froze with shock halfway through that, and Hob knows the best course of action is to keep moving before that impossible head has enough time to tangle itself up in a new way. The hand on Dream's spine sweeps up and grabs Dream by the nape, hard. 
There is an explosive hiss of incredulous shock when Hob yanks him back. The face that Hob pulls off of his shoulder has wide obsidian eyes and a snarl with a wicked set of fangs. He holds the nightmare scruffed, meeting glittering dark eyes while his heart pounds with what isn't nearly enough actual fear.
“You want me to stop you.” 
Dream’s eyes widen further, the hand on Hob's wrist drops lifeless to the sofa. Hob watches a burst of pink bloom across the unnatural white of his cheeks before the response is wrestled back down. Dream’s eyes narrow, but he's watching Hob closely.
“You are. Incapable. Of stopping me.” He growls. It's not a threat, just reality. Which is how most of Dream’s threats go.
“You're going to let me though, I think.” Hob says. He digs his fingers a little into the hard muscle of the back of Dream's neck, and takes several mental notes on the way the nightmare’s head lolls back and the hand on his ribs goes still. Hob turns where he's sitting to bring one leg up on the sofa, to bring himself closer to the odd monster he loves so dearly. He pulls Dream further, already feeling dizzy at the way the jagged, black eyed nightmare with his luminous white skin and razor teeth goes pliantly until he's leant back, practically being dipped with Hob over him.
“I think you need to let go, love. But you don't like what you might do if you let go.” He says with a smile. “How about we try things my way hm? You let go, but you hand the reins to me. Let me take charge.”
Dreams face goes through some fascinating shifts. He gazes up at Hob with such a raw, wounded want that it looks painful before the expression flinches when Hob's other hand comes up to stroke his cheek again. There's a jerk though Dream's limbs, and Hob is sure the joints are doing things that would make him feel queasy if he looked.
“You…here?” Dream asks, and his voice is thin and sharp and shivery. Hob knows why Dream’s clarifying that, and why here is making Dream writhe and flush with his mouth stretched a little too far on teeth that weren't meant for a human jawline. Hob knows that things feel different for Dream, when he's in the Waking. He's a creature of thought and idea, and touches in the more physical Waking world come across stronger than he's used to, more overwhelming. It’s not that Dream never bottoms, or even that he never submits. But it’s always in Dream’s own realm, where his submission isn’t really submission at all, but a coy play where he acts up the part of a sweet wilting fae lover or a wanton hedonist. He has a harder time staying in control of the situation, when they’re in Hob’s world, where there are less heated fantasies for him to sink himself into.
And the Dreamlord would never admit it, but Hob has noticed the way he keeps showing up in the Waking world to initiate things, even if it's just to cuddle up against Hob and find ways to get petted until he turns into a shivering puddle of nerves. But cuddling here is one thing, this is something else, something new.
“Here.” Hob nods, stroking his thumb slow and firm over Dream's nape, feeling the little vibration that goes down Dream's spine from that point. “I need you to say you want me to though, ok?”
That gets a furious, low hiss of a growl. Dream’s eyes flash and he snaps his mouth full of razor teeth with the sound like a bear trap. Hob lets him squirm and hiss and shudder. He's always such a trembling little thing, like there is too much going on inside for his outer shell to hold in. One day, Hob is going to properly catalog all of the ways his cosmic power of a lover shivers like a leaf when he thinks he's keeping himself all grim and stoic. 
“You. Wish me …complicit.” Dream hisses, the words grinding out from his chest, as there's no way the wide maw of needle teeth is currently capable of speaking that clearly. “You would have me voice it. Admit to it. To be brought low and ragged.”
“I want your consent,” Hob huffs a small laugh, which might not be the best response but God does he love this proud twit, “you pretty, deranged little thing. I'm not doing anything if you don't actually want me to, and we can stop at any point. It's important to me that you get that.”
“My consent,” Dream spits, and this time there's a tearing sound when he does start clawing up Hob's upholstery, “is that I am allowing it.”
On paper, true enough. Dream is thrashing and snarling and gnashing his monstrous teeth with eyes like flaming pits. He's also kept in place by the weak, flesh and blood human hand holding him by the back of the neck. The only reason Hob is able to scruff him and have his head tilted pliantly back to expose the long white throat, is because Dream is letting it happen.
“I think you would allow me to do a lot of things you don't want me to.” Hob says gently. The thrashing stills, the snarling quiets, Dream's teeth finally shrink down into more standard shapes.
“There we are.” Hob breathes, smiling. His chest feels like it may burst, like Dream may end up getting his dark little fantasy after all. It's more than any man could deserve, seeing the way Dream goes quiet and panting, eyes fixed wide and blue again as they stare up at Hob. He keeps the hold on Dreams neck, and smoothes the other hand back through Dreams hair. 
Dream makes a thin, fragile sound, eyes flashing black before returning to their clear blue.
“I need to know you actually want this, darling.” Hob explains again. “Not just that you're allowing it. I can't go thinking that you might just be going along with what you think I want from you.”
There's a shift of movement, more of a little squirm than the furious thrashing from a few seconds ago. Dream clenches his jaw together and stares, eyes glittering with new wetness. Christ. Hob is going to get a complex. It can't be good for his ego, having Dream like this.
“Yes.” Dream finally whispers, swallowing thickly. He even nods with little jerky movements against Hob's grip. “I want…what it is, you are planning. Here. In the Waking. I want you to have me. Your way.”
Hob rewards him with a hard kiss, mostly because if he doesn't get his mouth on those quivering pink lips he might explode. Dream goes lax with a whining sound that is absolutely going to give Hob a complex. Plush lips part immediately under his, as sweet as anything. Then teeth flash against his mouth, still sharp and wild but followed fast by Dream’s tongue lapping hungrily at the bite. There are hands clawing at him again, pawing at his back, twisting in his hair, digging into his hips. Dream is doing some impossible wiggling and Hob realizes that there is more than one pair of legs hitching around his hips and tangling between his own legs. It must look like he's snogging an enthusiastic spider.
“Enough of that.” He chides, pushing a hand on Dream's chest. Teeth sink into his lip again, and there's a low growl when Hob pulls his head back so Dream can't start trying to get his tongue down Hob's throat. Or trying to affectionately bite his lips off. “Shush. Lie back, and settle down dearest. Christ, you're all wound up.”
Another small push does the trick. Dream goes down with a little huff when his back hits the sofa. He’s suddenly as meek as a kitten, if that kitten had blood on its lips and a sharp intrigued glint to its eyes. Rather like a kitten then, actually.
Not that Hob is thinking much about kittens. He's far more focused on the way Dream’s skin has gained a more human flush to it, on the curious little chirrup noise that comes from him. He's looking up at Hob with swollen pink lips and his eyes still blue, but the dark blue of a deep ocean. The shirt he's wearing is stretched at the collar, revealing the tantalizing dip of his clavicles, and his ruffled hair is the most adorable thing Hob could imagine. It's such a flip from the snarling monstrous thing Hob had scruffed less than a minute ago, and all of it is so wonderfully Dream. Objectively terrifying in his violence, objectively sexier than sin.
“You're horrible for my ego.” Hob declares, sitting up kneeling between long legs that are still clad in the damn cartoon star pajamas. Dream answers this with a velvety pleased sound, and Hob feels legs bent around his hips and hitched up his waist and one bends a knee up on his shoulder-
“Ah-ah, stick with two.” Hob taps at one of Dream’s thighs before getting to work unbuttoning his shirt enough to tug it up over his head. “We're in my world right now, so we’re doing things my way. With a human shape. And stop eyeballing my ribcage, thanks. I told you we're putting a pin in that.”
He can hear the displeased hissing sound, and decides to give Dream a pass on that. There are times where words seem to lack the correct expressions for the Prince of Stories, and he has an astounding repertoire of inhuman, and even inorganic, sounds to fall back on. Despite his orders to stop with the rib stuff, there are long hands on his sides as soon as his shirt is tossed away. When he looks down, Dream’s eyes are half lidded and dark, fully fixed with stark hunger on Hob’s exposed torso. 
There's a scrape of claw, smoother than before, and the bright line over his side goes right to his prick. It is…so tempting…to change his mind and tell Dream to have at it. Just to see what would happen, to see how it would feel to get torn apart by something that loves him so much. Except there's a little tense pinching at Dreams mouth, even as his eyes darken further and his hands spread over Hob's ribs to feel them expand with each breath.
“Hands to yourself.” Hob decides for both their sakes. He taps a finger between Dream’s eyes in chastisement, and nearly loses that finger when teeth snap up towards it. Dream is fast, but he's used to getting away with things, so there's only a surprised hitch of sound when Hob grabs under his jaw and shoves his head back.
“My way.” Hob reminds him, surprised at how low and rough his own voice comes out.
FULL FIC ON AO3
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notsoattractivearenti · 6 months
Text
Start of A New Life (Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader)
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WC: 4.3K
Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth descriptions, slight mentions of difficulty concieving
A/N: dad!christian for you all!!! this is so not proofread lol. hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 💗 apologies for any errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍
Two red lines. “Pregnant - 2-3 weeks”. Another two red lines.
My heart suddenly skips a beat. My hands start shaking and I feel a gasp just leave my mouth. I can’t believe what I’m seeing right now. Is this real? I thought to myself. I have to take another look at all three pregnancy tests that I’m holding on both of my hands just to make sure I didn’t see them wrong and of course, nothing changed. Tears start to fall from my eyes, I am on cloud nine knowing a mini me – or my husband – is growing inside me. It’s happening… It’s really happening! 
Christian and I have always wanted children of our own, and we have been trying for a baby for more than a year. We are well aware that not everyone will get pregnant as soon as they start trying, but honestly, at some point it can be exhausting and painful during the period. We had gone to the doctor, got ourselves checked up and luckily no issues were found, so the doctor just suggested we keep trying and be patient. There were times when we were so close to giving up – I was sick of seeing negative results over and over again – but we reminded ourselves that if it’s meant to be, it will happen when it happens and there are couples who have been trying to conceive way longer than us and still haven't succeeded.
I used to constantly apologize to Christian whenever I got a negative result on the pregnancy test because I felt like the problem was me and I was afraid I could never give him a child – I truly wanted to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams: becoming a father. And every single time Christian would tell me to stop apologizing to him and quit being hard on myself because it was never my fault. I knew he felt disappointed to see a single red line instead of two, but like always, he cared a lot more about my feelings. He never failed to comfort me during those times and would go out of his way just to make me feel better – and I am forever grateful to have such a loving and supportive partner for the rest of my life.
Christian has been in training since this morning – shortly before I found out I’m pregnant – so I decided to plan a special, little way to reveal the grand, long-awaited news before he goes home. I really cannot wait to see his reaction and I’m “positive” it’s going to be the sweetest thing ever. Since he transferred to his new club, he usually comes home from training feeling all happy and pumped up – imagine how he will be when he finds out he’s going to be a dad! My man may not be the most expressive person in the world, but I know no matter how little he would show his emotion on the surface, he is going to feel immense happiness deep inside his heart.
I searched through Pinterest for some references and after a while, I finally made up my mind. I don’t necessarily have good eyes on aesthetics and stuff so I just go for a simple way. I go look for some adorable little pregnancy announcement onesies, a gift box, and a few small decorative pieces so it would at least look cute and pleasing. I arrange the “present” as soon as I get home, put the box on the kitchen counter, and write a note on the outside – it says: “For my special man ♥ ps: no question asked! ;)”.
A few hours later, he finally comes home.
“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m home!”
Usually, I would come to him at the front door, greet him back and we would start sharing about each other’s days. But this time, I’m pretending not to hear him and make myself look busy in the kitchen – even though Christian and I actually cleaned the entire kitchen last night. To be honest, the reason I’m doing this is to cover my nervousness. I know he’s going to be excited but a little part of me worries he would change his mind about having a child after so many failed “attempts”.
“Y/N?” He sounds confused.
He then goes around the house looking for me before eventually finding me in the kitchen. I can hear his footsteps but I keep pretending like I am completely unaware of him. He comes over to me and hugs me from behind, and greets me with kisses – and of course, I act surprised when he does that.
“Hey baby, did you not hear me?”
His raspy, gentle voice gives me chills. It never fails to make me feel weak on my knees. But for now, I have to keep my act together.
“Oh sorry, I got so caught up here washing dishes!”
I’m trying to make an impromptu excuse but I’m pretty sure it sounds really weird to him now. I mean, right now there are no dirty dishes to wash except one mug I currently have in my hands… I just know he is a bit confused.
“Umm, Y/N, didn’t we just wash th-”
“So how was training?” I cut him off before he questions me any further.
“Well, great as always. Tired, sure, but you know…” He pauses to kiss my neck, “whenever I see you after training, I am so recharged right away.”
I bite my bottom lip and feel my cheeks are turning red. Ugh, focus Y/N… Remember the big news you have yet to tell him! I remind myself quietly.
“Recharge? What am I, a phone charger?”
I instantly regret that lame, super unfunny joke I just said. He chuckles, I believe he is just being the supportive partner he always is.
“Okay, yeah, that’s a good one, Mrs. Pulisic.”
“Oh by the way, I think I see something that looks like a gift right over there,” he points to the gift box over the counter, “is that for me?”
“I don’t know… Maybe?”
“What is it?” He straightforwardly asks about it.
“Christian…” I sigh.
“What did I do to deserve it?” He quickly asks again.
I turn around, rolling my eyes at him to show him in a jokey way that his questions annoy me.
“My goodness, Christian, just open the goddamn gift!”
He quickly walks across the room while saying the phrase “What’s in the box? What’s in the box???” repeatedly. I carefully watch every little move he makes – I really want to cherish this moment.
“Awww, baby, am I really your special man?” He cutely pouts and puts his hands over his chest when he reads the notes.
I can’t help but laugh at his adorable face.
When he starts opening the gift box, I can feel my heart jump a little. I subconsciously start fidgeting my fingers and shake my legs – I really am that nervous. I almost certainly know that he’s going to react positively but, what if I could be wrong?
Before I know it, I see him gasping, then has his hands covering his mouth, with both of his eyes widened. He then turns to my direction with the look of disbelief written all over his face.
“Y/N???” His jaw drops and his breath hitches.
“Are we… Are w-” He is really caught off guard by this big news he is losing words for a moment.
“Uhm, sorry, I uh, I wh-” he pauses for a good second before continuing, “Are we having a baby???”
“Yeah…” I excitedly nod in response. “I just found out this morning.”
He then runs back to me, hugs me tight and buries his face in between my neck and shoulder – I can slightly feel his tears over my shoulder.
“You’re going to be a dad, Christian.” I whisper to him.
And just like that, I just made him cry even harder.
“My love…” He sobs. “Thank you… Thank you. I love you!”
He looks down and puts his hand on my tummy, then his eyes go straight into mine.
“It’s a bit surreal thinking about how our child is now growing inside you… You’re unbelievably amazing, Y/N.”
He then kneels in front of my tummy while holding my waists with both his hands, and talks to our growing child.
“Hi little angel, I can’t wait to meet you… I love you so much already.” He kisses my tummy after.
We started telling our family and close friends a few days after the first sonogram. Everyone was so happy for us and has been very lovely and wonderful to us – especially me, of course. Both mine and his family would go all the way to make sure I got everything I need, and the moms have been offering generous help and willingly guiding me through my first pregnancy whenever I need them to.
During the ultrasound, Christian didn’t let go of my hand even for a second and asked the doctor so many questions that I didn’t even think about – apparently the night before he had done his research and I was not aware of that. When we got to see our growing fetus on the screen and listen to their heartbeat, Christian – who usually doesn’t really show his emotions on his face –  became very emotional and it kind of freaked me out. Being a dad is truly one of the biggest dreams he has ever had. Now that it’s really coming true, his emotions are all over the place and because he is not used to experiencing such overflowing emotions, he is still trying his best to manage them. Though I think that is adorable, I just love to make fun of him for it.
“You know, Chris, I’m wondering who the hell is actually with a baby?” I poke fun at his “hormonal” reaction. “Because it’s like your hormones are going crazy while I’m here able to control my emotions.”
“Oh shut up,” he moans, “what’s happening is that my heart is warmer now while yours is still ice cold.” 
My jaw drops at his immediate, clever clap back. Oh how I love sassy Christian!
“Stop it!” I laugh really hard. “That’s a good burn on me, Pulisic!”
Since Christian found out we are expecting, he has been extra attentive, present and caring to me. Though I appreciate it greatly, it can be too much sometimes. Therefore I would ask him to back down a bit and thankfully he never fails to understand that I still need my space.
No matter how busy he might be, he never wants to miss going to every doctor appointment. He also always pays very good attention to our baby’s development – he even has a binder made specifically for it. He gets excited all the time when the baby kicks, and when the baby is kicking so hard he would talk to my tummy.
“Sweetheart, please be good in there. Don’t hurt Mommy, okay?”
“My little angel, don’t kick Mommy’s tummy that hard, please. Let’s not make Mommy feel hurt.”
He always communicates with the baby and every time, they would respond to Christian. It’s like they have bonded really well even before they meet, and the thought of him being so close with our child really melts my heart.
He loves taking pictures of my growing bump. Every single time he would tell me I look really beautiful while carrying our child, and my reaction would either be thanking him shyly or telling him to shut the crap – depending on my mood that day, really. Pregnancy has given me mood swings lately I can’t even predict how I would be feeling that day whenever a new day starts. But Christian has always had a lot of patience and I admire how he would perfectly handle me no matter how good or bad my mood might be. Yeah, he is without a doubt going to be the best parent and I can’t wait to witness it.
We decided to not find out about our baby’s sex because we want to surprise ourselves. Besides, we really don’t care if we’re having a boy or a girl. We don’t want to set certain expectations especially when it comes to their sex or gender because all we care about is that they’re healthy and come to this world all safe and sound. Although, we have prepared some names – but we don’t feel like making the final decision before the baby is actually born.
Today I woke up at 4 in the morning to a cramp on my stomach – a bit similar to the menstrual cramps I used to have at the beginning of my period. It comes and goes irregularly, and at first I got scared thinking something bad might be happening. But then I remember what my doctor had explained before: the cramp might be a sign of early labor. I then wake Christian up, letting him know I am possibly entering the early labor stage. When I tell him about it, his eyes widen all of the sudden and he slightly jumps off the bed.
“Wha- Y/N should we just get you to the hospital right now???” He sounds so worried.
“No, I don’t think so. Let’s just time each contraction and when the contraction interval is around 5 to 7 minutes, then we can go.”
I have to explain it calmly because he is visibly alarmed. Even after I do so he is still looking so tense.
“Chris, I’m alright. You can relax for now.” I assure him.
“Okay,” he takes a deep breath before continuing, ”if you say so.”
Almost 15 hours later, the contractions start to come closer apart and when I check my phone, the interval of last contraction to current contraction is 5 minutes, so I tell Christian that it is finally time to go to the hospital. Already dressed, he immediately grabs the car keys and sets up some blankets on the passenger’s seat in case my water breaks. After that, he goes back into the house to grab hospital bags then puts them in the trunk of our car. Not long after, he sees me struggling to get into the car, so he gently helps me and once I get in, he makes sure I am sitting comfortably before locking all the doors at our house.
“Okay, everything is set, now it’s time to go.” He says as he starts the car.
He looks at me for a second and gives me a kiss on my forehead before he takes the wheel.
“Let’s go have a baby, shall we?”
The midwife informs me that I’m now 10 centimeters dilated, meaning it is finally time to push. I am still in incredible pain and genuinely terrified to do so because I don’t know if I can still bear the pain while pushing a full-sized human baby out of my vagina. Also, I have heard about this thing called “ring of fire” – it’s the strong burning sensation that you will experience when your baby is crowning – and now that it’s about to happen, I can’t stop thinking about it. While getting into the birthing position, I turn to Christian who is standing next to me.
“Christian, I’m scared…” I whimper. “I don’t know if I can do this…”
Hearing what I say truly breaks his heart. He hates knowing I’m scared yet he can’t do anything about it except giving me the encouragement he knows I need. He then looks deep into my eyes, smiling at me while caressing my hair, with his other hand holding mine tight.
“Yes you can, my love.” He softly says.
“You are the strongest person I have ever known so I know you know you absolutely can! It’s okay to be scared but baby, I’m here.” He kisses my forehead. “Let’s go meet our little angel, yeah?”
I nod and take some deep breaths to prepare myself. Then I let the doctor know I’m ready and they immediately tell me to start pushing.
One push, two pushes, those were not so bad. Starting from third push, it starts to feel very, very painful.
“You’re doing great my love!”
He is basically being my ultimate cheerleader the whole time. He doesn’t let go of my hand no matter how hard I might grip his hand. He says he doesn’t feel a thing though I know he is lying his butt off for my benefit.
“Chris this hurts so bad…” I bawl, squeezing his hand hard. “This really hurt…”
His eyes suddenly become all teary. He can no longer hide his ache seeing the woman he loves greatly has to endure unthinkable pain to bring his child into the world.
“My love I’m sorry…” He weeps. “I’m sorry you have to go through this… But sweetheart you know you can keep going, a few more pushes and our baby is here…”
I keep pushing even though at some point I didn’t feel like I could do it anymore. But having Christian there gives me the strength I need during the birthing process.
“Y/N, let’s give one big final push!” Says the doctor.
“Uh, yeah, okay…” I say to them as my breath hitches.
I’m already very exhausted but unfortunately there’s no way I can stop. I can feel my baby is crowning and this “ring of fire” sensation is no joke – so when the doctor told me to do one final push all I can think of is that this pain will be over soon.
“C’mon sweetheart! You can do this!”
I hear a loud crying from my baby.
“Congratulations, it’s a girl!” The doctor excitedly announces.
“Oh my God, honey, we have a daughter!” I turn to Christian and see him already flooded with tears.
“Our little princess…” He sobs. “One more beautiful girl for me to love for the rest of my life.”
Christian and I can’t stop looking at our newborn daughter. 
“Chris, look at her… She’s so tiny.”
“These little fingers are the cutest.”
She wraps Christian’s forefinger with her entire hand.
“She has your lips, Y/N.” He points out. 
“Yeah… But she mostly has your features so I was basically just an oven!” I jokily grunt.
“Well you know it isn’t my fault that my genes are more prominent, is it?” he playfully replies, “I’m just that good.”
I roll my eyes, pretending to be irritated.
“Smug butthead.”
“Hey, watch your words, Mommy!” 
Christian got me laughing and blushing. He just reminds me that I’m a mom now! It feels like we just had the talk about growing our family yesterday and the next thing I know I am now in a hospital, just giving birth to our sweet little angel who is sleeping peacefully in my arms at this moment. This still doesn’t feel real… Our lives are now officially changed forever and I couldn’t imagine mine before her.
“Hey,” Christian wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my shoulder, then whispers, “I love you.”
I have not stopped smiling and I can feel my smile getting wider.
“I love you.” I reply.
“You’re my everything, Y/N.” He adds.
“Oh no, you’re about to say some sappy monologue aren't you?”
“Yeah, here it comes…”.
Before he says his little speech he kisses me on the cheeks.
“Y/N… I can never thank you enough. You have made my dreams come true and I still don’t know why I deserve you in the first place! Thank you for making my life a lot more perfect than I ever imagined.”
I’m starting to sob.
“Christian…”
“I hated seeing you in so much pain just to bring her into the world.” He continues. “I wish it was me instead… But you continue to amaze me with your strength. And now, I love you so much more – more than I ever love anyone, even myself. Ever since you came into my life you have changed my world for the better. I never wanted to live my life with anyone else but you, and I’m beyond grateful we have a beautiful child together.”
“I will take good care of my girls for as long as I live…” His voice starts to shake. “I love you. I love you so much. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Y/N.”
Tears immediately streaming down my face. I just gave birth so my hormones are all over the place, and his beautiful speech doesn’t help. He got me speechless and extremely emotional.
“Ugh,” I jokingly grunt as I wipe my tears with my hand, “how dare you make me cry, Pulisic.”
And suddenly we see our baby giving us her first big smile – it’s like she is reacting to all the love and emotions her parents are experiencing right now!
“Awwwww!” Christian and I make the same sound in unison.
And of course, it makes me cry even harder. Christian is emotional too, by the way, but not as messed up as I am currently. He grabs some tissues and gently wipes my face – which is all wet thanks to the river of tears – with them right away as I am still holding our daughter.
“Y/N, my love, I don’t think you will ever stop crying from now on, no?” He laughs.
“Obviously not!”
“So, have you two decided on baby girl’s name?”
Christian and I instantly look at each other when the nurse asks that question. As I said, we have prepared some names for our baby but we have yet to choose the perfect name for her. Christian then grabs a piece of paper with the list of names from his pocket and as soon as the nurse leaves the room, we start discussing right away.
“Okay, uh… Which one do you love the most, Y/N?”
“I don’t know, Chris,” I reply, “there are too many options.”
“Well you can’t say you don’t know,” Christian sighs, “we have to pick two.”
An idea suddenly passes through my head.
“Why don’t we try this out: we say any name we each feel perfectly fitting for her at the same time. What do you think?” I suggest.
“Yeah okay, it’s worth a try.” He agrees.
“Alright, let’s say it in the count of three.” I instruct him.
“One, two, three…”
“Dylan!”
“Emery?”
He didn't sound sure at first, but then changed his mind immediately. “Oh, I like both names!”
“Dylan Emery Pulisic… It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I agree with him. I look at our little bundle of joy in my arms and I just know those names were made for her.
“Yeah, that’s definitely her name.”
Even though we are now taking care of our newborn together, Christian did have to  fight just to get enough paternity leave. It was not easy for him because Dylan was born in the middle of the season and he is one of the most crucial players for the team, but he really wanted to take care of his daughter especially during the first few weeks of her life. Not only that, he feels like I have done so much already and he wants to also take care of you while you recover from the whole pregnancy and childbirth periods. He wouldn’t even mind getting less playing time when he comes back, because in his own words: “Now my priorities are my girls, football is much less important than both of you.”
Before Dylan was born, Christian had been practicing basically everything to prepare him for fatherhood. He can change the diapers, clean and bathe the baby, perfectly wrap her, he knows how to help soothe the baby, burp her after feeding – anything, really. He truly is excited to embrace this new life as a parent.
Dylan’s first week at home was hard, I had to adjust my sleeping schedule because until she’s a bit older I have to feed her every 2-3 hours and it messes up my sleeping. Not only that, she would loudly scream and cry all of the sudden and it mostly happens in the middle of the night. But Christian is always there, ready to help no matter how tired he might be – it’s a bare minimum but not all dads would be very hands-on like him – and I’m beyond grateful I don’t have to do everything alone. We always stay up late together, like when I have to feed Dylan at 12 AM and 3 AM. Most of the time, when we heard Dylan crying in the other room, he would tell me to go back to sleep and offer to take care of her. I would see them from the baby monitor and I’m telling you, he truly is the best dad. Seeing him being so loving to our daughter makes me already think about having another baby… But obviously both of us want to focus on raising Dylan so we decided to put the conversation on hold until Dylan is old enough to be a big sister.
Two weeks after Dylan came into the world, Christian decides it is time to introduce her to everyone at Milanello. So he brings both of us to the training grounds and shows her off to the staff and players. The club even got Dylan a mini home jersey kit as a way to welcome her to the Milan family.
One of his teammates greets us the second we get into the dressing room and ask about his current state. And to be honest, Christian’s heartfelt answer to it reminds me how lucky I am that I get to do this parenthood journey with him.
“Christian, hey! How are you feeling now, bro?
“Well I am a husband and a brand new father, so from now on I will always be feeling a lot happier than I have ever been. I am now on the start of a new life, thanks to my amazing, beautiful girls.”
taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover
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starry eyed lies | ashton irwin x pop star!reader
author's note: had been cooking this one for a while, might be really sloppy bc i had zero time to work on it lol
summary: as a publicity stunt to boost the popularity of five seconds of summer, ashton is forced to fake date you, a rising pop star that has stolen the hearts of listeners around the world.
warnings: fighting, social media, cyber-bullying?, swearing, mentions of weed, fake dating trope, Ashton is labeled a "bad boy" lol, angst
word count: 11.0k
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It was supposed to be a simple “fix-all.” Following the tour for Sounds Good Feels Good, the boys were running on a high. Their names were known all over the world, and they were loved by all girls for not only their music but their looks, too. But with a running high, things must come to an end, as the boys began to falter on their positive fame streak. From negative articles to drama tabloids being released about them, the boys were torn apart by critics and haters alike for their rock star-bad boy attitude. Wherever they made a mistake -one drink too many or ending up in another drama with other celebrities- the press was right there to pick them and prod them where it hurt. The boys’ hands were tied, and it looked like it was the end for their band as they knew it. 
“I’m really at a loss here,” their publicity manager sighed, holding a news article in her hand. On the headlines it stated “Aussie Punk Rock Boys Strike Again: Another Party Gone Wrong.” Depicted in the photo were Luke and Ashton’s headshots taken by the L.A.P.D. It was yet another public disturbance report with additional fines allotted because they were under the influence. On top of that, Luke was still underage and not allowed to drink. 
“I mean, really,” she pressed, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. “Another disturbance report? I thought I told you guys to cut down on parties and alcohol. What were you thinking?”
And to be completely honest, they weren’t thinking. With press on their backs and paparazzi following them everywhere they went, the boys felt completely constricted. Stress was building up in their systems and they lacked an older figure -someone more knowledgeable in the music industry- to guide them through their early onset of fame. One mistake after the other just egged each other on, leaving them feeling hopeless and self-destructive. It got to a point where Ashton considered doing one last big stunt to end his career entirely. At least then he’d finally get to go back home and away from the drama. 
But he couldn’t do that to his boys. His best friends he more so considered brothers had dreamed of moving to L.A. and making music for everyone to hear. Hell, it was his dream, too. He couldn’t possibly throw all of that away for his own selfish desires. Ashton still had to admit that he was getting tired of constantly being under the spotlight with little reward from it. 
“I’m sorry Manuela,” Luke said, hanging his head low. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” 
“I hope I can count on you guys when you say that,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Because there’s only so much I can do on my end to get you guys out of the hole you put yourselves into.” 
Michael leaned over his knees, determined to make things right. “Tell us what we can do,” Michael insisted. “We can clean ourselves up, we swear. We promised to take this break as a time to fix ourselves and really focus on our music.” 
“See, that’s the thing,” Manuela pointed out. “Taking a break is the perfect opportunity to get out of the spotlight and focus on bettering yourselves. But, completely escaping the press and media will make you guys fade out of the music industry. So we have to find an even balance between the two.”
“How?” Calum asked curiously. A frown rested on his tired face. Anyone could tell the bad press was getting to him. It was getting to all of them. “Everyone practically hates us.” 
Manuela grabbed the remote from the table and turned on the TV, connected to her computer. “That’s where we come in,” she started, sharing her screen to the boys. “What we need is a fresh face that’s receiving positive feedback to get you guys on everyone’s good side again.” She flicked through meaningless graphs and percentages of social media engagement and views on YouTube for their tour diaries and music videos. Ashton winced at the downward trend for each graph. “My team’s first option was One Direction. But considering the break they decided to go on, it’s obviously not a viable choice anymore.” 
“So who do you have in mind?” Ashton spoke up, flicking his hand up to ask his question. 
Their publicity manager clicked the remote to change slides. On the screen was a beautiful girl, smiling at the paparazzi. You looked shy, definitely new to the L.A. music scene but confident nonetheless. 
“Woah, y/n l/n?” Michael awed. “I’ve listened to her music before. She’s sick.” 
“And also America’s new pop princess,” Manuela informed them. “After touring with Taylor Swift as her opening act for the 1989 tour, she’s gained considerable popularity. She’s just moved to L.A. and records at the studio a couple blocks down. She’s new to the industry, but she’s promising.” Manuela switched  off the TV and turned to the boys. “And she’s probably your only option.” 
“Hold on,” Ashton said. He was struggling to wrap his head around this. “What do you want us to do with her? Record a song with her? Not to be rude or anything, but her music genre doesn’t mix well with our type of stuff, and I don’t feel like writing lovey-dovey shit.” 
Manuela chuckled at his immediate disgust at the idea. “No, we weren’t thinking that,” she reassured him. “For now, at least. What we need is a good influence in your lives for the public to see. Someone like y/n.” 
“So what now?” Ashton raised an eyebrow. “We just knock on her door and become best friends?” 
“Ash,” Calum scolded him, smacking his knee. “Be nice. y/n and I are mutuals on social media and she’s had nothing but nice things to say about us.” 
Manuela snapped her fingers. “Exactly,” she agreed. “Calum and Michael are already acquainted with her. We need a bigger step to bring you guys into the limelight.” The older woman turned to Ashton, ironically the one member that was most against this whole ploy. “We need you to date y/n.” 
The four boys let out shouts of differing emotions. Michael was shocked, Calum was confused, Luke was jealous, and Ashton was no doubt opposed. 
“Why him!” Luke whined. “He doesn’t want to do it, let me! I’ll gladly date her.” 
Manuela shook her head, adamant on her decision. “It’s gotta be Ashton, I’m afraid,” she said. “His “bad boy” persona is the most detrimental to your overall image. He’s got to be the one. Not to mention, y/n requested him specifically.” 
“Oh great,” Ashton groaned, voice dripping in sarcasm. “The plan is to sell me off as some pop star’s boy toy? How come she’s in on it and I have no choice?” 
“That’s not the plan,” Manuela told him firmly. “It was created in agreement between her team and yours. She needs all the publicity she can get to boost her fame and, well, you guys are aware of your own situation. It’s all for show, Ashton. All we ask is a few dates in public and even a kiss or two for the press.”
Michael snickered. “He won’t have a problem with that,” he muttered under his breath. 
“But,” Manuela cut the boy off. “We’re not asking you to marry her. It’s just a few months and then an amicable split. She’s going on tour at the end of the year, and you boys are going on your writing retreat. By then, both of you will be able to part ways and your relationship will be a thing of the past. She gets the publicity, your reputation gets fixed. It’s a win-win situation.” 
“Not for me,” Ashton fought back. He wanted nothing to do with this. Hell, he didn’t want anything to do with the band anymore. Each night, he plotted excessive plans to escape his prison called L.A. and fly back to Sydney to be with his family. He was sick of the lights, the glamor, the fame. 
He glanced back at his friends. His heart clenched at the dark bags under Calum’s eyes, and Michael’s uncharacteristically extra pale complexion from the lack of sleep. Anxiety had riddled the entire band, and it was clear on Luke’s hands where he had been picking at his fingertips. They were a wreck, and Manuela made it seem like he was their last hope. If he said no, they could pack up their things and go home. He’d get what he wanted all along. But Ashton couldn’t let go of the sparkling looks in their eyes when they received word from One Direction that they wanted them to open up for their concerts. He saw hope in their futures, saw something bigger in store for them. In some way, Ashton could still see that innocence in their eyes, blocked slightly by their stress and nerves. He was their last chance to bring that optimism back. 
“I’ll do it,” he gave in. The boys let out whoops of joy, tackling Ashton into a hug. Ashton was frustrated beyond belief, but he faked a smile just to see his boys get their spark back. 
Ashton was immediately regretting his decision the moment he stepped foot into the restaurant. The restaurant was too expensive for his taste, the kind of eatery that sold mediocre food primarily for you to post on social media for your “friends” to envy you. If this place was your idea as Manuela mentioned, it was only a mere insight of your personality. And without even meeting you yet, Ashton was beginning to loathe you. 
The musician checked his watch again, keeping his head down and away from any prying eyes. You were ten minutes late, and if you kept this up, Ashton predicted you wouldn’t even show up. Ashton swore under his breath, growing more and more annoyed by you. He never should have agreed to this plan. 
Suddenly, you came bursting through the door. Your eyes peered around the store before finding Ashton’s, immediately heading to the table he had saved. Ashton fought the urge to roll his eyes at your lack of sunglasses or hoodie. It was like you were begging for attention. Which, now he thought, you probably were. 
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you apologized profusely, setting your bag on the ground and pulling out your notebook. A waitress immediately went to your table to take your orders. Ashton had only wanted water, but you ordered one milkshake and a side of cannolis. “Traffic was terrible, as per usual in L.A. I suppose. And then my publicity manager asked me to get my hair down for today, then she scheduled a nail appointment-” You took a deep breath, running out of air from talking so quickly. “I feel like a dress up doll,” you joked, giving the Aussie a sheepish smile. 
Ashton, however, was not amused. He barely returned your smile, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Let’s just pretend to look happy when the press gets here. We were supposed to have a ten minute prep time but since you decided to be late-”
“I didn’t decide to be late-” you fought back incredulously.
“We only have three minutes max to plan something good for the press to take a picture of,” Ashton finished, sending a glare your way for interrupting him halfway. 
You huffed, deep in thought before concocting something paparazzi worthy. “Just follow my lead, okay?” you said, watching a swarm of paparazzi approach the restaurant. The waitress set down your order and was about to dash off when you asked for two straws. 
Ashton raised an eyebrow at your idea, not exactly following along. You stuck the two straws into the glass, taking a healthy sip from it. You let out a moan of delight, smiling to yourself at the taste. Ashton fought the urge to chuckle at your almost innocent-like demeanor. He coughed to cover up his laugh, still stubborn enough to maintain his grudge against your tardiness. 
You took the paper wrapping of one straw and glanced up at the drummed in front of you. Tying the wrapper together, you raised the knot up. “Tug the other side,” you instructed. 
Ashton gave you a pointed look but pulled the wrapper nonetheless, pulling until the paper gave way and snapped in half. The knot remained on your end, making you cheer in victory. 
“I still don’t understand what the hell you’re doing,” he grumbled. 
You ignored him, closing your eyes and whispering to yourself. Ashton leaned back, not fighting back an eye roll. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m on a date with a weirdo.” How was this supposed to get the band good publicity? 
Opening your eyes again, you set the wrapper down. “I was just making a wish,” you explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “You never did that before? Tie a knot in the straw wrapper, pull, and whoever gets the knot gets to make a wish.” 
“That’s,” Ashton took a deep breath. “The biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” 
You scoffed playfully, cocking your head to get a good look at the paparazzi. More photographers approached the windows, taking hundreds of photos of the two of you. “Try smiling more,” you told him. “Maybe people wouldn’t crown you with the “bad boy of the band” title if you did.” 
“I’m not the bad boy of the band,” Ashton retorted, smiling nonetheless. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it satisfied the press who started flashing their cameras more frequently at the sight of it. 
Snorting, you took his hand and weaved your fingers together as you took another sip of your -now shared- milkshake. You let out a quiet giggle despite no one saying anything funny.
“You’re terrible at this,” Ashton deadpanned. 
“I’ve seen people do this in movies,” you responded, shaking your head as if he said something unbelievable. 
“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” he said back, responding to your head shake with a chuckle. 
You hummed, turning away and muttering under your breath, “Look who’s talking.” 
Ashton couldn’t help but be amused by your clever comebacks. He never expected you to be able to keep up with his sarcastic comments. But here you were, dishing them out faster than he can create one. 
“Anyways,” you continued breezily. “You’re so the bad boy of the band.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked, readjusting his position in his chair to prepare himself for whatever response you’d curated. 
You took a pause to collect your thoughts. You took a bite of your cannoli as you thought to yourself. “First off,” you swallowed the remaining bits of the pastry. “In your first album, you’re the only one looking away from the camera frowning. Luke’s looking away, but at least he’s smirking a little bit. That’s big bad boy energy. And the bandana? Come on, you’re trying so hard to be edgy but I see your smile behind the drums.”
Ashton rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day. “Good to know you’ve done your research.”
“I have to get to know my new fake boyfriend,” you waved him off jokingly. “What am I supposed to do? Go into this blind? Surely you’ve done some research about me.” 
The Australian musician hesitated to respond. “I may have skimmed the binder?” he responded, a little bit embarrassed. He didn’t expect to have to know everything about you and your career. 
You squeeze his hand, reminding him you were still intertwined. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later.” 
You both turned to the windows and noticed the swarm of photographers only grew in size, all of them in huddles behind cars. “You think we gave them enough to look at?” you asked. Not waiting for a response, you placed a couple bills on the table and pulled Ashton up with you. 
“Where are we going?” Ashton questioned as you both braved the outdoors, instantly getting bombarded by the paparazzi. Taking on a protective boyfriend role, Ashton wrapped an arm around your shoulders and lent you his sunglasses to wear. 
“Don’t worry!” you said, raising your voice a bit due to the loud calls of interviewers calling out to them. “I know a place!” 
You sprinted down the street and took a sharp right, tugging Ashton along with you. Impressively enough, you were fast enough to lose the press. Soon enough, you found the place you were looking for and dove in. 
The drummer blinked a couple times, trying to regain his sight after the millions of flashes nearly blinded him. Once his vision turned back to normal, he looked around the room to see a relatively empty restaurant. The lights were dim and gave the feel of a speakeasy but also had sweet handmade decorations adorning the walls. The place was endearing to him, somehow, because of how unabashedly unique it was. 
You directed Ashton to your favorite table in the back corner while you went up to the counter to order for the both of them. By the time Ashton had gathered his bearings in his seat, you returned with a tray full of food. 
“Welcome to the “Quilted Corner,” you introduced him to the cafe. “Everyone’s favorite eatery in the darkest corner of Los Angeles. And by everybody I mean probably just me and five other people.” 
Ashton nodded dubiously, understanding the unique name for the place once he got a good look at the grandma-esque decorations. 
“And what do you have in your tray of horrors?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the assorted foods.
You began to divide the food between the two of you, the mountain of greasy foods slowly turning into a valley and then nothing at all. 
“I’m going to change your goddamn life, Irwin,” you declared, taking a napkin and wiping your hands with it. “This is the order Granny Stevenson -the owner- recommended to me when I first came here. I was lost in the city looking for a place to duck and cover from the paparazzi and came across this lovely place.”
You gestured to the spread of foods. “This is the “homesick cure,”” you told him. “It consisted of two double cheeseburgers, a side of fries, and a milkshake. All completed with Granny Stevenson’s special sauce.” 
“And a heart attack,” Ashton deadpanned. 
You ignored his statement. “This place is really special to me,” you confessed. “It actually cured my homesickness and Granny Stevenson is a grandma-away-from-home to me. This place is where I go to write songs or just get away from it all.”
Ashton poked at his order, a thin film of oil coating his fingertips. “I don’t see the inspiration factor here,” he said, his nose scrunched up. “It just looks like another fast food place in America.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sad mis-fed rockstar,” you said with a smirk. You pointed at the one last item you didn’t mention. “Behold the Grandpa Stevenson special.” You held up the dish and smelled it deeply. “A blueberry cheesecake made in-house with all the love this place can put into it. Name a place that sells that kinda love, Ashton.” 
“I’m pretty sure Burger King sold that at one point in a mall food court,” he snipped back. 
You narrowed your eyes at the pessimistic drummer. “Not sold with love,” you reminded him. “Besides, they actually make this stuff here. No processed shit, only love.”
Ashton scoffed, turning his head away from the table. Love. What a load of bullshit. If you were gullible enough to buy into the “love” this restaurant sold you, you definitely wouldn’t make it in the cut throat music industry. You were too innocent. It was only a matter of time until those producers and media companies tear you apart like they did with him and the band.
Despite his negative attitude, he took a fork and tried a piece of the cheesecake. The light dessert just about melted on his tongue, the flavors of cream, blueberry, and cinnamon dancing along his tongue. It was the best thing he’s ever tried.
“Told ya,” you sang, eating your own meal with a knowing smirk on your face. 
Ashton feigned a look of disgust. “You didn’t tell me shit,” he grumbled. “It tastes like every other cheesecake.” That was a lie. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever tasted. Somehow, it tasted like home. 
You tried to wipe your messy face with a napkin. “No one that thinks this is an average cheesecake makes that kinda face.” When Ashton didn’t understand, you sighed, preparing to make the same face. “It’s the look you get when you touch down in your hometown after an eleven hour flight. Or the face you make when you write a banger bridge for a song you’ve dedicated weeks to. Or it’s the look you get when everything makes sense in the world.” 
Ashton stabbed his cheesecake and shoveled more of it into his mouth. Pure Heaven. “Whatever,” he huffed. 
The two of you finished the rest of your meal in silence, aside from sighs of content from you because the food was that damn good. You finished off your milkshake, but not before picking up the straw wrapper and tying a knot, just like you did at the cafe before. 
“Pull away, rockstar,” you instructed. Reluctantly, Ashton followed suit and tugged at the paper, the knot ending up on his side this time. You cheered, clasping your hands together. “It’s your turn now! Your first wish that shall be granted by the straw gods.”
Ashton shot you a look before tossing the wrapper to the side. “I don’t really care for wishes,” he stated plainly. You frowned at his negative attitude and that look alone made Ashton’s heart lurch. He instantly felt bad for the way he’s been treating you; it wasn’t your fault the press hated him. But still, he couldn’t help but put some blame on you. It was better than wallowing in self hate, he supposed. 
“It’s okay,” you collected yourself. “You can save that wish for when you need it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to need it,” he responded sarcastically.
You chuckled, taking a bite out of Ashton’s cheesecake. He let out a shout of protest but you paid no attention to him. “Trust me,” you assured him. “There’s always a time when you need a wish in L.A.”
“She’s weird,” Ashton grumbled, readjusting the cuffs of his button up. The boys were preparing for their interview with Buzzfeed in their shared dressing room, fighting for space in front of the mirror. 
It’s been a total of three months since you and Ashton started your fake relationship and the media has been eating it up. They followed the both of you everywhere you went, hiding in cars and in alleyways to get a glimpse of the so-called happy couple. You played your part well, holding his hand in public and kissing his cheek whenever you had the opportunity. From the public’s point of view, Ashton was just as taken by you as you were with him. The media fawned over his boyish grin and blush whenever you’d readjust his beanie in the winter cold. 
On your end, you were genuinely falling for the boy. Behind closed doors, he was just a boy from Australia, new to the fast paced life of being a celebrity. You saw through his cold facade, slowly cracking through the walls he put up around his heart, and you had a feeling you were growing on him. He’d still quip sarcastic comments and roll his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that would rest on his face when he thought you weren’t looking. As rare as his genuine smiles were, you relished those moments because it was the only times you’d see the real Ashton, not the one he’s put out for the paparazzi. 
Ashton, however, was still holding out his grudge against you, albeit very weakly. His tough exterior was indeed toppling slowly. Your kind nature was just too sweet to not find you a little endearing. Ashton would never admit that you had grown on him a little, and a small part of him possibly looked forward to your weekly dates. He learned so much from you, it was as if he never wanted to stop listening to you. Not that he would tell you that, though. 
“That’s all you’ve ever said about her,” Michael shot back, glancing at the mirror to check his hair one more time. “Come on, mate, it’s been three months. Surely you have something new to say about her?” 
Calum agreed wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she’s come to the studio during her breaks from recording. That’s not even in your dating contract but she still does it.”
“Not to mention she gets us coffee every time,” Luke piped up. “That coffee is addictive, where does she get it?” 
Ashton couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He knew you’d always stop by the Quilted Corner -no matter how far of a walk it was- to pick up some coffee. And he knew you always tried to be slick about it, but he’d always catch you tucking away a slice of blueberry cheesecake in the band’s fridge, just for him. He’d never mention it, though. He wanted to let you have your fun. 
Calum let out a shout, pointing at the drummer accusingly. “Aha!” he cheered. “I knew she was growing on you!”
“What the hell are you going on about, Cal?” Ashton demanded, exasperated by his friends’ antics. 
Calum continued his childish shimmy, the other boys gleefully joining in. “You got that dumb smirk on your face,” Calum smugly pointed out. “You’ve got it bad for y/n, don’t you.” 
Before Ashton could respond, the director shouted, “Five minutes till shooting!” Glaring at the boys to keep them silent, Ashton made his way to the chairs in front of the camera, silently praying for this interview to be quick and over with. 
“Welcome to Buzzfeed, boys,” the director’s assistant approached them with a smile. She was petite but her voice was strong and insistent. “Make sure to always look at the camera, but above all, smile and don’t look down. The viewers want to see your faces, okay?” Nodding in confirmation, the boys readied themselves for the camera as the assistant swiftly moved out of the way. 
“Yeah Ash, don’t doze off dreaming of y/n,” Luke snickered into his ear, making the other boys chuckle along with him -aside from Ashton, of course.
The interview went as well as one could expect. The questions about the boys’ past were still continuously brought up but the boys answered the questions with grace they could only credit to Manuela. Luckily enough, the interviewer seemed to enjoy their responses, noting a significant maturity in the boys. They seemed to have gotten over their party phase and turned into serious musicians during their break from tours and parties. 
“Final question is for Ashton,” the interviewer shuffled through their papers. “Sources have spotted you and new singer songwriter y/n l/n around L.A. quite a bit following the end of the North American 1989 tour. Now, you both have confirmed your relationship and made it very clear you two are together. Has y/n been an influence in the reshaping of your image in the media?” 
Ashton bit the inside of his cheek. Just remember what Manuela rehearsed with you, he thought. 
“Yeah, y/n’s been great,” he answered, trying to not sound as monotone as he did during his practice runs. “She’s been such a great influence to me and the boys, always keeping a positive outlook on things. I learn a lot from her, and I’d like to think she’s learned quite a bit from me, too.” 
“Like jumping into the neighbor’s pool at midnight?” the interviewer jested, referencing the one time Ashton had drunkenly trespassed his neighbor’s home while they were on vacation. 
Ashton tried not to cringe at that one memory, heavily wanting to keep that part of him in the past. “Definitely not that,” he laughed awkwardly. “But definitely in a sense of navigating newly received fame and things like that.” 
“That’s great to hear,” they hummed. “Should we be expecting anything from you guys? Maybe a collaboration of some sort?”
The drummed shrugged his shoulders honestly. “It’s all up to her,” he responded. “We’re still taking a break from touring, but we do have an album in the works. Writing music with her is definitely on the table, for sure.” 
Ashton wasn’t sure what word vomit was spewing from his lips. Last time he checked, it wasn’t up to you whether or not you wanted to collab with the boys (you were clearly apprehensive about invading his space), he didn’t want to write music with her (possibly due to the fact that the last time you had a joint writing session, he was stuck staring at you curled up on the other side of the couch; you were just mesmerizing but he’d never admit that aloud), and he hated lovey dovey shit (because he hated the warm feeling brewing in his stomach whenever you’d smile or laugh at his jokes). But it wasn’t like he liked you, right? He had to focus on his career, his boys, his life. Not a relationship that’s destined for failure no doubt because of the media. 
 “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for you guys, thank you so much for coming to our studio today!” The interviewer finished off the closing statements for their interview while Ashton was left inside his head. 
Truth be told, he was conflicted. He had, in fact, gotten significantly closer with you, closer than he’d expected to be at the very least. He still tried to be closed off, tried to push you away from him so he wouldn’t get attached and heartbroken in the end. You just made it so damn difficult. 
“Nice responses, Ash,” Michael patted his shoulder as they gathered their things in their dressing room. “Really downplayed how much you liked her there.” 
Ashton raised an eyebrow while picking up his phone from the side table. He was stupid enough to not look at the text messages. Particularly the ones from you that stated you were on your way to the studio for your own interview. 
“What are you saying, Mike?” Ashton asked tiredly, tired of the relentless teasing and questions he’s gotten about you all afternoon. 
“Mike’s saying that we know you’re in so deep with her,” Luke spoke up from the back as he slipped on his jacket. “Like, L-word close with her.”
Love? Why the hell would he love you? This was all a fake set up for their careers, why didn’t they get that? 
“Can you guys knock it off?” Ashton snapped, finally raising his voice. “I don’t like y/n and I never will. I don’t even like her as a friend. She’s obnoxious, annoying, and so unbelievably difficult to work with; the two of us will never work out. And thank God for that because if I have to spend more than 10 months with her to save your asses’ careers, I’m leaving the fucking band.” 
“Ash-” Calum said meekly.
“No!” he cut him off harshly. “I’m sick of being pushed around like a fucking doll for publicity. The band was doomed from the start because the press won’t leave us the fuck alone. And using y/n as a last Hail Mary is as stupid as it is useless. She’s going to be nothing more than a washed up young celebrity like the rest of us and fade to the past.” 
“Ash!” Michael stopped him. “That’s enough, we get it.” 
Ashton didn’t piece together their hastiness until it was too late. He turned around to see you standing before them. He didn’t even hear the door open. Your eyes were welling up as your mouth was slightly opened by his outburst. 
“Hi guys,” you weakly greeted them. 
Ashton took a step forward, freezing when he saw you stagger back. “y/n,” he whispered, unable to know where to start with his apology. 
“I have an interview in ten minutes,” you informed them quickly. “I’ll see you around later, yeah?” 
You seemed to have taken that as final as you pushed them out of the dressing room and closed the door shut. You didn’t move from the door until you heard all of their footsteps trail off and out of the studio. You let out a shaky breath you didn’t even know you were holding in as you hang your head low. And to think you thought he actually might have liked you, too. 
A knock interrupted your thoughts. “Ms. l/n?” a voice spoke up. “My name’s Ryan and my buddy Shane and I wanted to know if–” 
“Sorry,” you said, opening the door sheepishly. You hoped your face wasn’t giving away your embarrassment and hurt you were experiencing. “I-um, I think I need to be alone for a sec.” 
“Oh!” the taller one exclaimed. “To call Ashton? I think I saw him walk that way.” 
You bit your lip, nodding painfully slow. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Thanks, I’ll be headed there soon.” 
You didn’t leave any time for debate or questions as you pushed through the pair and walked in the opposite direction, straight to the bathroom. The two men glanced at each other in concern. 
“What’s up with her?” Shane asked.
Ryan only shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’ll remain unsolved,” he mused wisely.
“That’ll be a great name for a show one day!”
“I know right?”
You were lucky that there was enough conflict in both of your schedules to postpone your date to three weeks after the interview. To say you were anxious was an understatement. You picked at your fingernails as you waited for Ashton to arrive at the park. 
You were conflicted with the entire agreement. A part of you wanted to end the agreement, rip the contract into shreds. Ashton was right, wasn’t he? This plan was useless, and your fifteen minutes of fame were almost up. It was only a matter of time until you were no longer relevant. Then what would you do? You’d have to go back home and start over, and maybe that’s better than what you had for yourself now: a fake relationship for attention. 
But at the same time, you had fallen hard for Ashton. Behind his rough exterior was a shy musician that was passionate in what he did. He loved music, but loved his friends and family more. You admired him for that, realizing that he only had a harsh image because he was protective of who he loved. You only wished that he saved that part of himself for you, too.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” a soft voice spoke behind you.
You turned around on your bench to see Ashton standing, hands sheepishly in his pockets. His cheeks were red from the cold as his eyes were trained on the ground. 
“Of course I did,” you responded somewhat brusquely. “It’s part of the contract, afterall.” 
Ashton scoffed, making you raise an eyebrow irritatedly. You had every right to be a bitch to him. He was the one bad mouthing you in the first place. Your mixed emotions had sat in your stomach for the past few weeks. Your anger was winning out the heartsick feeling. 
“What are you scoffing about, rockstar?” you quipped, disgust filling your tone instead of affection as it usually was in the nickname you gave him. “I signed that paper as much as you did.” 
“It wasn’t like it was my fucking idea,” he shot back, frustration fueling his voice. He pulled at his hair and laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “In case you forgot, I was forced into this bullshit! And to think I was actually going to apologize to you.” 
“About which part?” you shouted back sarcastically. “The part where you called me obnoxious and annoying? Or how about when you couldn’t stand to spend any more time with me or else you’d quit the band? Oh I know! How about when you called me a washed up celebrity? Take your pick, rockstar! You’ve got plenty to choose from!”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” he raised his voice higher than he ever had before. “God, I’m fucking sick of you and your “holier than thou” bullshit! You’re only in this shit for the money and the fame. I’m tired of playing this game and being a fucking plot device to launch your career! Maybe if you actually had substance instead of putting up the “innocent girl from a small town” act, people would like you more! Because Jesus fuck I don’t!” 
What Ashton failed to realize was that your ten minute grace period between meeting and the paparazzi coming was up. The photographers circled around you like predators stalking their prey, starving for anything to satisfy their appetites. You were too caught up in your argument, too, oblivious to the prying eyes of the public. 
“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” you spat. “You want my honest opinion about you? I think you’re nothing but a stuck up member of a boyband who’s pissy because the attention’s no longer on him anymore. Face it, Ashton! You’re just like everybody else here! Self-centered, fucked up, and ignorant as all hell. Maybe that’s why the media fucking hates you! It’s not because they twist your actions, you just are a fucking terrible person and it’s about time you realized that!” 
Ashton silently seethed, opening and closing his fists as he tried to find the right words to say. “You really think that?” he asked in a low tone. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to hear your response. Despite his harsh words, he truly craved your validation and he knew that he wasn’t going to hear what he wanted. 
“Yes,” you swallowed. “I do.” Silence filled the cold air as you stood at a standstill. The air filled your lungs like icy needles, not yet thawed for the seasonal change that was yet to come. It was like a test between the two of you. Who was going to be the first to bite the bullet and say what’s been on your minds? 
You made your decision. “Let’s end this,” you said, voice wavering. “Let’s put the both of us out of our misery and end this once and for all. I think we both got enough of each other.”
Ashton was taken aback. He thought the same thing, but he didn’t think you’d be the one to say it. If he was being honest, he didn’t want to end it. If he could spend the rest of his life on a tightrope, teetering towards anger and frustration for eternity just to be with you, he’d do it. But he knew he was hurting you as much as you were hurting him. He knew what he had to do.
“Good,” he agreed, mustering enough strength to not cry right there. He really was losing the one good thing he had going for him. And it was all his fault. “I’ll have Manuela reach out to your manager. You can..lose my number, I guess.”
“If that’s what you want,” you told him smoothly. On the inside, you were crumbling apart.
Ashton forced a nod. “Yeah, that’s what I want.” 
He didn’t expect things to get as bad as they did. Ashton knew the paparazzi was everywhere, he always did. But dammit, he got so lost in his anger that it slipped his mind. And the one time it did, everything went wrong.
But for the first time, the blame wasn’t on him. Not in the eyes of the media, at least. 
Is America’s Sweetheart y/n l/n Actually a Monster? 
Pop Princess y/n l/n rips Australian Musician Ashton Irwin Apart
End of an Era: Irwin-l/n Break Up is Messy and Unexpected
Even on Twitter, you couldn’t catch a break. 
#y/nl/nisoverparty
#y/nl/nisasnake
#y/nisthebiggestbitch
#y/nl/nisOVER
On every magazine and gossip column was a picture of your encounter with Ashton at the park. Lucky for Ash, the media only got a glimpse of your rant at him and didn’t get any footage of him yelling back at you. To the public, he looked like the innocent party while you looked completely wicked. 
Oh God, Ashton thought. I just ruined her life.
The weeks that followed were rough. Manuela called for a group meeting and told them that their ratings have gone through the roof. 5 Seconds of Summer were finally back on the good side of the press and were labeled as the “innocent boys from Australia” that got “led down the wrong path.” Manuela was happy that her plan had worked; 5SOS is back on track, but she was disappointed at what it cost. 
“Is there anything we can do to help her?” Michael asked at the end of the meeting. 
Manuela pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid not,” she sighed. “y/n’s manager cut off all ties with us. I think we got the message that she wants nothing to do with us.” 
Calum checked his phone, cringing at the amount of tagged posts he was in. All of them bashing you and everything you’ve worked so hard to create. 
“We have to do something,” Calum pleaded. “She’s not just a coworker; she’s a friend. She’s always been there for us, even if Ash wasn’t here, she’d come by. We can’t leave her hanging like this.” 
“Ash,” Luke turned to his friend, blue eyes pleading and desperate. “Can you talk to her? Maybe we can work something out. Anything.” 
Ashton stammered before he responded. What could he do? He was the very last person you’d want to see right now. He got you into this mess and painted you out to be a monster. The blame should have fully been on him. You wouldn’t have yelled at him if he didn’t push you over the limit. 
“Why should it be me?” he asked. “She hates me.” 
Michael scoffed at his friend, clearly upset at his poor attempt at weaseling his way out of this. “You’re joking,” he deadpanned. “She adored you. Whether you liked her or not she was your biggest supporter. When you weren’t around at the studio, she talked the world about you. You may have not liked her, but she loved you. So you have to fix this.” 
“Boys, relax,” Manuela insisted. “I’m certain her publicity team has a plan set for situations like these. She’s probably going to keep quiet for a while then re-emerge into the public scene again once the public wounds have healed. So it’ll be in her best interest and yours if you keep quiet and not cause a scene. Not when the public finally has a positive outlook on you.”
“That’s so..” Luke huffed defeatedly. “Wrong.” 
Manuela patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s the music industry, love.” 
You truly fell off the face of the earth. Ashton was at a loss. After the presumed “silent break” you took, he thought you’d get back into the swing of things. Media tabloids had died down, and it seemed like the public had forgotten about your argument and moved onto the next interesting thing. But you didn’t come back. Not even to your studio, the place remained empty. You didn’t respond to his calls, all of them going straight to voicemail. Your manager only picked up her phone once, insisting he stopped calling if he knew what was best for him. Not even your friends answered his frequent dm’s. 
Your instagram was dormant. The last post was of Ashton a month back, playing his guitar and smiling down at his lyric book. He didn’t even realize you took that picture until you posted it. He was a little shocked that you kept it up, considering all things, but at the same time you didn’t post anything anymore. You used to post everyday, updating everyone about your hectic life. All that was left were the photos that remained on your page. Ashton had caught himself too many times scrolling through, just to see your smiling face again. He beat himself up over the fact that his last glimpse of you in person was nothing but a broken shell of who you once were. 
Ashton pushed the door open, entering the last place he thought of that you could possibly be in. The smell of the restaurant was the same as it always was, full of spices and sweets that made his mouth water. But he had to stay focused. He needed to find you and talk to you. 
Behind the counter, an older couple approached him. Ashton immediately recognized them as the Stevensons, the couple you adored more than their own food. It seemed like they recognized him too once they reached the counter space. 
“You must be Ashton,” the older woman said, readjusting her glasses. Her wrinkles appeared as she greeted him with a smile, a sign that she lived a life full of laughter and smiles. The kind of life you confessed you wanted desperately. “y/n has spoken so highly of you.” 
Ashton ducked his head, blushing at the compliment. Even when you were gone you still managed to light up the room and make him seem like a better person than he actually was. “That’s actually why I came here,” he told them. “I was wondering if you had seen y/n come by.” 
The gentleman beside Mrs. Stevenson shook his head. “Afraid not, son,” he responded. “Not for a while, actually. We were quite disheartened about that, but that girl is always so busy, isn’t she?” Ashton smiled, trying not to wince as he cringed on the inside. 
“Let me make you something, honey,” Mrs. Stevenson insisted, rushing to kitchens before he could refuse. 
Mr. Stevenson ushered Ashton to the booths, away from the restaurant regulars. Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, the rain soaking his brown locks. Spring was a bitch with the rain, but he knew how much you loved it. “What brings you here, son?” he asked. “You usually come with y/n. Don’t tell me she’s in any sort of trouble now, is she?” 
Ashton sat down, dusting off his jeans. “Not exactly,” he answered honestly. “H-have you not heard in the gossip tabloids?” 
“Oh no,” Mr. Stevenson waved his hand. “We were never one for those magazines. Sarah is always strict on rechilut.” 
Ashton nodded along. “I did something wrong,” he confessed heavily. “And I hurt y/n. Not physically, but honestly it feels worse. I want to make things right, but I don’t think she even wants to talk to me.” 
“That’s nonsense,” Mr. Stevenson insisted. “y/n would never cut ties with people like that. Especially you, she was very fond of you.” It seemed like everyone knew that except for Ashton himself. “y/n talked to me like I was her own grandfather. Now, all my kids are grown up and moved out of California, so they don’t come around much. I appreciated her company, and I know for a fact that you shouldn’t give up on her.” 
The drummer’s shoulders slumped guiltily. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he told him. “I was awful to her. I did everything wrong. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her I loved her all along.”
“Do you really love her?” Mr. Stevenson asked him softly. 
Ashton looked up into the older man’s gray eyes. He saw so much life, so much wisdom in them. If he looked deeper, he saw himself in his eyes, the him he missed all along. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “I really do.” 
Mr. Stevenson patted his shoulder affectionately. “Then lead with that,” he advised him. “I’ve lived a long life, Ashton. And most of my life has been spent with my dear Sarah. If there’s anything I learned from that, it’s that sometimes you need to shut the hell up and let your love speak for you.” 
Ashton let out a tearful chuckle at his advice. Mrs. Stevenson rushed out of the kitchen, a steaming plate in hand. The older woman set it on the table in front of him. 
“I hope you don’t mind that I guessed what your homesick cure was,” she said sheepishly. “Artie said I should stop guessing but I had a gut feeling on this one. I was right for n/n, I hope I was right for you.”  
Mrs. Stevenson set down the plate to reveal a healthy serving of spaghetti and a glass of water on the table. Ashton’s heart clenched at the sight. “Did I get it right, dear?” 
Ashton couldn’t even respond, he just nodded wordlessly like a child on Christmas morning, eager to play with his toys. Mrs. Stevenson chuckled at his response, ruffling his hair gently like a mother would. “Eat it while it’s hot, honey,” she told him. “And I’m sorry, but it seems like someone forgot to order another package of straws. You’ll have to drink from the glass, I’m afraid.” 
Artie stood up from his side of the booth, playfully rolling his eyes. “I’m on it, honey,” he responded, following closely behind his wife. Before leaving to the kitchen, he turned around and gave the boy a wink. 
Left to his own devices, Ashton tucked his hand into his jacket and nearly jumped out of his seat in shock. Pulling it out, he realized it was the knotted end of the paper straw wrapper from so long ago. Turns out he really did need that wish. 
“Let me make things right,” he wished in his head. “I just want one last chance to do the right thing.” 
Setting it on the table, all Ashton could do was hope that whatever was out in the universe heard him.
– 
Soon enough, you did emerge from the shadows of your hiatus. You were lucky to have a loyal enough fanbase to keep you afloat, and your tour was still set for that summer. You were grateful for the fans that stuck around, and the new ones that came along the way. It was a rough journey, but you tried your best to power through it to the best of your ability. 
Now, you were in your dressing room at the venue you were expected to perform in, an absolute fucking wreck. You were curled up on your couch, trembling and unable to even raise your head from your chest. Sobs filled your room, but you insisted to every manager and passersby that you needed to be alone and fix it yourself. 
To tell the truth, you never truly recovered from the media frenzy that took you and Ashton by storm. You knew you had every right to turn the tides on him, revealing to the world that he wasn’t the perfect saint everyone painted him out to be. But you didn’t, and no one on your publicity team was able to figure out why. 
 The reason was that you were still unexplainably attached to Ashton. Somehow, even though he put you in the situation where everyone started to hate you, you couldn’t help but now be able to understand why he acted the way he did. How he was overprotective of the boys and acted out of self preservation simply because of how cruel the media could be. By no means did you excuse him for putting you in that situation, but you still grasped some understanding. 
The difference between you and the drummer, however, was that he had a support system: his boys. You were practically alone to deal with the mess, cornered and vulnerable. 
You were shaking frantically in your room, unable to free yourself from your thoughts. Only one look at your phone caused your entire psyche to crumble. One fucking tweet about you shook your confidence. Some anonymous user critiqued your music, only attributing your success to your past “relationship” with Ashton. Those simple words broke down the walls you were just beginning to rebuild, and now you were stuck in your dressing room, thirty minutes before you were called onstage. 
Meanwhile, Ashton was navigating through the maze backstage looking for you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers were in one hand, a handwritten card in the other. He figured you’d be somewhere backstage, prepping for your show. He didn’t count on you being in your dressing room since you told him in the past that you loved to watch the crowd from behind the curtains. 
But to his shock, you were still in your pajamas hyperventilating on the couch. Ashton has witnessed this before; he’s experienced this before. But seeing you go through the same struggles he and his boys went through caused his heart to ache even more. 
“y/n?” he called out to you. You didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the ground as your grip around your legs tightened. Ashton set his things down on the side table, instantly kneeling in front of you. 
“Ashton?” you finally spoke, voice raspy and exhausted. For a split second, you thought you were actually hallucinating, envisioning the one man you needed but feared the most. But his cologne wafted into your nostrils, alerting you it was him in the flesh. “What are you-” You heaved a deep breath, choking out a sob. You could barely take the overwhelming stress towering over you like a deadly ocean wave. It was only a matter of time until it took you under and swallowed you whole. 
“Love, I’m going to need you to breathe,” he instructed, his hands finding yours. In your anxious state, you were able to distract yourself from your worries at the mere touch of his calloused fingertips. It was a silent calling to you, gently beckoning you back into reality but not quite succeeding. 
Ashton took your hand and pressed it against his chest, tucking it underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt. His warm skin electrified your palm, making your heart race -not from the anxiety- but from butterflies. “Pay attention to my breathing and try to copy it, okay?” 
At first, you struggled to listen to his instructions. You worked on your anxiety with your therapists over more sessions than you could count. You tried box breathing, yoga, and even journaling but nothing ever calmed your nerves, especially after the media went after you. 
But suddenly, you concentrated on the slow rise and fall of Ashton’s chest. The way his chest hair tickled your palms in a way that made you want to scrunch your nose at the feeling. How his heart was beating nearly out of his chest but you could tell he was trying to minimize it so he could attend to your needs first. 
You felt your Ashton. 
Moments that felt like hours passed until your breathing went back to normal and your tear stained cheeks dried. Ashton kept your hand against his chest, occasionally squeezing it to bring you back to reality when you teetered back into spiraling. This time, though, he rose from the ground and sat beside you. You let him move your legs over his lap as he practically held you against him. His smell was overwhelming. You could smell his cologne and shampoo, even the faint scent of weed from off his lips. He was intoxicating. He was the drug, dangling above your head, and you were weak, enthralled, captivated, addicted.
You found yourself leaning in to kiss Ashton, a real kiss this time. No corner of the lip bullshit that the press ate up every time. You didn’t expect him to kiss you back with the same fervor as you, hand wrapping around your waist and the other behind your head. It was sloppy, wet, and all shapes of perfect that you couldn’t describe. The taste of tea and weed transferred from his lips to yours as he pulled you in deeper. You gripped his shirt in your fist, hoping in your mind to mold your body against his and disappear from the world, anything as long as you were with him. His love was your poison and, at the same time, your cure. 
Reality began to sink in, making you push Ashton away forcefully and standing on your feet. He flew back into the couch, eyes wide and lips swollen. His perfectly slicked back hair was a gorgeous mess, curls gracefully falling down his face. Confusion riddled his face as he watched you curl back into yourself. 
“What are you–” 
“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered, unsure if you were saying that to him or yourself. “Why did I do that?”
Ashton stood up and reached for your hand, only for you to jerk back. “D-don’t touch me!” you exclaimed, scared of your own volume. Anxiety began to knock at your door once again, creeping in like a deadly virus into your system. “How could I be so stupid? Haven’t you put me through enough?”
You started to pace around your room, Ashton watching you move frantically back and forth until he got dizzy. You murmured to yourself not so quietly, scolding yourself for your stupidity and cursing him out for his enticing nature. All over again, Ashton was seeing you crumble.
“y/n, stop,” he ordered firmly, gripping your shoulders. You jerked to a stop, pausing to look Ashton in the eyes. You found yourself getting lost in the pool of hazel, wide eyed and entranced. “You’re going on stage in twenty minutes. Whatever’s going through your head right now, quit it. All of that can be put on pause until after the show, you hear me? And if that voice in your head brings it up while you’re out there, shut it down. What matters now is you, your music, and your fans. Fuck that voice telling you you’re anything short of great.” 
In his empowering speech, you forced yourself to listen to his words, ignoring the person those words were coming from. Taking his advice, you cleared your mind of the past few months and only focused on this moment: your first concert of your North American tour. 
Rushing to get ready, you scrambled around your room to prepare your hair and makeup. Ashton picked out your clothes for the concert, something simple that you absolutely adored but you paid little attention to the way your heart pounded at the thought. And in those twenty minutes, you were set for the show.
Your microphone in one hand and guitar in the other, you made your way straight to the stage. Ashton followed close behind you to ensure you didn’t misstep or forget anything. Mere inches away from the stage, you whipped your head around to meet his gaze just one more time.
“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully. “I know we haven’t talked, but thank you. Can I look for you after the show?” 
Your heart shattered at the shake of his head. “I’ve got a plane to catch right after your show so I can’t come by after,” he told you remorsefully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll be right here when you come back from tour. Maybe then we can start again, correctly this time. None of the cameras, scripts, or any of that, yeah?” 
The sound of your name being chanted by the crowd was nearly deafening, but his words reached your ears and you smiled softly at him. In the corner of your eye, your stage manager pointed at her watch to inform you it was time to go up. Wordlessly, you pressed your lips one last time against his. 
“Don’t be a stranger, Irwin,” you told him, turning on your heel and pushing through the curtains. The crowd shrieked and screamed at the sight of you, instantly bringing a proud grin to Ashton’s face. 
This was only the beginning of something new and truly beautiful, Ashton thought to himself, hands in his pockets as he made his way to the VIP section.
Several months have passed since your North American and European tour and it has been almost a full year since you started your publicity stunt with Ashton. Throughout the tour, you and Ashton -and the boys, of course- kept close contact with each other, never going more than a day without a phone call or video chat. Over this period, you felt like you finally got to know the real Ashton, not bits and pieces he’d accidentally let slip when he first got to know you. This time, he was real and genuine, and that only made me love him more.
You tiredly dragged your suitcase up your apartment complex’s stairs, heaving at the ridiculous weight as you made your way down to your apartment. You didn’t expect to see a certain hazel eyed drummer standing behind the door when you unlocked it.
“Surprise,” he said sheepishly, balloons and blueberry cheesecake in hand. Tears instantly filled your eyes, you dropped your suitcase and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly causing him to drop the dessert. 
Truth be told, you weren’t expecting to see him so soon, if at all. Your journey with your mental health has been a long one, and there were plenty of ups and downs. A part of you -one you were a little ashamed of- didn’t expect him to keep to his word that he’d be here now. Despite the plenty of calls and talks you had to rekindle your relationship, that nagging voice in the back of your head kept on asking “what if?” What if he took back what he said about wanting to start over? What if it was all in your head, and he never wanted to see you again? But without fail, Ashton was there, willing to rebuild your relationship into a close-knit friendship. And now he’s here, asking to make it something more. 
“You’re here,” you murmured into his chest, taking in his smell that you missed so dearly. “I didn’t think you’d come this soon. How did you even get in?”
Ashton pulled away, holding up your spare key. “Your friend gave it to me today,” he explained. 
Grinning you brought him back down into a hug before settling in and opening the box of cheesecake. Taking out two forks, the two of you ate straight from the box and caught up on everything, though there wasn’t much considering how often you both talked while you were away. 
“I’m really grateful you let me back in,” Ashton spoke up once the box had emptied. 
You were half listening, polishing off the plate of its sweet crumbs. “You let yourself in, silly,” you snorted, not quite understanding what he meant. “You’re the one who got a hold of my apartment key.”
Ashton chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Not that,” he laughed. “I mean letting me back into your life. I still don’t think I deserve it.”
“We talked about this, Ash,” you leaned back, setting your fork down. “We both said things we didn’t mean that day. We recognized it and we worked from it. We’ve moved on, and we’re friends. I think you deserve it as much as I do.” 
Ashton’s cheeks were tinged red as he tried to think of the right words to say. “I know,” he started. “But sometimes, I wish we had..more.” 
“More?” you raised an eyebrow. It took another second of you watching the drummer blush in embarrassment and vulnerability before it finally clicked. “Oh.”
Ashton stood up abruptly, wiping the invisible specks of dust off his jeans. “You can forget it,” he rushed in humiliation. “I-I just couldn’t stop thinking about that night of your first concert, how it felt, how you felt- and-”
“Ashton, slow down,” you giggled, standing up, taking his hand and tugging him toward you. A small smile rested on your face. “I still think about that night, too,” you confessed honestly. “And I want that, too. Whatever it is that you want.” 
The drummer looked up from your intertwined hands and into your eyes. He swore he saw stars in them. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked. “Again?”
You pulled him down into a kiss, your lips craving his all over again. “Yes,” you answered confidently as soon as you backed away to catch your breath. “I will be your girlfriend. Again.”
The two of you shared a laugh, enjoying the silent but welcoming comfort of each other. Standing in the middle of your kitchen, lips coated in sugar and blueberries. 
“What was your wish?” Ashton asked, pulling you closer to him as he broke the s. “Back at that restaurant when we first met?”
You hummed in thought, eagerly pressing your lips against his one more time to relish the moment. “My wish was that whatever we had back then,” you whispered, letting him in on your secret. “turns into something more.” 
“Well your wish came true, didn’t it?” Ashton smiled, a warm feeling bursting in his chest. 
You leaned your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. “Yes, Ash,” you said. “Yes it did.” 
--
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jessnotfoundd · 1 year
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𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?
Finding out you're pregnant and telling them.
(You can send me ideas or thing you want me to write about them or some one specifically)
Dad!verse masterlist
Masterlist here!
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Dream
After the talk, you both decided to be calm about it, so within two months you were waiting for your period, last month it came, so no baby, this month, you felt more tired than ever, so in your mind, you were hoping that now it's positive.
The test was taking longer than needed or you just didn't want to see it?. But when you open your eyes, test in front of your eyes, your mouth open wide, as well your eyes. It was real, it was not another negative test. It's a positive one. You smile and run to Clay's steam room, where he was editing some vlog. You wanted to give the news in a special way but with the extreme amount of excitement, you couldn't take it.
-Babe.- you move his chair so he is now facing you.
-Yes?- his eyes take a minute to see your happiness and he smiles too.
-I am- it's all you say and now tears of joy are escaping from your eyes- I'm pregnant- he jumps out of the chair and hugs you, turning around with you.
-We are gonna be so good, we're gonna do good.- his forehead on yours. Both of you smiling.
Sapnap
You knew. You know your body so bad. It's been 4 months since you decided to do this and you were so upset you haven't missed your period in none of those months. But war is over, you knew this time was right. The test is now hidden in the gift you prepared for the year anniversary of being married. A teddy bear customized as sapnap. Under it. The positive test for pregnancy.
-Open my gift- he says super happy, when you do so, you melt, a necklace with a picture of you two.-Hopefully one day there will be a picture of our family.- his hand is on yours, and your smile.
-Open mine- you smile, tears already coming. He laughs the minute he sees the teddy, but his eyes go a little down, noticing there's something else in the bag.
-I knew it.- he says eyes watery. Smiling big.
-How?- you're surprised, how did he find out?
-I guess i really pay attention to you and this week you were feeling sick, we had so many rushes to store for cravings, and laziness, I mean, you never were lazy.- he smiles wide and you let the tears run down your cheeks, he is so kind and perfect.
George
He was super into having a baby, so it wasn't a surprise that 4 weeks later your last period (which finished one day before having the talk) you were late on it. So you just waited two more days, just in case, but after those two days, the British boy and you rushed to the closest pharmacy to get a pregnancy test.
-So we might do a baby and I can´t see you pee on the stick?- he says annoyed.
-Exactly, now, let me pee, or do you want to pee for me?- I smirk.
-If i could i would.- he jokes and closes the door in front of him.
The waiting turned agonizing for both, but it was worth it. You both run to tell Dream and Sapnap they were going to be uncles.
Karl
This man would be desperate to have a positive pregnancy test, he would ask you every other day if you want to take one.
-Karl, babe, we have to wait at least a month to see if my period comes or not- he looked sad.-We have to be patient, remember?- he nods and goes back to whatever he was doing.
After your period date is late on his calendar (he insisted on knowing when it's supposed to be) he rushes to your work and after your shift is done, he takes a pregnancy test out of his pack.
-Your period is late, you know what that means?- he smiles and you do so, taking this moment and being sure to keep it forever in your memories.
-Fine, let's go home, and then I'll do the test.- you take it and lean to kiss him.
When the test turns out positive he's so happy, he wants to tell everyone, so you both just decided to find a good idea to tell everyone.
Quackity
This special occasion needed some special effort so you practice how to say it in Spanish.
-Babe- you get into the kitchen with the positive test on your pocket
-Yeah?- he's there making coffee for both, the cold morning asks for it.
-mhm- you hesitate but you are proud of your effort, so you just say it.- Estoy.... embarazada- you finish with doubt and he's already seeing you like a gosht.
-You sure you mean that you're pregnant?- you nod and take the positive test out of your pocket to show him. He's overwhelmed, but runs to your side to bring you in a hug.- oh god, you are.- he assures, and you both smile. He pulls you in for a kiss and the rest of the morning is basically you both telling you're families on facetime calls
Punz
You did the test and hope in the shower for a super quick shower before heading to your morning classes.
-Oh my god.- you heard luke on the other side of the curtain.
-What?- you have your eyes closed, enjoying the warm water falling on your head.
-We are pregnant- he says holding the test with the curtain a little open so you can see him.
-Luke!- you close the curtain so he can't see you.
-You mean that we are going to have a child but you don't want me to see you in the shower?- he laughs.
-Shut up, I'm pregnant.- you smile.
-We are darling, we are.- he jokes, resting on the door and looking at the positive test.
-I am the only one pregnant, Luke.- he signs.
-I'm Luke now?- he mumbles.
-Babe, why are you so dramatic?- you appear in his sight vision, a towel on your head, and others around your body.
-I'm gonna be a dad.- he brings you for a kiss and smile.
Foolish
He was there all the goddamn time, he was so sweet. You text him if he could come over because he was at Karl, who is both neighbors haha. He was going thru the door a second after you texted.
-You okay? something happened?- he checks on you and you show him the little box of the pregnancy test. -Oh- he's speechless.
-Want you to be here if it is positive, and I'm pretty sure it's gonna be.- you said with a smile. He takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom.
-Come on, piss on it baby- you both laugh.
When the positive was there, you couldn't believe it. Spent the rest of the night talking about the baby's stuff and just enjoying the presence of each other.
Wilbur
You were sure you were pregnant, and the negative tests were fake, so you decided to get a blood pregnancy test, you decided to keep it to yourself in case it was negative, but when the results were in your email box, you didn't want to open it. You did, and you're glad, cause it is a positive test, you are pregnant.
You call Will right away and told him that you both were going to have dinner for a big surprise. So when you're shift was over at the office, he pick you up.
-I cooked, i didn't feel like going out he says the moment you sit in the car.-Hope you're okay with it.- he kisses you and smiles. You are smiling so wide that he feels strange.-You have a big surprise I guess- he laughs and you nod.
-But ill have to wait until we are home.- he pouts and gets the car going.
At home, you are both almost eating now, and he is about to serve you wine, but you hold the bottle before he could pour it into the glass.
-You don't want wine?- he looks strange at you, you always had wine with big surprises and good news.
-It's not that i don't want to, it's that I can't.- you smile wide and he keeps it without picking it up.
-Why? are you taking medicine and i don't know?- he feels like a bad husband now.
-Will, I'm pregnant.- you hold his cheeks and he smiles wide like you are.
-No more wine for you- he leaves the bottle forgotten on the table and picks you in a hug, planting a kiss on your lips, smiling in the middle of this.
The celebration is long and you both feel like you're now complete.
-So i can talk to them?- he points at your stomach.
-Will, there's a group of cells, growing them will take a time.-He looks offended.
-There is our son!- he laughs, the wine kicking in.
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pray4saint · 7 months
Note
hihi i'm here to pick that massive brain of yours 😼
can we have some headcanons (or anything really) of george having a crush on a popular streamer!reader and maybe all his friends tease him about it bc he's just so smitten and has negative rizz around them? (sorry if this is basic but I can't get the idea out of my mind)
smitten
masterlist & descrip. pg. 13+. popular streamer!reader. fluff. george pining after reader. bsf!larray bc i felt like it. use of 'y/n'. swearing.
a/n. this has been rotting in my inbox for almost 3 weeks soooo here we are lmaoo. started writing 8/26/23, finished writing 8/29/23. crazy right??
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”heeyy guys– oh fuck.” those were the first words george ever heard you say.
george had heard your twitch handle – your username – float around twitter for awhile since you had another big project coming up. but the first time he saw you was in larray's newest youtube video. you'd opened the door to the room larray was pacing around in, talking into this phone's microphone, and you had two coffees in hand. ”heeyy guys– oh fuck.” the cut off was when one of the coffees spilled a little bit out of the lid and onto the floor. larray let his jaw fall slack, looking between the camera and the floor by the entrance. ”oh bitch how did that happen?”
”shut up.” you start, stepping over the spill to put the coffees down on his desk. ”do you have paper towels?” and then the video cut to him driving alone in his car, singing along to another song as he did almost ritualistically during these cuts.
it was that video that sent george down the rabbit hole. it started with your youtube channels, your main which was mostly your shortened streams and those very rare vlogs you did with friends. almost two hours had gone by when he realised just how long he'd been watching your videos and laughing every few minutes because you had said something funny, or you added to a joke someone else had started.
then there was your twitch, which had him travelling over to your twitter, and after reading like ten of your tweets, he followed you. after shaking his head and closing twitter, he found himself scrolling through your instagram. starting with the most recent, which he liked, that was safe enough, and he just kept going, at least until one of his roommates knocked on his door, and he accidentally liked a really old post. it was late and he didn't understand what could possibly be so important.
.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆. ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ .⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.
george didn't bother telling any of his friends about you as he didn't feel it was necessary. ping. that was weird. george could've sworn he'd silenced his phone. then again, this wasn't his stream and he could afford to check it right then.
twitter – 1 new notification @ yourusername followed you back!
his lips parted, a heavy exhale leaving him. it was weird, but he smiled at it. ”ooooh george, what's, or who's got you smilin' over there?” sapnap half-turned around in his chair, wiggling his eyebrows at his roommate. george's eyes snap up to his friend. ”uh, what?” sapnap just sort of laughs it off and goes back what he was doing prior.
.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆. ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ .⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.⋆。⋆˚。⋆。˚。⋆.
”hi george, i'm y/n.” you extended a hand out to the brit and after what felt like forever, he put his hand in yours and shook. ”hi.” was the only word he could manage out. as much as he wanted to make a good first impression, the only thing he could do when he looked at you was smile. it was something easily picked up by the rest of the group; sapnap, dream and larri. there were shared looks between the three, ones neither you or george saw.
you'd of course heard of the dream team, they were popular streamers, but you'd also heard about them from larri, who knew them a quite a bit better than the internet did.
larri was the first to speak up to get everyone back on track, to record the video. ”anyways so–”
god, george was a goner for you, and he didn't even really know you. at least not yet.
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pray4saint© do not copy, translate or repost my work without my express permission.
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jakeyt · 3 months
Text
Covet: Chapter 9 (Part 1 of 2)
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Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader
Covet Summary:
Life was good. No, life was great. 
Was. 
Until.
Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.
You welcomed him into your life—your home. 
Yes, he was your best friend’s twin. But, he was also the one who would end up disrupting your whole world with his attitude, his troubles, and the annoyingly natural way he lured you in. 
Jake Kiszka came with so much you really didn’t want.
At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.
Warnings: MINORS DNI (18+); angst; jealousy; negative self-talk; talks of miscarriage and hysterical pregnancy; allusions to childhood abuse; talks of pregnancy; extreme feelings of stress and anxiety; feelings of sadness; abandonment issues; therapy; talks of grieving a baby; pregnancy hormones (just the beginning lol); reader checking Jake out and being sad while she does it (lmao) (as usual, PLEASE lmk if i missed anything that is triggering to you!)
Chapter Word Count: 22.1k+
a/n: sorry it took a month, besties... hopefully this angsty fucking chapter makes up for it lmao <3
and don't worry, i won't be gone long ;)
Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤
-🌼🌼🌼-
“The covetous person is full of fear; and he or she will who lives in fear will ever be a slave.”
-Horace
-🌼🌼🌼-
October 30, 2022
Birds were chirping. The melodies of an acoustic guitar playing lullabies made your heart warm in your chest. A baby’s cries were being mellowed by the sound of the guitar. A smile, reaching the baby’s face that matched the one on the man playing the strings.
But you couldn’t look at him. Only the bundle of pure, unadulterated, untouched love in your arms; her eyes, looking the same as his, caught yours, the color of caramel coffee. . . twinkling just like his. . .
All pink and white and golden rays of sunshine.
Then, it was gone. 
No. Not again.
There was no more peace. No more lullabies. No more love from parent to child. . .
All dark and dirty and ear-piercing screams. 
A sister, trying to cover your eyes from what was happening, just inches in front of you.
Then there were hands. Hands gripping at your arms, the sister screeching, yelling and clawing for you as she got ripped away. As you got picked up so harshly your head hit something hard, making you dizzy. . . 
When you closed your eyes from the dizziness, you opened them afterwards to see that your sister was back. But she was older this time. 
Elsie. She was stunningly beautiful, as you knew she would grow up to be. Put together in an outfit that resembled that of Rachel Green. Her hair, flowing in strawberry blonde, soft waves around her delicate features and her blue eyes were wide open and wondering. Searching your eyes for something hidden in them. . .
What was she wanting? You couldn’t tell . . . Just as you were about to speak to ask her, she was in front of you, nudging you, not nearly as abrasively as the hands from before. 
You studied her quizzically – why was she–?
“Wake up!”
And the next time you blinked, your eyes were opened wide. 
To reality. To Elsie, shaking your arm in the present. You were an adult, she was an adult. Things were okay.
Life was safe again.
Shit. I’m so tired of that fucking dream, you thought angrily, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from your sweaty, tensed body. 
Blinking furiously, you let yourself cling to the softness— the safety of your bed. The bed hugged you, cocooned you in the fluffy down comforter. You were in your clean, quiet apartment. . . the rays peeking through your bedroom windows the same as they’d been at the beginning of your dream. 
“Sis,” Elsie said your name, out of all of her patience. “Come the fuck on. I’m hungry and I need coffee so bad. You know me. You know I’m about to lose all ability in my limbs if I don’t have caffeine stat–I need it. To survive,” she clutched her chest dramatically. “Please. Get your lazy ass up.”
You rolled your eyes with a giant huff, throwing your covers off of you to try and hit her with them. When you heard her gasp and slap at the covers, you figured you succeeded. 
“Y/n!” She said, backing up from the bed. When you saw her next, her hair was sticking up on all sides from static. Success. But she was laughing, finding it funny nonetheless. “You’re such a bitch.”
“Takes one to know one,” you said, sitting up to stretch a little. You had to fight the urge to put a hand to your tummy. Not in front of Elsie. “Now leave, I have to change.”
“I’ve seen you naked a million times before,” she argued. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”
There sure as hell is something you haven’t seen on me already. . . Albeit a little small, but rounder nonetheless. 
“Well I don’t want you to look at my naked body this morning, so get the fuck out.”
You were getting irritated. Just wanted to change in peace. Wanted to hold your belly to start the day. It was routine at this point.
She growled, opening your door. “You have five minutes, or I’m leaving your ass.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
As you pulled up to Waffle House, scream-singing Ariana Grande lyrics with Elsie at the top of your lungs, you were sincerely hoping that your stomach wouldn’t roll at the smell of the greasy breakfast food. 
The nostalgia of the morning was something you wanted to wrap up tight and not let flutter away in the crisp and cool October breeze.
Please, sweet baby, you pleaded. Love Waffle House with me. Don’t make me give this up.
You wanted this with Els. This particular establishment had been cathartic to you and your sister for several years. Talks that far surpassed therapy sessions occurred here, in the back booth, almost completely surrounded by windows. . . The thought of sitting in that back booth was enough to make you cry right on the spot. 
And the All Star Special sounded so fucking delicious. Good sign that it at least still sounded good, right? 
You just wanted scrambled eggs, ham, hash browns with ketchup, and a gigantic waffle with the restaurant name pressed in the middle. It was all you wanted at that moment. Truly. Nothing more, nothing less. . . Your mouth was watering.
Cheesy and strange as it was, you were quite literally crossing your fingers that the food wouldn’t make you projectile vomit as Elsie opened the door for you two. 
Please don’t make me sick, please don’t make me sick. . .
To your extreme relief, your tummy didn’t knot and squeeze. No bile came to the base of your throat. . . In fact, the vanilla waffle mixture, the sizzling, salty smell of the bacon and ham. . . it was better than before. Your heightened senses welcomed the scrumptious, sentimental scents that came with the establishment. 
And the back booth was open! 
Tears literally pricked your eyes at the sight. And you must’ve sniffled because Elsie spun around, where you waited to be seated, and checked on you with worried eyes.
“You okay?” She pondered, her tone light with a joke, but eyes still serious. 
Not able to fully collect yourself thanks to the fantastic hormonal effects of your pregnancy, you felt a tear hit your cheek when you sniffled once more. 
“Yeah,” goddamn, even your voice sounded fucking wet with emotion. “Just happy to be here with you.”
Tell her, y/n. Let her help you. . .Tell her.
Fuck that came out of nowhere. 
The soft, reassuring voice being the one to guide you would take a lot of getting used to if it was going to continue as the one to help you, rather than the harsh, critical one that’d taunted you since you were a child.
Honestly, when the calm voice came to you, your mind settled in the waves of reassurance. This was the voice you longed to hear anytime the dark one wanted to boss you around. . .wanted to push you down when you were up. 
It always spoke soft truths to you. This voice didn’t make you feel like utter shit; this was the one that sounded more like Elsie than you’d like to admit.
As you started walking to your beloved booth, you were trying to find a solid reason to not tell Elsie right now. . . You had to tell someone. Right? And it was killing you to be around her and keep her in the dark. She was safe. And, at that moment, the only person you really wanted to tell was your big sister. No matter how bossy she may get, it was worth it to have her know. She was your one and only safety net for years for good reason. 
And she was going to be leaving again tonight until Thanksgiving. There was no way you could wait to tell her until then. 
She’d also never forgive you if you kept it from her for too long. You couldn’t blame her. If roles were reversed, you’d kill her if she waited to tell you until she had a noticeably round belly. . .
You sat down at your booth. You, at the seat with your back to the big windows, her smile wide as she made small talk with the worn-out waitress. Elsie’s smile, though, was big enough it brought a smile to the tired woman’s face. Elsie got along with everybody, and the waitress was no different. 
God, she was sunshine for you. 
As the woman placed your menus down in front of you two, you immediately flipped it to the side with the All Star Special. You watched her kind face, aged from years of hard work, and found comfort in the thickness of her voice from even more years of smoke, as she asked for your drink orders. 
Elsie ordered her blessed coffee and you sat there, contemplating. . . stuck. Normally, you’d order a Mr. Pibb. . .but was that healthy for the baby?
Your sister stared at you, her brows wrinkled as she gave you a questioning smile. 
“Just get her a Mr. Pi–,” Elsie started.
“I’ll take an orange juice,” you finished. 
The sweet waitress left to get your orders ready, and when you looked up from your menu to Elsie’s face again, she was looking at you like you’d grown three heads.
 “Orange juice?!” She asked, as if you’d just insulted her on a great scale. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
You felt nervous under her stare and questions. You were going to tell her anyway. . . why were you feeling your skin prick with nerves? 
“Just felt like getting an orange juice. . .,” you said, shrugging your shoulders to play it off. “No biggie.”
“I cannot remember one time we’ve come here– in the years we’ve come here– where you’ve gotten anything besides a Mr. Pibb.” She leaned across the table to put the back of her hand to your forehead. She then jokingly asked, “Are you well?”
You watched her laugh at her own joke, her eyes, smiling. The same ones you’d looked into when, for years, you’d told her your deepest secrets. . . A couple of things came to your mind. When you lost your virginity and felt like shit about it (for God knows what reason); she’d raised your spirits by telling you she’d felt the same at first, but it got better with time. Then there’d been when you’d smoked weed for the first time and you felt so horribly about it (again, why?); she told you it was not a bad thing to do and that you deserved to feel so free as the drug would make you feel. 
Very rarely had she been extremely judgemental. 
Right now, she was giving you yet another look of concern, though. . .So, you decided. It was time. Now or never.
“Sis, what’s–?”
“I’m pregnant.”
There it was. First time you’d said it out loud. Damn. In that moment, it felt even more real to you, too. 
You were with child. There was a baby in you. There was life growing inside of your uterus. 
Then the opposite train of thought rushed through you. . .were you pregnant? Was the baby still in there? You hadn’t really had time to obsessive-compulsively research any of that yet. Could your tummy still grow if you had a miscarriage? Was that possible? Was there a baby inside of you?
You had to shake your head from your sudden wave of unwelcome, anxious thoughts. There was no reason to believe you’d lost the baby. . . right? Surely. . . You wouldn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. Blinking a few times, you chanced a look at your sister again.
She gaped at you, staying that way until the waitress came back with your drinks, not saying a word. Didn’t even look away from you when the waitress spoke, asking for your orders. You had to tell the woman it would be a minute, while Elsie still zoned out on you. 
Her eyes just bored into yours until you started feeling uncomfortable and irritable. 
Talk, Elsie. Fuck.
You clasped your hands together under the table, over your tummy. . .had to do something with them. And after continuing to wait a couple more minutes, you decided if she wasn’t going to say anything, you would. “Can you say some–?”
“What the fuck?” She asked, voice much louder than it should be for a quiet Sunday morning at Waffle House. 
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the heads of patrons turn towards you. Inquiring eyes were not what you needed at the moment.
Your cheeks heated as you grit your teeth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Elsie?” You fumed, automatically defensive for the life inside of you. “I had sex. I got pregnant. Simple as that.”
You’d never felt this sense of protection for anyone in your life. Not even your sister. No, at that moment, you were ready to go to bat for your baby against the woman who’d been your first line of defense your entire life. 
Thankfully the next time she talked, she sounded more subdued and understanding.
“I– I didn’t mean for it to come off that way, babe,” she said, shaking her head, laying a hand against her forehead. Her eyes searched for yours to believe her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right response.”
“It’s oka–.”
“This is a sensitive time for you–for any woman–my god,” she continued, not letting you make any excuse. “I was just in shock–still am, obviously–but I’m not upset,” she said, pausing. Then she narrowed her eyes, testing you. “How far along are you though?”
You giggled, remembering your earlier thoughts. The two of you were so alike. More like twins than anything, honestly. “I’m only like ten weeks, I think,” you smoothly said. “I found out two weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep it or not, and I didn’t want to tell anyone until I decided. It was my decision and I didn’t want anything or anyone to sway me.”
“That is all valid and correct,” she agreed, nodding her head. Then, she continued asking questions as she poured too much half and half in her coffee. “How do you feel about it? Good? Bad? Sad? Happy? Overjoyed? Utterly depressed?”
Your eyes bugged, and you waved your hands at her once she was drinking from her mug, watching you and waiting for a response. “Damn, slow down,” you began, entwining your hands again, on top of the table this time. “First of all, per usual, I don’t always know how I’m feeling. . . But–it’s strange,” you started, squinting out the window just next to her. “It’s like, this time, instead of bouncing back and forth between sad and mad and confused. . .I’m more bouncing between a variety of happy emotions for this life,” you untangled your hands to once again place them on your tummy, below the table. “The confusion is still there, but for this baby. . .the emotions are mostly positive ones full of hope and love,” you looked back at her. “It’s weird.”
She was squinting at you, nodding her head as she took everything in. 
Then the waitress was back, taking your orders. And just as soon, she was gone.
Elsie spoke before you could. “What changed?”
Snorting, you gave her a look. “Really, Els?”
Yet again, she narrowed her eyes, but this time it was out of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”
You did. She wanted to get to the heart of it. Not the situation. But what had changed inside of you to instigate your new, surprising view of things? You really weren’t sure . . . To be completely honest, this new feeling had just started yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago, you’d made the decision that would change your life forever.
But, you answered the best you could in spite of it all. 
“I don’t know,” you glanced down at your hands, holding your sweater-clad tummy. You hadn’t had to delve into oversized sweaters the past couple of weeks. Not quite yet. Your tummy wasn’t that round. “I just kind of started thinking on behalf of this life I made, and not really myself. I put him, her–whatever the fuck it is– first and doing that just gave me this new outlook. Like I didn’t have all of the time in the world to criticize myself anymore. Because I have someone else to look out for. Someone special–someone whose life I have to be careful with– a life I hold in my hands.”
She giggled. “Literally,” she motioned in the direction of your hand placement. You joined in on her little moment of humor, enjoying the feeling of normalcy with her. She knew, and things were still the same as always. You didn’t feel any weirdness emanating off of her. This moment was easing you and brought you a sense of undefinable calm. Something you’d needed so badly. She kept on, having more to say. “I’m so fucking glad you’re starting to feel lighter,” she stated, reaching a hand out towards you, palm up on the table. “You’ve always carried so much on your shoulders. Always. And it has sucked to watch helplessly. You have hurt for too damn long and you deserve more than anyone to feel this new happiness.” 
The tear that suddenly gathered at the corner of your eye and trickled down your cheek was unstoppable.  
You moved a hand to place in hers and you squeezed each other. “Thanks Els,” you wetly responded. And nothing more– just needed her to know you were thankful.
After a minute of just communicating with your eyes, your food was being brought in small increments. Her biscuits and gravy were placed at the same time as your plate of eggs, hash browns, and ham. 
“Your waffle will be out shortly, honey,” the waitress smokily said, tone sweet as could be. “You two enjoy.”
After you’d both responded with a nod and she was gone, there was no stopping you two from digging in. 
After swallowing her first bite of food with a moan, she looked at you, still chewing your hash browns, which now tasted more like the sugary, tomatoey ketchup you’d smothered them with. 
“God, I was starving,” she said, taking a little sip of her half and half with a dash of coffee. She squeaked a little as she set her coffee down, a smirk on her glossed lips. “Josh would not quit last night.” 
You made a gagging motion at the implication, your brow furrowed with disgust at her words. 
Then, you took your first sip of orange juice. 
Goddamn.
Fuck! Ew. Baby does not like orange juice.
Coughing a little, your throat felt ready to reject the liquid right as it hit your uvula. Gross as it was, you put as much as you could back into the glass, not caring for Elsie’s reaction. 
“That’s not nasty at all,” she sarcastically noted, still chewing her food. 
You kept coughing into your hand, swallowing as much as you could, focusing on getting it down, not wanting to projectile vomit all over your breakfast. 
I’ll show you nasty, Elsie. Don’t test me.
You rolled your eyes at her remark, finally getting the remains of the drink down. You held your napkin to your face, coughing a bit. “Says the woman who’s talking and chewing,” you said, your voice weak to avoid any bile rising in your throat and at the sour, putrid taste still sitting on your tongue. “And you’re one to talk–telling me way more than I need to know about Josh.”
She snickered. “I’ll tell you more. Just say the word.”
Laughing once outright, you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that won’t ever be happening,” you tried taking a bite of hash browns to get the taste of orange juice off your tongue. But it only made it worse. Your throat was not ready to accept any more at the moment. Spitting the mushy remains in your napkin, folding it up so as not to offend other customers. Your throat was tight as you responded. “I need water.”
“Here we go, babydoll! Waffles just for you,” the waitress returned, placing the food right in front of you. The waffle did not look appetizing in the slightest. You didn’t bother looking up to say anything, instead squeezing your eyes shut and willing the nausea away. “You okay, sweetie? D’ya need anything?”
“Can we get a water and a Sprite?” Elsie intervened, calmly requesting. “And like, ASAP, if that’s doable. . .”
“Sure thing! Back in a flash!” 
You kept your eyes closed, the twirling in your stomach not going away, but not intensifying either. You were scared to talk–afraid of what might come from your mouth if you did. 
“Here,” the sweet, older lady’s voice rang through, as you heard the plastic cups hit the table. She was rushing, her voice moving fast. “Gotta go to another table, but wave me down if ya need me, sugar.”
“I think we’re good for now,” Elsie reassured. You could hear the smile in her tone. “Thank you so much.” A few seconds passed, then your sister was tapping your hand that was still laid on the table. “Sis, please take a drink from one of them.”
Keeping one hand pressed to your mouth, you tapped the wrapper off of the straw. You chose the carbonated Sprite, banking on the carbonation and natural aid of Sprite for a sensitive stomach.
As soon as the ice cold, fizzing drink hit your tongue, you felt relief. The feeling hadn’t gone away in your tummy, but you also didn’t feel like you were going to hurl at any moment anymore either. You took a few short, yet healthy, sips, eyes closing again to center yourself. 
Your eyes trailed back to hers after you sat the cup down.
“You okay?” Elsie questioned, following you with her blue eyes, which swam with concern. You nodded, then she talked again. “Do you get sick a lot?”
Reaching for the water, you took one little drink of that, finally feeling able to talk. Your stomach was simmering slowly. You pushed the plates away, needing the food away from you for the time being.
“Not hungry?” 
You shook your head, your brows furrowed. “Not now. Fuckin’ orange juice,” you flipped off the offensively orange drink. Elsie snorted at you, and you grinned at her. “And to answer you, yes. I puke all of the time. Thought it was stress at first. Just throwing up because of all of my stress.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing her own food away. “You’re an idiot.” You scoffed at that, offended. “I’m just saying. You’ve never been a puker. Fevers and shit, yes. But never thrown up a whole lot. And you’ve had some terrible fucking stress in your life. . . never vomiting from any of it; just to remind you.”
“I guess I just wanted to stay ignorant,” you admitted. “And I didn’t think it was possible at all that I was pregnant.”
She hummed in understanding, then she leveled you with a stare as she took a drink of her coffee. 
“What now?” You groaned. “You fuckin’ weas–.”
“Does Jake know?”
Your stomach fell all the way to the bottom your feet. Fuck. What? How did she know?
Stupidly, you tried to reject it. Why would you try to hide it from her? You didn’t know. There was no point in trying to hide it. 
“Why would he need to know? This doesn’t concern him. He’s not the fath—.”
She practically honked with a huge laugh, blossoming from the back of her throat. You blushed, sinking back into your seat. Why would you even try to play dumb? You knew better than to do that with her. 
After wiping a little tear from below her eye, she sipped at her water. Sitting her glass down, she coughed a couple times and snorted with another giggle before continuing. “Please do not insult my intelligence like that.”
Weakly, you tried to defend yourself. “You believed me at the festival that we weren’t fucking anymore, so I just assumed–.”
“You think I believed that shit?!” She gawked at you– in disbelief that you’d thought that of her. “I just wasn’t going to push it out of you while you were so obviously in the depths of sorrow over that girl that was with him.”
Face flushing yet again, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. “‘Depths of sorrow’ is dramatic.” And true, you silently agreed with her. So incredibly, stupidly true.
“And you’re pregnant with Jake’s kid,” she pushed, wanting to hear you say it yourself.
You looked up at her through your lashes, not ready to say it out loud. But definitely needing to. . . and who better than your sister to say it out loud to for the very first time?
“Jake is the baby’s father, yes,” you said plainly, looking directly in her eyes as you said it. Then, immediately peering out the window, directly to your right. “Half him, half me,” you murmured, under your breath.
You pressed your shoulder, clad in your fluffy sweater, against the chilled glass. You still felt the coldness from the brisk autumn day through the thick windows. It calmed your heart which beat frantically against your breastbone. Talking out loud about Jake being the father of your child made reality slap you in the face. You were carrying Jake’s baby. Inside your womb was half of Jake and half of you. Together. Something you’d made. . . together. 
The thought of a part of him just floating around in your uterus was honestly jarring. . . but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all. No, in fact because the baby was half of him, you’d decided you had to keep it. Jake was the reason that the baby was a necessity to this world. A piece of the first man you’d ever. . . 
You shook your head amidst the raging thoughts, deciding to cut them off right. there. That was a path you did not want to venture down. 
Dangerous territory.
Knowing the baby was his and that fact being was the sole reason you had to keep it. . .that was big enough for you to acknowledge. Huge, actually. . . You couldn’t believe you’d let yourself face that so surely and honestly. But. . . that was something you refused to tell your sister. That was one thing for you and only you to know. It felt too personal to share–belonged in your heart alone.
The mother and child you were observing just outside Waffle House were about to get you lost in thought again . . . You could spend hours appreciating a true, authentic love between a mother and her child. You’d never had it, and it was just so unique in and of itself. A relationship that held its own definition of love. A love so lovely, precious, safe. . . wholesome.
You were desperate to create that for a child. Something you hadn’t had the privilege of experiencing. And the baby in your womb deserved to feel it. . . But could you do it? Or were you too much like your mom?
Before you could fall down that depressing rabbit hole, you slowly swiveled your head back in the direction of your sister. 
Then, without much contemplation, you unloaded. Told her everything. Informed her of the situation between you and Jake, how you started feeling iffy about all of it towards the end, and then how you’d decided to cut it off due to your desire to protect him. It rushed out of your mouth, with almost no thought and you honestly didn’t have time to consider anything before it slipped from your lips and into the air between the two of you. 
Elsie was watching you, eyes attentively following your every word and movement. She looked ready to help. As always. Her eyes, the color of the ocean and just as deep and sure as the waves that enveloped it. The overwhelming calm you felt after telling her, also similar to the ocean in its ability to offer peace. . . 
What she said first was not what you were expecting. No counsel. Just humility. 
“I’m sorry for what I said about you watching that girl with Jake at the festival,” she started, tucking her hands in her lap, expression sincere. “That was callous. Not the time.”
Wrinkling your brow, you argued back, unnecessarily defensive and overwrought with emotion after spilling all of that and for the life in your belly (lovely hormones). “I’m still me, Elsie,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
She raised a brow, combatting you. “Fine. If you’re still you, then I can say this: get the fuck over yourself and just be with him,” taking a drink of her coffee, she made a face. “Room temperature coffee is absolute balls,” she looked over her shoulder, trying to connect eyes with the waitress. 
You saw the woman head your way, and immediately got the hint when Elsie held the cup out with puppy dog eyes. “You’ve got it, sweet baby.”
“Thank you,” Elsie said, her voice that of a grateful servant to the woman. 
“You, with your food and drinks that must be so hot they burn your mout–.”
“We’re not done with you. So, shut up.”
“Jesus, Elsie! I–.”
Holding a perfectly manicured hand up, black nails flashing in front of you briefly, she cut you off. “No! I don’t want to hear any more of the bullshit. You’re literally having his baby. Get over this. . . thing in your head, and just be with him. You obviously want it. And I think he does, too.”
You sighed, the breath coming fully from your lungs. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it, too. . . it was just complicated. “It’s not that easy, Elsie,” you lamented. “There are several pieces to the puzzle.”
“Liiiiike . . .?” 
“Well, for one,” you held up a finger to start the count. “He has a girlfriend now.”
“No he doesn’t,” she scrunched her face, completely disagreeing. “He’s not with any–.”
“They showed up to the party together, Elsie. The girl from the festival. And they have a past. He was groping her all night last night and she never left his side,” you repeated the events aloud, your stomach rolling at the heinous thoughts. 
“Oh, shit,” her eyes got big, blowing out a slow breath. “I didn’t even realize. Josh and I–.”
“Were roaming the room for half of the night and preoccupied for the rest of it,” you said, shivering at the deplorable thought of your friend and sister. 
“I was with you for a good chunk of it, too, bitch,” she corrected, pointing at you. 
You stuck out your lip, nodding to agree. “You’re right. . .but you were also way too distracted by Josh to notice.”
She made the same face, mirroring you. “You are not wrong,” she grinned smartly, winking suggestively. “No regrets.”
“I’m going to puke on you.”
“Oh my god, please don’t,” she gagged. And then started singing a thank you as the waitress came back with your tickets and a fresh coffee. After dumping one million half and half cups into her mug, she took a hearty sip. When she sat it down, she practically vibrated in delight. “Oh hell yeah.”
“You know Josh hates coffee,” you noted. “Prefers tea.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve had many long debates over the ridiculous fact,” she growled. “He’s a miscreant when he wants to be.”
You laughed outright. “Yes he is. Little fuckin’ gremlin.” 
The sound that roared out of her was more reminiscent of a yell than a laugh, but it became a string of snorting and giggles that you joined in on. After a few minutes of enjoying the sound of the other��s laughter, you shook your head and scratched your brow before seeing your phone light up with a notification. 
Stupidly, your tummy fluttered at the possibility of it being Jake texting you. But then you remembered that he would absolutely not be texting you in his right mind. . . that was not where you were with him right now. You weren’t sure you’d ever be there with him again. And that thought made your tummy sink as soon as it’d fluttered. 
Though, the notification on your screen was enough to bring a little grin to your face, your eyes watering with the overwhelming excitement and joy that ignited in your heart at the update from your Ovia Pregnancy app. 
Week 10: Congratulations, y/n! You’re heading into the tail end of your first trimester. Your baby is now the size of a kumquat and almost 1 ¼ inches long!
Not being able to help it, you turned your phone to Elsie so she could see the notification as well. 
She read through it, her mouth moving as she took in the words. A wide, toothy smile made its way to her face–her entire demeanor lighting up with you. Clutching both hands to her chest, her eyes were wet next time you saw them. Your own eyes filled with more tears at her reaction to it. 
“I’m so proud to be an aunt to your little kumquat baby!” She said, her voice actually quivering with emotion. 
“I’m glad you’re proud,” you responded with a sniffle, drying your undereyes with a Waffle House napkin. “I’m proud, too.”
Her smile turned close-mouthed, yet no less sincere and delighted. “You should be,” she paused, then her crying eyes dried a bit as her tone turned serious. “And Jake will be, too. I know it, babe,” she stopped, pondering a thought. “You are going to tell him, right?”
You didn’t have to think about your answer. He had to know. You wanted him too, really. “Yes.” Then, your tummy flipped. “ But I don’t know if he’ll be super excited when I do,” you shook your head. “This was not in the cards for him this year. . . I wouldn’t blame him if he rejected the idea of me being pregnant with his baby.”
“Well, he wouldn’t reject it. I can say that for certain–I’m dating his twin and I know Josh would never reject a baby,” she said, wiping at her face with her own napkin. “And, I’m going to argue the other part, too. . . it obviously was in the cards for him,” she reached a hand out towards you and you took it. “This happened for a reason, sis. A good one. And Jake will view it as such.”
“I just don’t want it to slow him down,” you squeezed her hand, looking down to where they entwined on the gray table. “I need him to keep going and chase his dream.”
She raised a brow, shook her head from side to side, once again disbelieving. “He will, y/n. He’ll keep going. Josh is– and he and I are dating?. . . What’s the difference?”
“Where do I start? Most importantly, I’m messed up in the head and I need to work on myself before I expose him to myself,” you insisted, bringing your hand back to place on your tummy. “And he and Josh are different. . .Josh has a drive that Jake doesn’t. Jake gave up his dream before and he’ll do it again if he’s allowed. And a baby is already damn near the most drastically life changing thing that could happen to a person. Could completely screw up his plans,” you sighed resolutely. It was clear to her that you were firm on this, so she sat back with open and considerate eyes to let you finish. “Best to keep things separate between us so he has one less thing that is tempting him to put himself last. A baby is enough.”
She hummed, taking it all in. After taking a moment, she gave a response. “I just have one question.”
“Yes?” You prepared yourself, raising a brow.
“What’s the difference between you and the girl?-- What’s her name anyway?”
“Maya,” ugh. Hate that name. “Her name is Maya. And she is normal where I am not.”
“O-kaaaay,” she replied, still unsure of the validity in your response. You didn’t know why she seemed so unsure. She knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you were jacked up. She let out a massive sigh, then continued. “Well, I don’t personally think you know her well enough to make that assumption. She could be more detrimental to him than you–.”
“Not possib–.”
“And you could be exactly what he needs,” she said, almost in finality, though it was obvious she wasn’t done when she leaned forward, her tone hard and steadfast. “You’re also not as “jacked up” as you seem to believe you are. Have you got things to heal? Yes. But are you still one of the most incredible people that has ever walked this planet–if not the most incredible? Even more so, yes,” her eyes watered again, but she sniffed the tears away to say her last piece. “I think you could very well be exactly what Jake Kiszka needs to be complete. And even though I wasn’t around for all of the intricacies of you two, I should’ve caught on. Because I do know the way that man fucking looks at you. . . and dammit if I’ve ever seen another man look at a woman the way he looks at you. . . not even Josh with me or Grandpa with Grandma.”
Your heart swelled and your cheeks grew instantly red. Your blood buzzed in your veins. . . did he really look at you like that? 
Then, selfishly, you wondered if anyone else had noticed like Elsie had. . . like Josh. Fuck. Did he see how Jake looked at you? Had he already presumed things about you and Jake based on how his twin apparently, blatantly, ogled you? And then you realized, yet again, how you would have to obviously tell Josh of the baby. . . oh god; how would he react?
“I wish he wouldn’t,” you muttered. “I don’t need anyone to–.”
“To know?” She squeaked a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe. . . but I think your cover’s about to be totally blown within the next nine months.”
You groaned, placing your forehead in your hand as you blew your hair away from your face. “How will Josh react?” You moaned, halfway to yourself and halfway to her. 
“What?” 
You snapped up. “How in the hell is Josh going to react?!” You anxiously quizzed her, eyes wild. “He is already going to be hurt that I kept it from him. And then there’s the reason I kept it from him in the first place. . .,” you felt tears well in your throat right before you nearly slammed your head on your crossed arms, which laid against the table, dramatically. 
Okay, these hormones can fuck right off. 
“Why’s that, sissy?” She carefully inquired, tone soft, not judging your reaction the way you internally were. “Remind me again.”
You moaned, raising your head and willing the tears away. “He made it so incredibly clear to me how Jake didn’t need another woman infiltrating his life and distracting him. And how Jake needed this time to discover himself for the first time in his life. . . and I’ve completely ignored that desire of his,” a lone tear slipped from your ducts. “I’ve betrayed him. Selfishly.”
Letting the words sit in the air between you, she waited a couple of beats before inserting her two cents. “When does Jake finally get what he wants?”
You wrinkled a brow, tears completely dissipating out of curiosity for her next words.
“I mean. . .” she started, making a thoughtful smacking sound with her mouth. “Josh thinks he can call the shots. You think you can just decide to not let yourself ruin his life? Like, what the hell, first of all? And second of all. . . what if he doesn’t care about any of that shit and just wants you? Did you ever take a second to consider that?”
“Yes, Elsie,” you growled, defensive once again. “And that’s why I’m keeping the ball in my court. I’m protecting him. And that was Josh’s intent, too.”
“I don’t know where you two get off acting like Jake isn’t a grown ass man who can make his own decisions. . .,” she trailed off, flashing an irritated look out the window. 
You did not want to get into this right now. The conversation was trailing much further than you fucking wanted. Your nerves were practically electrifying you and your head felt heavy.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Elsie,” you shortly bit out at her. She snapped her head back at you, her eyes still on fire. You stayed firm. “I’m done talking about all of that shit,” your hands laid safely on your lower, swelling tummy. “I have bigger things to consider now,” after glancing down at your stomach, you hit her with another stern glare. “So drop it.”
Her chest was heaving. 
You were not sure what was happening; why was she suddenly so “Team Jake”? When had that happened? And again, why? 
“Fine,” she conceded, sniffing resolutely once and then went to sip her coffee. Which, by the look on her face, was cold again. “Yuck. Can we bust this joint and go to Starbs? I need the sweet stuff.”
You sighed with relief at the change in subject. “Yes,” you smiled. “Let’s.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
It was just you and your sister in the open apartment, which was now completely cleaned from last night’s festivities due to your obsessive-compulsive cleaning. Though, you couldn’t help but notice when you’d come back from breakfast, Jake had been gone and the apartment looked much better than when you’d left with Elsie. It felt nice that he cared for the apartment, too–enough to try to keep it clean. 
You trained your thoughts on Elsie, as she waited at the door to leave, bags completely packed, awaiting her Uber to the airport (you were, unfortunately, so suddenly fucking tired that you had decided you weren’t fit to drive her). 
You didn’t want to let her go. She was your one person who knew now, and no matter how much she challenged your stance on Jake, she was still your sister and your person and you needed her with you during this time. . .
“Can you not just stay for a couple more days?” You tried once more, knowing better than to ask, as she’d repeated the words more than once now. “Let them know your sister is having an existential crisis and needs you?”
She huffed with a grin, rolling her eyes. “You are literally fine,” she reassured, reaching a hand out to hold your arm. But instead of letting it stop there, you fell into it and let yourself fall into her–let yourself wrap both of your arms around her shoulders, hugging yourself tightly to her. 
“Please don’t leave,” you moaned, your voice so meek it was straight up depressing. “I need you.”
She hugged you back, dropped her duffel off her shoulder in the process of embracing you. “I always need you, sissy,” she agreed. “But I’m just a FaceTime or text away,” she assured you, combing her hands through your wet hair, having taken a shower while she’d been gone saying her goodbyes to Josh. “I’m here. And you have people here. You just need to let. them. in.”
“I know. . .,” you sighed hotly into her natural curls. “I’m just so scared to tell Jo–.”
“I’m tired of hearing that, babe,” she asserted firmly. “Because the last person you need to be scared to tell is Joshua,” she stated, leaving no room for argument, right in your ear. “And if you think about it, you know him well enough to fucking know that. So get out of your maze of thoughts and know the truth.”
She was right. . . Truly, you knew she was. You knew his heart. But. . . “How will I even. . .?” 
Pulling away from you, she kept her hands wrapped around your forearms, keeping a caring hold on you. Keeping you near. “I’ve actually been thinking about this, like, all day. . . but the first thing that came to my mind is what I keep going back to.”
You waited for more, but she didn’t continue her thought. Impatient, you asked. “Which is. . .?”
“Invite him to a doctor’s appointment. Maybe your. . .first?” she offered, questioning the last part. But sounded completely sure of her idea. “It’s the perfect way to break it to him. And. . .if I’m correct, I’m assuming you haven’t had one yet since you just decided to keep it?”
“Yeah. . . no appointment yet. So, I could. . .ugh,” you answered. “But– why? How–? Will he–?”
“It’s the ideal situation because he will feel like he’s being helpful and loving. He’ll be able to be there for you. He’ll feel needed and involved and that is literally all Josh wants in general in life, so. . .”
“It’s perfect,” you weakly agreed. It really was. You couldn’t deny it.
“Yes, it is,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder and lifted her duffel bag back over her shoulder. “I came up with it.”
You scoffed. “Okay, now. Don’t get a big fuckin’ head, loser.”
“Bitch,” she bit back, shoving your shoulder. 
Rubbing your shoulder in faux pain, you gave her a pitiful expression. “Elsie. I am with child, you need to be careful with me now.”
Bursting with a chuckle, straight from her chest, she shoved your other shoulder. “I’m not touching the damn stomach, so I’m good.” 
You shoved her back, dropping the act and giggling with her. “You right, you right,” you said. Then, your thoughts came back to the task at hand. The baby that was squirming around in you. “I’m still scared.”
“That’s another perfect aspect of telling him in that scenario though,” she added, assuring you with her opinion. “You can’t back out. You’ll have to tell him if he meets you at the doctor’s office or takes you there or whatever the hell he does. . . you’ll have no choice but to tell him before you go in. And he’ll just have to take it,” she said, her plan sounding, admittedly, concrete. “He will survive,” she dropped her hands from your arms and looped her belt bag around her chest before placing a hand delicately to your cheek. “I promise he’ll survive.”
Just then, her phone dinged, indicating her Uber had arrived. So, with many “I love you’s” and a few curse words, you were following her down the stairs, then hugging her tightly once more outside of her awaiting Uber. 
And as you watched her leave the parking lot, the tears started to flow. So. many. tears. Steady, hard, relentless weeping. . . 
The emotions were obviously true, yes, but the hormones–and your current, lonely headspace– were amplifying the already-existing emotions of her leaving to an incredibly irritating degree.
But before you could lose yourself in them any more, you heard a door to a car shut to your left, along with a laugh you knew all too well. Jake was home. 
And if you didn’t move, he was going to see you as a hysterical mess and you did not want his fucking pity right now. Last thing you needed. And worse, you also didn’t want to see his expression, for the chance it might be hard and uncaring. You also didn’t want to possibly see a certain woman arrive with him. 
You were sure she was with him. The feminine giggle you heard accompanying his endearing chuckles could be no one else.
So, instead of looking in his direction, you turned quickly on your heel and speed-walked up the stairs, a hand on your tummy to avoid any hurt to the kumquat baby. 
As soon as your back hit the closed door, you breathed a sigh, which turned into a long yawn. The kind that made you shiver with a sudden, urgent desire to sleep. You didn’t have to work today, you’d canceled study plans. . . So suddenly, you felt abundantly free and a nap sounded like the perfect remedy to the overwhelming emotions of your day.
-🌼🌼🌼- 
Monday came and went before you even knew it was happening. As did Tuesday. As did Wednesday. And when Thursday came around, you had your Modern Poetry elective. The one class you had with someone you knew relatively well. 
You hadn’t made it a priority to make tons of friends while in school to get your degree–you’d had Josh and Elsie, and eventually Sammy and Danny. . .and that had been enough. 
But, when Theo had popped back up into your life, anytime you saw him in a class, it really did feel nice to be around someone familiar at school. Even though he was on the more annoying side, he was still a good confidant.
And especially with the massive course load this semester, having someone you knew around was helpful. Good for feeling less alone. He was somebody who was going through school with you; he got the overwhelming amount of pressure from school, too. He felt the senioritis, too. . . but, his case was slightly different. 
He was ready to be done with school so he could pursue this career he longed to have in writing, while you were just ready to be done. 
Initially, when you had started the semester, you were just ready to be out of Pratt because you felt like you were wasting your time on a degree you’d lost passion for (save for your minor in media studies which gave you the occasional music-related course).
Now you weren’t sure why you were ready to be done. What made you feel more anxious to put Pratt in the past now? Was it the burning desire to be done with a passionless major? Or did the life in your tummy have something to do with it? The thought of the baby you held inside honestly got your blood pumping more excitedly in your veins than a college degree ever could. 
You really only cared about ascertaining a healthy baby– no longer caring much for a piece of paper saying you had studied writing, uselessly, for four long years. 
But you had to make it through school. If not for you, for your baby. You didn’t have much longer left, and you owed it to that child to see this through. You had to find some drive though. So, in came Theo to help with that. He was great at encouraging others, and that was exactly what you needed while trudging through the sixteen hours of classes you’d enrolled in this semester. 
When you were getting up to leave for class that afternoon, you had your mind set on a big jar of baby pickles (stereotypical pregnant woman, much?). You were ready to get off campus and to the nearest grocery store for the deliciously tangy food. 
Before you could leave your two-person table, though, a hand came out to grab your arm as a way of stopping you. If you had acted on impulse, you would have whined and stomped your foot in protest at being kept from satisfying your pickle craving. 
But you didn’t act like a petulant child. Instead, you turned around, eyes opened and ready for whatever was needed from you. 
And when you looked behind your shoulder, Theo was there, a head or so above you, smiling and waiting for a response. 
“Yes?” You asked, semi-irritatedly, semi-sweetly. “What’s up?”
He just stared a little while longer, blinking rapidly before shaking his head. His blonde hair had grown out a bit and shook with the movement, eyes twinkling just enough, making your heart thump a little harder in your chest. 
Why in the hell? 
“I meant to ask you Tuesday, but you were gone before I could,” he started, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. He shifted on his feet a little before peering curiously into your eyes. “Are you okay? I missed seeing you for our usual Sunday study time. . .”
You swallowed, slightly grumpy that he felt the need to pry. 
He’s just showing he cares, y/n, the angelic voice said, which now stopped by more occasionally than the negative one. 
Not wanting to tell him anything too personal (God, no), you went with the bare minimum. “A friend hosted a Halloween party at my place on Saturday, and my sister was actually in town for it,” you divulged, wrapping your fists tighter around the straps of your backpack. Please let me leave after this. “So I hung out with her yesterday while she was still in town.”
Not the whole truth, but not so much dishonesty to  me feel bad.
“Oh!” He said, a light hearted laugh accompanying his tone. “Cool. I remember from high school how close you two were.”
I remember how much she didn’t like you, you thought, feeling uneasy at past-Elsie’s opinion of the guy.
Was he really that bad though? He’d been great for you during high school. Even though it had only been a year of time with him, he had still been a decent person to have around during those formative years of your life. He had been considerate, kind, helpful. . . the only negative things you could remember were the few times he’d try to get you to calm down on unnecessary occasions. He could be occasionally judgmental, but wasn’t everyone to an extent?
And maybe you and Elsie had only been your average, overly sensitive high school girls and had thought he was worse than he actually was.
Because at this moment, all you could see were the green flecks in his blue eyes and how they caught the sun that shone in from the window behind you, and onto his pale face. The way he waited earnestly to hear your response made you feel special and valuable to him at this moment and what woman didn’t like that?
“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear before folding your hands over your chest. Aaand, wincing, you quickly moved them away. Your boobs were especially tender with the extra pressure against them. Every day they seemed to get more sensitive to the touch, feeling heavier–fuller. “We’re still that close. Probably closer now, actually. After living together, and then her job forcing her to be far away often. . .,” you trailed off, sad at the thought of her being so far away all the damn time. “We’re forced to communicate way more than we ever have before.”
He nodded, winking at you. And although he was cute, you didn’t feel anything at the wink, really. It didn’t swirl your tummy with nerves like it would with someone. . .else. You chalked it up to the craving that was still distracting you, making your tummy growl. 
He cleared his throat before he tucked one hand in a jeans pocket and one tighter around the strap of his bag. “Intentional is the word,” he added with another wink, seeming to understand to a degree. But you caught the aggravating ‘know-it-all’ attitude. Tipping his head, he looked at you with smiling eyes. “You okay?” He motioned with his hand at your neck-chest region.
Your brow furrowed, confused. Defenses were instantly raised and you took a step back, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “Yes?” You retorted, tilting your head to challenge him. “Why?”
“Just saw you flinch and all,” he said, in wonder at your tone. When he spoke next, he no longer seemed understanding, only misunderstanding. “Nothing big. Don’t worry,” he held his hands out, as if calming a tiger. 
You felt stupid for overreacting, so you covered your tracks with a forced giggle, masking the situation the best you could with a straight-up (ironic) lie. “Just a certain time of the month,” you explained extremely falsely. “Overly reactive to everything right now.” That was true. 
“Oh,” he pointed a finger at you, pretending to get it. “Makes sense.”
Okay, you thought, squinting at him as he looked to the side with a sort of confidence. Maybe Elsie had been onto something. . . 
But then he peered down at you again with his sparkly eyes and shaggy, naturally blonde hair.  It made you feel a little weak for the guy, even with him irritating you.
But why was he irritating you, exactly? Maybe your emotions were controlling you a little too much– getting too easily offended thanks to the hormones. . . Perhaps he was just acting like a normal human, while you were the one who wasn't reacting like a normal human.
Your stomach was fucking growling though. . .Theo didn’t matter worth fuck at that moment. What did matter was how badly your body was craving eating for two. If you didn’t eat soon, you were afraid you would faint from lack of sustenance (you definitely wouldn’t, but there were the over-reactive feelings again). 
You started backing up, and made it just next to the table when you were saying your next words. “I’m going to go ahead and get out of her–.”
“Wait!”
Having just turned on your heel, your face was hidden from view, and you were able to roll your eyes when you heard him. You weren’t going to stop though. He could follow you to the parking lot. You were hungry and grouchy and ready to eat an entire jar of pickles before crashing hard against your sheets. Before you had to show up at the B&G for the evening shift.
“Follow me,” you said, short, only looking over your shoulder at him briefly before continuing your trek. But please don’t talk for long. 
You were just outside North Hall when you decided to stop, so you wouldn’t have to fear him stalling you at your car.
“What’s up?” You asked, playing cool despite your desire to grumble. 
“I actually– I just thought–,” he laughed, seemingly at himself. He scratched behind his ear. Then he stood up straight, determined after tucking both hands into his front pockets and clearing his throat for the second time that day. You noticed his jeans, dark wash, skinny, and complimenting his firm thighs. “I wanted to ask you to hang out with me sometime– outside of here.”
Seriously? He was stopping your pickle eating for this?
You couldn’t help the snicker that escaped you, confused. “We do hang out,” you grasped tightly to the straps of your backpack again, anxious to get food. Already tired of him. “Every Sunday.”
“Well, yeah,” he agreed, pausing. Then he grinned in a way you assumed he thought was cute. But all it really did was make your eyes hurt from the inability to roll, out of courtesy for him. He continued, taking a step closer. Your hands did start perspiring and your heart sped up positively at his proximity. “But I thought maybe we could do something not related to school?”
You opened your mouth to reject it–you were not interested. For many reasons. The biggest being the baby in your belly. . .
Although, the more you pondered the baby, you realized more than that, you were hesitant because of his or her father.
Not the child, but Jake. The man that was ever-present in your mind– with his beautiful, brunette hair, eyes the color of understanding, easing you in the most complex situations. . . and the heart that’d made the world suddenly make sense. . . (Which still scared the hell out of you, by the way.)
But. . .as the thoughts spiraled, it all started to have the opposite effect. Made you want to agree.
So, you did.
You said yes to hanging out with Theo. Because, as soon as that thought process had started derailing, you knew it was best to agree. The idea of hanging out with him seemed like a great distraction from Jake. A much needed one.
What you had with Jake was nothing and it was in the past. For a reason. 
After you watched him smile wide and say he’d text you, he went to join a heap of Pratt’s fraternity boys. You could only hope that maybe getting out there and hanging out with someone else would get your mind off of Jake. 
You did not want it going further than a few dates with Theo. Just a little time with Theo would surely be all it took to get your headspace cleared and make it easier to navigate life. 
The repercussions to its ending were literally nothing. You’d switch seats in class and force yourself through school with the occasional encouragement from Elsie. Theo was not a necessary addition to your life long-term, but you figured he could help you short-term, while also creating long lasting benefits.
Surely you could divert your thoughts from Jake. Think of the child first, and put its father on the backburner as you weaved through this next chapter in your life. . . No matter how badly you wanted him with you through all of it, experiencing it all first hand with you, it was the wiser decision to keep things separate. 
And, as an additional help, Theo would make it obvious to Jake that you were willing to keep your life separate. 
So, when you did eventually tell Jake (dear fucking God), there would be an additional party that emphasized you’d moved on and all that mattered now was the baby. 
Not the two of you. That ship needed to sail. 
Even though the thought made your stomach hurt like hell and tears well in your eyes as you pulled into the nearest Trader Joe’s for pickles. . . you knew it was the truth.
-🌼🌼🌼-
That evening, you took a longer route to work, choosing to listen to a podcast you’d found. 
Having listened to the first episode on the way to school that morning, you decided to fill your cup with another episode on the way to work. 
It was a magnificent podcast that was all about the ‘ins and outs’ of pregnancy, being a new mother, and how to grow mentally and emotionally during such a unique time.
The second episode was going just as well as the first until you heard one of the moderators’ voices get low and forlorn. 
“You know ladies. . . the first time I got pregnant is planted firmer in my memory than any of my other pregnancies,” she said, sighing heavily. 
“Oh, yeah, Jen,” another moderator said, voice growing dim with Jen’s, apparently (you were still getting accustomed to their names). “I bet, babe. . . The ones that are lost are the ones that stick so close it fuckin’ hurts and heals at the same time. . .”
“Agreed, Tally,” the third—and last—speaker on the podcast chimed in. “I’ll touch on my story after Jen.” 
“Thanks, Molly,” Jen’s voice rang through your speakers again. “Yeah, it’s just a different feeling when they’re there and then suddenly they’re not. . . When you imagine holding them in your arms for God knows how long and then it suddenly becomes impossible to do so,” Jen sniffed, and just as she did, you felt a tear hit your own cheek. God, you were hurting with her. “Every woman is different, but I just hang onto my loss like nothing else. And not necessarily in a bad way— just in an attempt to sort of keep the baby here with me— Give her the life she never got to fully live.”
Dammit, the tears wouldn’t let up. They were trailing down your cheeks steadily. When you got to the next stop light, you had to grab a napkin from your glovebox to blot at your cheeks, already marked with black streaks of mascara. Thankfully you could still wipe them up easily, not dried to your skin quite yet. But you knew the crying wouldn’t be letting up soon. Your emotions had been triggered and you would be seeing this sadness through. (Hello, pregnancy hormones.) 
You took turns holding the napkin under each eye, making sure to catch the tears as they continued. 
“I’m right there with you, Jenny,” a voice you now recognized as Molly’s said. “Even though my stories are a little different.”
Stories? 
God. You kept your eyes on the road as you popped open the glovebox once more, grabbing a fistful of left-over restaurant napkins. 
Sitting them on top of your legging-clad thighs, right where you could reach them, you took a right turn towards the B&G. 
“I’m sure we have listeners who will relate to all of these stories,” Tally interjected, sniffing. “Both of you girls.”
“I hope we’re able to help someone,” Jen responded, voice still thick, but not so bad as before. 
You heard a sigh before Molly started speaking again. “The first time I carried was very similar to Jenny’s. Lost the baby. Early on. The worst loss I’ve ever experienced—I will never understand why we lose them,” her voice shook with sadness. But, it soon transitioned to a hot flash of irate frustration when she spoke next. “I will also never understand the people who invalidate our experiences just because they were lost in the womb or lost as little tiny babies. . . Just because they weren’t full grown people, outside of the womb, when it happened. . . doesn’t make it hurt any less. You have just as much to mourn for the life they completely lost.” And just as soon as she was firm, her voice was soft again. “The life we lost before it was time.”
The other two agreed, voices low out of respect for the moment. 
“Then there was my second. . .,” she blew out a breath, as if preparing. She gave a half-laugh. “Strange occurrence. . .”
“But it happens!” One of the other two chimed in. 
“Sure as hell does,” Molly said. “The second time I carried, I had a hysterical pregnancy– a case that only 6 women in 22,000 experience. . .”
“I can’t imagine. . .,” Tally breathed a sigh out. “Your body, tricking you like that.”
“Yeah, and it felt completely real– like everything you’d expect,” she replied, thoughtful. “Like everything I experienced with the one I’d lost before. . . And, God, it was so incredibly hard to get through once I found out what my body had done to me. . . I just wanted a healthy baby–especially after the loss. I was still hurting badly from losing the first when it happened. Almost like my body was playing tricks on me just to see how far I could stretch mentally and emotionally,” she laughed under her breath, in spite of it all. 
“So fucking cruel, babe. . .”
But you weren’t focusing hard enough to know who was talking anymore. You’d caught on to the stories they’d told and now you were over analyzing your situation. . . Questioning everything. . . Was this real? Was there a baby there? Were you having a hysterical pregnancy? Was your body playing tricks on you? 
Or, had you been pregnant, and had now lost the baby like those women had? Were you still carrying the life you’d started planning around? The little life you were becoming more and more attached to by the day?
Had you ever been carrying it? 
As you pulled into work, you put one shaking hand on your rounded lower belly.
- 🌼🌼🌼-
Suffice to say, your entire evening shift was spent in over-contemplation and searching miscarriages, hysterical pregnancies, and semi-local OBGYN’s during the lull of customers. 
As you’d searched online for a clinic, you were not looking for places too close, as you didn’t want God and everybody seeing you enter the clinic on a regular basis (if you, in fact, were to find out you were carrying a tiny little bean-baby). You sure as hell didn’t need anyone to start questioning you before you were ready to offer up answers. 
Once you finally left your longest shift ever, you drove home in deep thought and drowning silence. 
Your research over miscarriages and hysterical pregnancies had done you very little good. They’d actually done you no good at all, if you were being honest. Everything you’d read made you question a lot.
Because, everything that could possibly reassure you was also possible in a hysterical pregnancy or a miscarriage.
One: your growing tummy (which could continue growing in both of the sad, unwanted instances). Two: your hurting breasts (which could still hurt in both sad, unwanted instances). And three: your nausea (which could still occur in both sad, unwanted instances).
Once at home, you took a hot second getting ready for bed— lost in thought, you decided to try to tiring yourself with a bath, complete with lavender scented bath salts and bubbles. Once you were finally in bed, cozy in your softest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, you tried so hard to force yourself to sleep. You didn’t want to have to wait any longer to call the nice little clinic you’d found. 
And you sure as hell weren’t hungry. Didn’t want to eat with your stomach spinning with so many nerves.
And, the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you could call the clinic and schedule an appointment. 
- 🌼🌼🌼-
But, after laying there for what felt like hours– the sounds of calming ocean waves playing through your phone and everything– you were still awake. 
You were drowning in all of the thoughts. Drown-ing. 
One that was flashing brightly at the front of your mind was why you even cared so much. And, the more you thought about it, tossing and turning, you realized you’d found the most unique, fulfilling form of reassurance in carrying the child. You wanted this baby. It had happened without you even meaning it to. . . but you wanted this baby so. fucking. badly. You’d tried damn hard not to want the little thing, but now that you’d spent so much time pondering it and holding your tummy? There was no question about any of it. You just wanted your baby and you couldn’t figure out how to explain it.
After rolling around far too much in bed, you realized you still hadn’t heard the telling sounds of Jake coming home. So, you decided to venture out into the living room to let a TV show distract you. Hopefully distract you enough to go to sleep. Pillow, Stanley, and phone in hand, you grabbed the fluffiest blanket from your blanket basket and nestled into your couch. 
Just as you’d turned the TV to Friends–wanting to feel closer to Elsie, but not feeling brave enough to talk to her whilst already being so emotional–, you heard the sound of a key jingling in the locked doorknob. And then the door was opening and you were looking behind you at the sound— for God knows what reason.
Then he was all you saw.
Jake.
Clad in the most handsome black, felt peacoat, the top of his head hidden by a black beanie. . . the chilly evening’s attire suited him so well that it brought a ridiculous tear to your eye. 
So devastatingly handsome and not at all mine, your thoughts became enveloped with storm clouds.
Thankfully he didn’t see you staring, as he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact as he went about setting his keys in the bowl and taking his coat off to hang it on the rack by the door. And, as his actions cemented your thoughts, your eyes became wetter, a tear falling down your cheek for this stupid ass, cruel reality that you’d created. Even if you had done it for a good reason—and you had—it still sucked big ass. 
But, just as soon as your eyes were growing teary, your heart was beating erratically in your chest. The sight of the soft, tanned skin between the opened lapels of his shirt— exposed after taking off the coat. And the silver necklaces that clanged against his bare chest were the same he’d worn for Halloween. . . Your mouth watered as you observed the way they fell between his pecs which rose and fell with balanced breaths. . . 
Seriously, fuck these hormones.
Before you could get lost in the roundness of his ass through his jeans, he turned to the counter once more. You flipped back to your original spot on the couch. You decided to 
feign any knowledge of him being home, curling into a little ball on the couch and closing your eyes to fake sleep. 
When you heard him make a stop at his bedroom and then heard the bathroom door click shut, you stayed wrapped in your cocoon on the couch. And before too long, you felt yourself fading to black, one final tear slipping past your closed lids as Rachel and Ross argued over being on a break.
-🌼🌼🌼-
Initially, you weren’t sure what it was that brought you back from such a deep slumber. But, once you heard him, you knew. The deep, raspy laugh that was slightly muffled through you gaining consciousness. 
Why was he in the living room? Was he? Was this your imagination? A taunting dream?
You cracked an eye open the slightest bit to allow some adjustment to the light you’d shut your eyes to. But. . . There was no overhead light. It was off. The room would’ve been pitch black, save for your standing lamp’s yellow glow and the blue light from your TV. 
More importantly, the warning feeling of a crick in your neck was suddenly catching your attention. So, without worrying about your company, you quickly sat up to attempt getting more comfortable. You didn’t want to feel awkward around him, but you also didn’t want to deal with a hitch in your neck or a migraine in the morning. 
The loud yawn that escaped you once you’d sat up couldn’t be helped. You were slightly embarrassed at the obnoxiously loud noise that emitted from your mouth as you stretched. Blushing, you glanced over at your fellow living room occupant to see if he’d even noticed. 
And, of course, he had. 
He was staring at you—but. . . not judgmentally. Not at all. In fact, his eyes held the natural, reassuring lightness that occupied your sweetest recent memories. And the small grin on his face. . . was shocking, to say the least. 
Why was he acting so okay with you? He’d been so distant recently. . .
You knit your eyebrows together, hyper aware of his presence and needing answers as to why he had decided to sit next to you. 
“What are you doing here?” You clipped, tone sharp. You brought your blanket all the way up to your chin and around your shoulders, as a way to protect yourself from the (obviously) harmless man. 
Although, you instantly regretted it as his expression became apprehensive rather than open like seconds before. 
Why do you have to go and ruin everything, y/n? 
He leaned back, his eyebrows furrowed as he balanced a bowl of (. . . macaroni and cheese? Fuck, that looked good.) on his knee, holding onto it with one hand. “I live here, y/n.”
And yet another memory was flashing back to you from the night you got high. . . his breath, hot on your neck, your skin erupting in goosebumps as he said similar words then– your skin flaming now, too. Just the sound of his voice could elicit the most from you. Fuck your pregnant feelings.
Or were they just feelings? The fear came rushing back the moment you thought yourself pregnant. . . was there a baby in there? God, fuck. . . you really didn’t want to sit in this train of thought again. 
You figured you might as well use your company to distract you. . . .You missed talking to him anyways–missed it so damn bad. 
But your tummy interrupted you. The growl that emitted from it was fucking humiliating, honestly, but it had happened. And after eyeing you curiously for a minute, Jake’s lips turned up with a one breathy laugh, his beautiful pearly whites on full display. God, he was handsome.
“You hungry?” He questioned, lifting his mac and cheese. “I made more of this. It’s just the shit Kraft, but it still hits the spot.”
Nodding, you went to hesitantly get up to get some. You really didn’t want to move from under the security of your warm, cozy blanket. 
“No, just wait here,” he insisted, standing. His pajama pants were your favorites (the ones he didn’t normally wear underwear with). But you did not watch his crotch for movement. Your eyes were just staring at the wrong place at the wrong time. Really. “I have to wash my bowl anyway. I’ll put the rest in a bowl for you while I’m up.” 
Again, why was he being so fucking nice? But you weren’t about to disagree. You were comfy and hungry and he was offering. It felt like old times and you felt like being momentarily delusional.
“Okay,” you quietly agreed, your eyes shifted, unsure to his face. But he was moving before you could look at him. Back to the kitchen. After a few moments, he was back, handing you a little white bowl with a spoon. The scrumptious, cheesy noodles made your eyes light up. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, responding as though elsewhere. This was weird and you hated how it all felt. But he kept talking, filling the air as he sat a beer on the end table beside him, before sitting back down in the chair. “I had to get a beer anyway. Long day with the guys and May–,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shutting briefly as he shook his head.
Fuck. Thanks, Jake, you thought, your eyes on the verge of welling with tears. The moments of silence, hanging in the air, closing in around you. Not fucking now, hormones.
All you wanted to do was ask why it had been a long day. Get more information that might hurt you. Why did you do that to yourself? 
Though, before you could say anything, he continued. Awkwardly, his eyes flashing momentarily to the TV to reset as he spoke. “Long day. I should’ve asked if you wanted one.”
Your cheeks heated. . . little did he know. “I’m good,” you mumbled, looking down at your bowl. Stomach sinking with your thoughts from earlier, you decided to eat before you lost your appetite again. Not the time to be sad. “Thanks though.”
The next few minutes went by in a silence you wanted to stab with a fucking knife. It was seriously unpleasant and sucked ass. After you both laughed at a certain thing Joey said, you figured you might as well try to keep some sort of conversation going. Because, god, you missed him. 
“I meant in here, by the way,” you motioned with your head to the space around you, mouth full. (Ladylike.) 
His brow raised as he looked from the screen to you, setting his gaze on you. “What are you–?”
“My question. Why you were here,” you embarrassingly restated, hearing how it must’ve sounded. “In the living room. With me. Why you were in here, in the living room, with me, of all places.”
He sat further back, but this time going to sit in the armchair comfortably. His feet propped up on the ottoman across from him. “Well,” he covered his mouth, coughing briefly into his fist. “To be fair– you were sleeping when I came to sit down in here.” 
Rather than being unnecessarily hurt over him only wanting to be in the same room as a sleeping version of you, you let yourself give in to the temptation and take advantage of him being distracted by his next task. You missed everything about him. . . even such a simple thing as watching him move.
Pathetic. And, because your mind hated you, it felt like you were watching him move in slow motion.
You watched in a daze as he leaned over to the tall lamp’s attached table, his self-cut gray t-shirt rising up at his hips to show his firm abdomen flex with the stretch. It shouldn’t be so fucking hot to watch someone reach for a fucking beer bottle. But, the sight that greeted you next was worse than seeing his side peeking from his shirt. What you saw next were his full, pink lips, wrapping just right around the glass top of his beer bottle as he took a generous sip of his Miller Lite. You admired, mouth open as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each gulp of the beer. 
But when he went to repeat his action of leaning over the chair to set the bottle back, you decided to look away so as to save yourself from the torture (or, from the possibility of being caught). You took a bite of the mac and cheese, growing cold in your bowl.
Your heart was already hammering much too erratically from glimpsing these ridiculously mundane motions. . . fuck it all. The heat from being so near to him and watching him settled from your head all the way to the pit of your tummy. You swallowed down your bite thickly.
Your tummy.
“Yeah,” you muttered, awkwardly – you just wanted to have a conversation to get your mind off things. Problem was, you didn’t know where to necessarily start with him these days. . . Work? The band? Maya? God, no. . . gag.
Lucky for you, he took the initiative before you had much longer to overthink it. “I’m glad you woke up, though.” He pulled at his plaid pajama bottoms as he scooted up again, going back to get comfortable on the ottoman. Sitting with his legs spread (dammit), he balanced his elbows on his knees as he reached for his phone in his pocket. “I actually wanted to run something past you.”
God, please don’t say you found a place and you’re moving out. . . you thought, suddenly downcast and dreading what he was about to say. Or that you’re moving out to live with her.
You swallowed the thickness in your throat, trying to alleviate the unwarranted nerves before responding. Dispelling them with food, you took one more bite before swallowing it to talk. “And what’s that?” 
So what if he wanted to move out? He damn well could. He surely had the money and you two weren’t involved. 
He scrolled for a few more moments, your heart thump-thump-thumping without relenting. . . And finally, he found what he was looking for and before you had time to prepare, his eyes were sinking into yours earnestly. 
God. . . what is he about to sa–?
“I found a place for you to get therapy,” he stated, tone soft and careful. 
Therapy? Safe to say you were not expecting those words. 
And rather than being nervous, your emotions shifted to defensiveness. Where did he get off looking into that for you? Why was he . . .? Was he talking about the promise he’d made in his bed? That same night you’d panicked at your grandparents’? He’d remembered to do that? Why did he even care, still? You didn’t deserve for him to care– didn’t want him to care. It felt uncomfortable. 
“Why?” You sharply asked, holding your bowl in stiff hands on your lap. 
He leveled you with a look that said ‘cut it out.’ Did he really know where your thoughts were trailing? Was he still that in tune with you? Surely not. He was probably just irritated with your tone of voice. “I told you I would look for you, so I’ve been keeping up my end of the deal. I’ve actually asked a few clients if they knew of any nearby therapists worth their salt,” he peeked back at his phone, scrolling on it when he spoke next. “And there are actually quite a few good ones in the area.”
Your heart still beat harshly in your chest as you felt your skin heat with rage. You set your bowl down on the coffee table. And, the blanket, suddenly suffocating you, was flung off without a thought. “So, what is this? Is this you saying I’m a fucking loony, Jake? I’m sure you’ve been desperate as fucking hell to get me help because you think I’m such a nutcase,” you spit. You sounded dramatic (and, admittedly, like a deranged woman). You knew that. If you were thinking sensibly, you’d know he didn’t believe those things. . . but you were embarrassed that he’d been thinking so hard about this. It hurt your feelings that he thought you needed help that badly. “I’m just so broken and damaged and insane that you’ve decided you need to get a damn shrink to fix me.” Your lap was a sudden magnet for your eyes, your hands entangled on your pajama bottoms. Now, the hot teardrop that hit your interlocked hands was not expected and you swiftly swiped at your cheek. “Thanks for thinking so long and hard and asking God and everybody to find the most qualified person to psychoanalyze the shit out of me,” you sniffled, a couple more tears falling before you willed them away and looked in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Jake.”
But he wasn’t flustered. . . no, he actually sat there and took it. The brow that had raised on his face as you spoke was the only indicator that he’d heard you. 
The emotions you were experiencing were big and uncalled for. . . but, you were stressed. Over a lot of things. Doubting a lot of things. Your life seemed like one humongous question mark and you were sleepy as fuck and it was all just catching the fuck up with you. 
He cleared his throat, glancing once more at his phone before setting it on the arm of the chair. A tiny smirk ghosted briefly over his lips before they were set in a flat line again as he spoke next. His eyes stayed trained on his own hands, now clasped as well. “Y/n. . . Please. You know I don’t fuckin’ think those things,” he tried quietly, slightly testy, but not harsh. Then his irises found yours once more, making your heart rate speed up. You did know that. . . You knew better. He was right. “You agreed to this. I wouldn’t have made a point to look into this if you hadn’t okayed it,” he stretched his hands out and then combed them through his long, chestnut locks. 
His jaw flexed and he eyed you once more, digging into the heart of this before going any deeper. “I don’t want to force it on you. I won’t go any further in this conversation if you don’t want it. This is your decision. You know I looked into therapists. That’s it. You choose where you want this to go and then I’ll either leave you alone or tell you what I found out.”
You felt bit by bit of your current guard break down as you slowly relented. Because, well, you did want to know what he’d found out. Absentmindedly, you glanced down at where you’d subconsciously placed your hands over your stomach. It was habit at this point. That one reason underneath your fingertips was pushing you to know what he’d come to know. If you were, in fact, with child, you were desperate to start therapy. Yeah, sure, you wanted to get help for your sake. . . but more-so the child’s sake. Because, honestly, if you were not with child, you weren’t really sure if you’d want to push yourself to do that– go through all of those intense measures and changes and emotions that you knew only therapy could bring.
There was a ginormous sneaking, sinking suspicion in your gut. The one that was telling you there was a helluva lot more simmering, boiling beneath the surface than you knew. There had to be. For all the blaming you’d put on Jake just now, you knew you were a basket case. And there were some good fucking reasons behind it that you had to get to the bottom of. 
You had to do it for your child. And, on the off chance that your worst fears would come to light and you weren’t actually pregnant, it wouldn’t hurt to at least hear Jake out. Listen to what he’d found. 
You mumbled your next words. “Do you think I need fixing?” Dear God–where had that vulnerability come from? Did you want to know his answer?
Jake brought a thumb and forefinger up to his chin as he scratched it in contemplation, still measuring you with a long look. “I think it’s more complex than that, y/n,” he breathed a sigh out, as if not sure how to say what he was actually thinking. 
And dammit– it hurt for him to not just respond with a simple “no, I don’t think you need fixing.” More complex? What the hell did that even mean? 
“Do you think I’m brok–?”
“No,” he sighed. Then, he had your heart leaping into your throat when, in one swift motion, he was standing and walking the ottoman closer to where you sat on the couch. When he plopped down, he didn’t touch you. . . but the closer proximity was enough. The way your eyes naturally flitted momentarily to where his chest steadily rose and fell. You breathed with him. He spoke his next words with a low rasp, eyes serious as they pored into yours. “You are not broken.”
Your heart fluttered, making its way back to its home in your chest. “Okay,” you muttered. You needed to hear him say that– more than you’d ever be comfortable admitting. Finally, you responded to his prior offer. You knew what you wanted. “Tell me what you found out.”
Jake watched you for a few more seconds before leaning back a little, reaching back to grab his phone from the arm of the chair he’d been sitting in. You averted your sight to your hands this time, not watching his movements. Your hands, which were still nestled nonchalantly on your tummy. 
“So,” he started. Your gaze flickered up to him, a lazy smile fitting to your face. You watched his lips move as he spoke. Honestly, you hated how safe he felt. It wrapped you up cozier than the blanket that’d been around you moments ago. And the sad reality: you couldn’t wrap yourself up in him. You’d have to take what you could get. “I found this place. About 30 minutes from us. It’s a bit of a lengthy drive, but I figured it was worth it. It’s a clinic that’s very well known by many people around here, I’ve found out.”
“Expensive?” 
“Eh. Yeah. Pricier than others,” he clicked his tongue, raised his brow. “But– I asked Josh offhandedly the other day what the insurance was like at the B&G to figure out if it was covered by your–.”
“What do you mean offhandedly?” You nudged, hoping he hadn’t divulged that it was about you. “You didn’t tell him–?”
“No. I just asked him as if I was comparing it to mine at the agency that I teach lessons through,” he reassured. You breathed in relief. He snickered. “I wouldn’t tell him anything about. . .,” he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from your face to the wall behind your head and then to his phone again. “Anyways. . . they’re covered by your insurance.”
At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter if Josh found out. . . he was about to have a massive bomb dropped on him (by you, of course). But. . . you still didn’t really want him finding anything out from Jake. Didn’t want him hearing anything before you were ready. 
“Cool,” you grinned, trying to ease the tension. He opened his mouth to continue, but you stopped him before he could. “Thank you, by the way. For looking into this.”
He looked surprised and you hated that he seemed that way. You should have been more appreciative to begin with. . . this was such a selfless thing for him to do and you’d reacted by getting defensive and snapping. When that was the last thing he deserved. God, you were awful sometimes. 
He smiled, wide and close-lipped. “Of course. I told you I would.”
You nodded, looking back to your hands, which you’d let move to your lap. Didn’t want him catching on to you holding your stomach. “What’s the next step?”
“Well,” he began, hesitantly. “I called them for a quote and asked about a specific therapist.”
“Why specific?” You questioned, scrunching your brows. 
“That leads into the next part, actually. . .,” he slowly continued, “She’s the only one at their practice that specializes in this unique form of therapy. A type I’ve read and researched on a fuck ton. . . I wanted to find the perfect method for your specific traumatic effects. So, I thought of the dreams. . . how you like control. . . I think it’s the type of therapy you could benefit most from.”
Damn. Way to call you out on your need for control. If anyone knew how much you desired control, though, you figured he did. But. . .now you were even more curious. . . because. . . you were venturing into different types? Wouldn’t just be sitting down with a shrink? What did he have in mind?
“And this type is. . .?”
His eyes light up, excitedly, as if he’s been dying to get to this part. “It’s called EMDR,” he voiced with a tinge of apprehension and elated anticipation. As you mouthed the letters under your breath, he clarified further. “Eye, E. Movement, M. Desensitization, D. And Reprocessing, R.”
You blinked a few times and shook your head. “Okay,” you stated slowly, placing your hands in front of you to indicate he needed to slow down. “What the fuck does all of that mean though?”
“Before I continue, I need you to know: I’ve done a shit ton of research and out of all of it, I’ve become really invested and interested in this type of therapy specifically. . . and for good reason. I’m really hopeful that it will help you,” he emphasized, eyes sincere. 
Your tummy did somersaults at how invested he’d become in all of this . . . but your mind stuttered momentarily at the flutter. You couldn’t help but get lost in the thought of a little bean in there and how you hoped to feel little kicks someday (obviously not yet, Jesus Christ), not just Jake-induced butterflies. God, you hoped there was a little thing in there. . . 
Jake’s steady, soft voice brought you back to the present and to his face that peered down at his phone, reading carefully. “To put it simply: it’s like a form of hypnosis. A way to force you to remember certain things so you can finally move on and heal from them.”
You blanched at that. “I’m going to be hypnotized?” To say you were second guessing this was a massive understatement. This EMDR shit could take a back seat. You were already apprehensive about getting help–even with the traditional approach. “I’m not down for hyp-fucking-nosis. Hell no. And all for the sake of remembering things I don’t really care to remember in the first place? I don’t think so, Jake,” you shook your head, toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your t-shirt. “I’m already taking a hugeass leap by being willing to go to therapy itself. I don’t need the voodoo shit . . . I’ll settle for the traditional approach,” you paused, not wanting to get too far ahead before showing your thanks. “But. . . thank you for–.”
“No, no. Listen,” he said, laying one hand on your knee for a blip of a second, your mind short-circuited at the touch. He damn sure had your attention now. “It’s different. Yes, you’ll remember things. But . . . well. . . Shit, I don’t know how to explain it in my own words. 
“Well, just send me a link and I’ll give it a read and we’ll settle–.”
“Quit,” he sternly said. “Quit saying that you’re going to settle. I don’t want you to settle. I want you to get to the root of this. . . so you can heal. Please. Hear me out,” he pleaded, the hand going back to rest on your knee for a few moments longer than last time before he removed it again. “It's–it’s more than remembering. It’s like— like your mind takes you back to the memory. You’re there all over again, living it a second time.”
“Yeah,” you went to stand up, but he moved with you, showing you he would follow you. So, you stayed put. Dear God, Jacob. “I don’t want to live the shit for a second time. Why the hell would I want to do that?“
“Do you want to fucking heal?” He snapped, his eyes searching yours for any sort of bullshit.
You blinked, “Damn,” you began, a sarcastic, irritated smirk on your face when you shook your head. Could he give you a break, maybe? Shit. But, still, you answered him. And his impatient, waiting eyes. Your answer was a no-brainer for you at this point. “Yes, Jake. I want to fucking heal.”
His jaw flexed as he let out a deep breath, through his nose, pinching the bridge of it. “So, please, y/n. . . just listen to me. Hear me out. You don’t have to do it. I just want you to let me explain it first,” he begged, eyes trained on yours, following every flicker of them. The unsureness you communicated through your gaze was balanced by the overwhelming sureness in his. You nodded for him to continue. He reciprocated the action, continuing with a deep breath in and and a deep breath out. “EMDR allows you to heal by letting you be in charge of your healing. You have the power to leave the situation this time. You’re in control of it now. It’s the past. But you have to face it. . . That’s part of it. . . The cool thing is, though. . . you can control whether you stay or leave a memory; you control how you move on from it.”
Well, goddammit. . . Of course he’d know just what to say to get you to finally listen to him. 
Control. That single word finally flicked the lightbulb on in your stubborn, jaded head. 
You paused heavily in your opposition, taking note of his far too sincere features. Perhaps he truly was just trying to help you, a sentiment that had always felt utterly foreign to you throughout your life. You’d held all of your guards up so high for so indescribably long. It took a lot for you to dare let anyone in aside from your sister (who, if you had to be honest, simply didn’t have a choice being your own flesh and blood. . .And given the fact that she lived it, too). 
But the harsh reality of the matter was, you had let Jake in. Too much. If it weren’t for the seriousness of the moment, you could’ve smirked at the irony of just how much– the possible little life in your tummy, a constant reminder in recent times. And, well, you’d definitely let him in enough that he knew you came with some serious trauma.
You watched him carefully, suddenly beginning to realize that the only reason you’d felt so reluctant to heed his guidance with this bizarre form of therapy. The reason you always doubted him– you couldn’t fathom the fact that he truly wanted to help you. 
But, time and again he seemed to prove you wrong. Even after you’d bitched him out to kingdom come in the kitchen months ago. There was no reason for him to want to help you. But here he was. With his research, his beautiful and honest eyes, the phone that he gripped with purpose with explanation after explanation, as if a lifeline. . .
He cared. Whether you could accept it or not. . .it didn’t change the fact that he actually cared. 
“I’ll go talk to the therapist,” you finally offered, relenting as much as you could at that moment. “I’ll feel it all out after I talk to her about it. . .,” you leveled, feeling fair in that decision. 
And he didn’t question, just shook his head with a lip stuck out. “Yeah, yeah. Totally.”
“How do I schedule the appointment?”
-🌼🌼🌼-
The next day was spent making strides towards your future. You scheduled the OBGYN appointment as soon as the clinic opened— being as that was the first, major priority. Setting that up had been simple. A date and time. The insurance you’d be using. Then, you’d hung up.
But, as soon as you’d set that up (and felt utter relief at having that panned out), you called the counseling practice Jake had told you about. And, you set up a therapy session with the woman Jake had given you the name of for the day before your first OB appointment. . . 
The counseling appointment was set up for the upcoming Monday. . . For some reason, when you’d been on the phone, scheduling for the nearest date available had seemed like the only logical option. But, it hadn’t been as cut and dry as your scheduling for the doctor’s appointment. There’d been a form. They’d informed you that they would email it for you to fill out with some general information (and a picture) before your first appointment. It was slightly daunting, but not totally unexpected, the more you’d thought about it. It was an understandably reasonable precursor to your first session. Just a few minor things to assist in your therapist knowing the most basic things about you before beginning. 
Doing it before the OB appointment had also seemed like a good idea. Talking to someone about the newfound worries to help you wade through the days to seeing the obstetrician. . . It seemed like a good plan of action. Made you feel more peace for the whole situation, honestly. 
So, that Friday, as you settled into your seat for a stupid ass writing course, you didn’t even care as you felt like other things were on the move. Honestly, at this point, you wanted to say fuck school and your distaste for the major you’d chosen. . . As they didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of it all. Bigger things were about to start happening. 
And you could only hope that what awaited you would be positive. . . Positive bigger things ahead. 
Bigger things that looked like real healing and a baby with Jake’s eyes.
-🌼🌼🌼-
The couch was leather and a little cold, even through your leggings. . . and the small office-room smelled like essential oils. It was reminiscent of a spa without the ambience music. 
The place didn’t need the music, though. . . the oils and general atmosphere were the perfect, calming mixture. . . Well thought out combination of smells and colors to ease the mind. 
But no therapist. Not yet. You’d been led by the secretary into a room where you now sat by yourself. She’d offered tea, coffee, and water, with a large, welcoming smile on her freckled face. You couldn’t refuse the offer, so you’d accepted the option of water. 
It had been in a bottle, and you clutched it tightly, opened only for the tiniest sip as you let your body relax as much as it could, leaning the slightest bit back into the couch. 
And you continued to wait. 
You watched the closed wooden door, your eyes wandering every now and then to the artwork that depicted gardens and fresh flowers. . . Some were beautiful paintings, while others were simple little drawings, or even real flowers, pressed in a glass frame. 
The walls were tinged with a light sage—the color, oddly easing to the mind. 
Then the knob was twisting open, matching the feeling of your nervous tummy. The muscles at the pit of your stomach flexed and flinched at the prospect of the therapist. What was she going to be like? Would she match the cool, relaxing environment of her office? You could only fucking hope. . .
Looking down at your hands to avoid any awkward eye contact, you took note of how badly you needed a manicure. . . damn. 
“Y/n?” A reposeful, gentle voice interrupted your nail critique. You looked up to acknowledge your long-awaited company. . . and man, was she completely different from your last therapist. The first thing you noticed was that she was. . . young. Mid-thirties at the very oldest. She was much younger than your aging counselor from the past. How long had she been doing this? “I’m Gianna. But all of my clients and closest friends call me Gia.”
“Gia,” you tried it out, letting a small smile fit to your face. It was a genuine smile– you were relieved. Without even really knowing her, you already felt so at ease with her. She was one of those people–like Elsie or Josh–who just carried a naturally empathetic, calming air. Made you feel like you were standing in the breeze on a warm spring day. “Nice to meet you.”
Her hair, naturally dark, but dyed beautifully to be a blonde-gray, was up in a styled messy bun. Lips, painted in the most beautiful naturally red tint. . . and the round, wire-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose complimented her soft features so incredibly well. The freckles on her pale face, visible through the circular frames. Her cheeks were tinged with a perfectly rosy blush, and they swelled with your greeting. 
She adjusted her loose, beige overalls over her off-white, long-sleeved mock neck. The overalls were the fabric ones that’d gone viral (which helped you to note how incredibly trendy she was, if you hadn’t already been able to guess that). She inhaled and exhaled easily, her lips quirking even more than before. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n,” she repeated back to you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit to make my entrance. I like to give my people some time to adjust to the space before they’re bombarded with all of the therapy stuff. It’s an important thing to me.” Then her leg was being bent to balance her white, platform converse on the seat of her pale pink rolling chair. “Before we begin. . . I also need you to know that my office has a completely open door policy. If, at any moment, you start feeling uncomfortable, please let me know and you may leave to take a break, or simply leave the practice to adjust your thoughts before the next session. Won’t charge you for the whole time or anything. . .,” she added the last part, surely as another financially conscientious adult. “I just know that sometimes this shit gets tough–baring all of it and having to get through it. . . it’s rarely easy, and I want to be able to foster a healthy, resting environment for you as you wade through all of it.”
“Wow,” you blinked, your heart warm in your chest as you let yourself sink a little further into the couch, shoulders loosening just a bit. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”
Winking, she brought the mug up to her lips that she’d carried in with her. After taking a sip, she sat it on her desk and then wrapped both arms around her bent leg. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me and my profession before we begin?”
You pondered that, always having questions swirling in your head. “Just general things,” you snorted, playing it off. “Stupid, basic shit that I don’t need answered.”
“Nothing is stupid in here, sweets,” she said firmly, her eyes communicating more than the words she’d said. “Sometimes misguided and confused, yes, but never stupid.” She used the foot on the ground to swing the chair from side to side, ever-so-slightly. “Sooo, shoot. Ask anything you’d like–basic or not.”
Blinking at her again, you let your grip on your water bottle ease up. “Oh, um,” you quietly began. You scrambled for the right words. “Well, I guess I was wondering how long you’ve been doing this?”
She giggled. “Oh, sure. . . I’ve been practicing for about five years. Administered EMDR for the past two or so. . .” Her cheeks were still rosy with a gentle smile when she spoke next. “I will ask, though. . . did you not check out the website prior to this?”
Fuck. You hadn’t thought to do that. That was strange. . . usually you’d jump at the chance of looking into anything and everything before diving head first into something. Especially something as serious as a life-changing thing like therapy and the person you’d be inevitably baring your soul to. What in the fuck? Why hadn’t you thought to do that?
“I– um,” you searched her eyes, as if they held your answer. “I didn’t. Which is strange for me.”
“It’s not a big deal, really,” she said, grabbing her mug from her desk again. But before taking a sip, she continued. “I just noted on your form that you like having control over the things that transpire in your life. And checking the website to do some solid research seems like just the way to do that.” She took a sip, humming as she took it away from her full lips. “But there’s my thoughts going to crazy places based primarily on black and white principles. And we’re definitely not here to do that,” she shook her body as if shaking it off, putting her leg down and nestling her mug between her hands. “I don’t look at shit in black and white. That’s something that, as your therapist, I need you to know. There’s a lot of healing properties found in the gray.”
You couldn’t explain it, but the last sentence left you feeling this overwhelming sense of hope and understanding. Without even knowing you, she seemed to get the fact that you came with a lot of fuckin’ gray. All kinds of shades of the color. Had you been that transparent on your form? Not able to remember it, you just pushed it to the side as you figured it didn’t really matter. Because even if you had been open on the form, you were about to get much more transparent.
“Thank you,” was all you said, the water bottle held in loose hands as you comfortably crossed your legs. “My life has left me pretty fucking gray, so that’s a relief.”
“There’s beauty in the gray, love,” she noted, leaning forward as if engaging even further in the conversation (as if she wasn’t already remarkably with-it). She held her tea steady in her hands, and you couldn’t help but look down at the mug to see what it looked like. And, of course, it was covered in pale flowers, just like her office. “I’m down for any more questions you may have.”
“Family?”
“Just a fiancé, but other than her, I’m pretty estranged from much more family. Boundaries are a specialty of mine, and I’ve had to set a few in my life,” she said, assured and confident. “No kids yet. We aren’t quite sure if we want them or not.”
You nodded. But, you were not able to hold back the wetness that gathered in your eyes. The tears settled at your ducts and if you blinked, you knew they’d fall. The way you were feeling at the moment was unexplainable. So many things at once. But, most importantly, you were thankful. Thankful for people like Gia. The woman exuded peace and you weren’t sure why you’d ever questioned trying therapy again when there were women like her in this profession. 
“Thank you,” you said again, as if you were a manufactured robot. Then you shook your head, embarrassed at your currently tiny vocabulary. “I’m sorry I keep saying that. I’m just grateful there’s people like you in this world.”
Wow. Okay. So we’re getting real honest and sentimental now, huh? A good-humored voice asked you. Here for it.
“That’s very sweet of you,” she said quietly, respecting the new emotions in the room. “Are you ready to tell me a bit about you?”
Letting the tears fall with a blink, you wiped at them with a breathy laugh. She grabbed the nearest tissue box and handed it to you. You wiped under your eyes and dabbed at your cheeks. “Chose to not wear makeup for a reason,” you chuckled, internally thanking past-you. She laughed with you, placing the Kleenex on the couch next to you for proper access, then sat back, balancing her elbows on her thighs as she held her face up with open palms. 
“Whenever you’re ready,” she said once you’d settled. “We’ve got the next hour and a half.”
“How much do you wanna know?” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you placed your locked hands over your tummy. “I’m a basket case.”
Her eyes sparkled. “As much as you’re willing to tell me,” she affirmed with a wink behind her glasses. “I’m all ears.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
So, as you left that day, you were absolutely confident in saying Gia knew about as much of your life as Elsie did. And that was saying something.
She’d just been so receptive, and had kept encouraging you– as you cried and laughed and sighed and growled. She kept reminding you that she wanted to ‘hear as much as you’d give her’. That she was ‘in your corner’ and that she was ‘there for you.’ And her words and kind eyes were enough to spur you on. Continue to the point of her knowing nearly everything there was to know about your life. 
From your childhood to now, Gia was now totally knowledgeable in the realm of Y/n. 
Thankfully, there’d been no EMDR, as she informed you that next session you’d begin talking about the intricacies of the practice and whether or not you wanted to begin with it the session after your next. She wanted to take time to adjust and ‘simply be’ before introducing the innovative method of therapy.
She’d given a couple of tidbits about it, just for you to think about before the next session, but not too much, since the next session was dedicated to her actually breaking it down for you. 
“Now, before you leave, I want you to know that we can locate your safe place next time. The place in your mind where you’ll return when you need a breath of fresh air amidst the memories,” she’d offered, hands in her pockets, tea cup abandoned as you stood up alongside her to follow her out of the office. But before you two left the office space, she took the time to assure you once more. “But only if that is what you decide you want. This is your life, sweets, and I’m just here to help you through it.”
And, for the eighty-millionth time that day, you’d told her ‘thank you.’ You were going to take a bit of time to consider it. 
She’d also given you a few nuggets of wisdom. 
They’d specifically followed the end of your session, when you’d broken down about the unsureness of your pregnancy (but easily applied to the rest of your messy ass life). 
One thing she said to do: “Slow down your thoughts. Do not let them take control. Slow them down and figure them out with what you know. Piece by piece, break them down before they get too astronomically crazy.”
Another being: “Let yourself feel peace. Just every once in a while, let yourself feel it and don’t let guilt eat you alive for it.” (When you’d laughed sarcastically, she’d nodded, agreeing that it was “most definitely easier said than done.”)
She had been wonderful at assuring you that it was most definitely a product of your trauma to react so preposterously. How you thought certain decisions and thoughts might give you peace, yet always resulted in the opposite. But, she’d also told you that you’d “figure it out bit by bit” as you move along and to “give yourself grace” as you navigate it all on your own, in your day-to-day life.
But, there was one singular, specific piece of advice she’d offered that was sticking out more than much else. 
Of course, you’d filled her in all the way up to your appointment tomorrow and Elsie’s idea for Josh to attend with you. You wanted her opinion on it, asking for as much, and she’d been firm in her opinion. Her words rang in your head as you navigated the late afternoon New York traffic on your way back home.
“Your sister is a genius,” she’d said astonishingly, blowing out a breath from between her naturally full lips. “Everything she said is exactly what I’d tell you, too, sweets. And if it helps to hear this, even as an outside party, Josh sounds like the type of person to receive it in a non-traumatizing manner. He will, most definitely, be sensitive to your feelings. And, having him there will help you feel less alone and calm in your worries. . . and it will help him feel needed–like Elsie said. So, truly, it’s a win-win. If I had my way, I’d make sure Josh is there tomorrow. But, again, it’s your life and it’s up to you.”
“How do I even ask, though?” You asked pathetically, pulling your sleeves down over your hands as you began to get nervous at the prospect. 
“Take a deep breath,” she calmly recited (as she’d done a time or two during your life lament). After doing it with you, she settled you with an understanding gaze. “Just text him. Tell him you have an important appointment tomorrow and that you need him there with you.”
“And if he asks what it’s for?”
“I’d say you tell him that you’ll tell him when you see him or when you get there,” she advised. “But, I don’t think he’s the type of person to question when you’re being vulnerable like that. I’d bet you he just agrees to it, no questions asked– if he’s free, that is,” she winked. 
So, with her sitting there, you’d texted him and asked exactly what she’d told you to. The thing about having an “important appointment.”
And even though he hadn’t responded, you tried to not overthink it as you calmed down from telling your entire life story to your therapist.
When you’d pulled into the apartment complex, your stomach sank at the sight that greeted you. Your space was awaiting you, but Jake’s, next to yours, was empty. Per usual these days, his new purchase of a used car was not at home at the same time as you. Really, you’d gotten used to his lack of presence. But it always made you sadder than you wanted to admit. Because, well, you knew if he wasn’t at the studio or some rehearsal, he was most likely with Maya (you were awfully glad he didn’t bring her around the apartment too much, but still. . .your mind went crazy at the other prospects of what they were doing). 
But today, it was worse. You were sad for more than your assumptions about his whereabouts. Today, you desperately wanted to tell him thank you– wanted to fill him in on how it had gone so great. But he wasn’t there. Because you’d pushed him away (something that Gia told you you’d ‘navigate the reasoning for’).
So, as you trudged up the steps, instead of walking in to tell Jake, you just took time to relax as much as you could. And you figured a good way to do that was to give yourself a long ‘everything shower,’ with your most favorite R&B playlist playing as background noise. 
And when you’d gotten out, the screen that you opened your phone to was something that brought a swarm of anxiously joyous butterflies. Under his name, there was a ‘Yes, of course!’ from Josh. And below his text, was a notification for your next appointment with Gia. One week from today. 
Everything would be okay. It would. You recited this as you responded to him, deciding to try your best not to think of telling him until you absolutely had to tomorrow, after hitting send with a simple ‘thank you :)’.
You kept reciting that everything would ‘be okay’ as you put a hand to the firm little bump, growing steadily at the bottom of your tummy. And you contemplated as much as you were willing to, without reducing yourself to any more tears (you’d cried enough already for one day). Because now all you were going to be plagued with for the next several hours until your OB appointment was whether there was actually a baby in your growing belly. 
You then ate a giant salad (everything else you wanted to eat had made you feel nauseous as hell), as you’d watched Friends. Your thoughts were subdued, but still spiraled a tad. . .though, you took Gia’s advice and tried to slow them down to navigate each one with what you genuinely knew. There was nothing telling you that you weren’t with child besides your own convoluted mess of negative thought. More signs were pointing to that you still were. One piece of truth keeping you going was your growing belly. And even though bellies could still grow after miscarriage or in the case of hysterical pregnancy, the probability of that being your situation was very, very slim. Right?
You knew that. 
Before too long, you were standing in front of your vanity, braiding your wet hair and laying down to find rest much easier than many nights in recent times. . . the only thing that kept you up for a bit longer than you wanted was wondering why Jake hadn’t come home yet.
But, again, you knew it was none of your fucking business.
-🌼🌼🌼-
The next afternoon had you waiting outside of your apartment as soon as Josh said he was about five minutes away. Your apartment had started to feel absolutely insufferable, closing in around you as your mind went crazy with scenarios.
The autumn day was lovely, sun shining, but warmer today than it’d been yet this season. With no breeze. And, the lack of breeze was not aiding in your already-sweaty palms, wet with nerves. Or your upset stomach—your current nausea induced by your anxiety more than the (hopeful) baby in your tummy.
Your stomach was fucking rolling as you waited for Josh to pull up to the complex. 
Dramatic as it may have sounded, you felt as if you were on the verge of a heatstroke when he eventually showed up in his little car, which was literally squeaking and creaking as it sat still. The exhaust emitted from the back of the car was enough to make you feel like you were actually going to blow chunks, and you instantly decided you could not ride thirty minutes to the clinic in his little hunk of metal.
Sending a quick text, you made up an excuse to take your car. To emphasize the text, you went ahead and started walking to your Jetta, parked in its usual spot.
You, 11:49 p.m.: I need to get gas… Can we take my car? 
Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Of course.
Josh, 11:50 p.m.: Are you ready?
You smiled, looking over to where he was still parked in his visitor space. His eyebrows crinkled in concentration to the device in his hand as he watched the screen, waiting for you to respond.
You, 11:51 p.m.: Yes, Joshua. I’m at my car and staring right at you.
As soon as he got the text, you waited for what you knew was coming. He looked up from his phone, through his windshield, and at you with a giant grin painted across his features. It didn’t take him long to get out of his car, lightly jogging as he came over to you. 
“You creep,” he smiled, slightly out of breath. “Peeking through my windows.”
You rolled your eyes, but your stomach started aching, yet again, at the prospect of what you were about to tell him. Honestly, at this point, you were just ready to get it over. The longer you kept it to yourself, the more you were worrying about it and his possible reaction. And the sooner you could just tell him, you’d see his honest, real reaction. . . and then you could deal with the rest from there. 
It also helped that his girlfriend and your certified therapist thought that it would go okay. They were the practical thinkers in this situation, whereas you were an overthinker to the highest degree. And, if you could just get it out–just fucking tell him–you could (hopefully) validate their predictions of how the situation would play out. 
“Am I driving or are you?” He asked, bringing your thoughts back to the present. 
To current Josh. Josh who didn’t know anything yet. Completely ignorant Josh. . . fuck. The last moments of keeping him in the dark.
“You,” was all you said before you unlocked the car and made your way to the passenger side. Once you were both inside, you handed him the keys as he started the engine.
Your stomach fucking dropped as he backed out of the space. . . what was about to come out would literally change you and Josh forever.
Would it be for good? Would it be for bad? If he was going to be mad at you, how long would he stay that way?
You couldn’t be upset with him if he got angry. For everything. Like distracting Jake when Josh had specifically told you he didn’t want that for his twin. Or for simply keeping this giant ass secret from him about it all. The more you thought about it, you thought that perhaps the reason you were so scared was because of how completely validated he would be if he did end up being pissed as hell with you. . .
But. . . you just couldn’t stand losing him. Especially at such a time as this. . . you needed him. 
And that’s why you just needed to fucking tell him. It was inevitable for him to find out, and the sooner it was out, the sooner you weren’t lying to him anymore. Because that’s exactly what you’d been doing. You’d been fucking lying. For months. To your best friend.
“So,” he began, excited–the complete opposite of how you were feeling. “Where are we going?” 
Plugging your phone into the CarPlay, you turned off Siri’s voice before you did anything since you didn’t want her blurting out your destination before you were ready to tell him. Once she was silenced, you pulled up the directions to the clinic you’d carefully chosen. 
You sat back slowly after entering it, your stomach spinning as your thoughts went insane and your nerves continued to set on white-hot fire.
You spared a glance over at him through your lashes to see him looking out the corner of his eye at you, coming up to a stoplight. The look he was giving you made you sure that your face was morphed to show utter terror and worry. “What’s wrong, mama?”
Fuck. You turned to face the front again and squeezed your eyes shut at the nickname, bringing two clenched, sweaty fists up to your eyes as your skin began to feel like it was quite actually peeling off of you in nervous jitters. Your eyes couldn’t stand being squeezed shut any longer as you felt the tears forming behind your lids.
He continued driving, but with the occasional nervous glance in your direction. 
Then, he laid a comforting palm on your shoulder, his thumb soothing circles over your arm. 
And, once he’d done that, it was no longer in your control to keep the tears at bay. You tried to fight them back, but it was to no avail. 
So, there you were, face becoming drenched in tears as you couldn’t stop sputtering little sobs. 
In your peripheral, you saw Josh looking at you as he came to one last light before the highway, face surely painted with distress. “Y/n?” He checked, careful and concerned. “I’m sorry if I said some–.”
And what came out of your mouth next was not at all expected. But, it blurted through your lips with zero fucking warning. You did not know which part of your brain had decided to communicate with your mouth to say it.
“I’m pregnant,” you sobbed.
The car lurched to a stop, cars honking furiously behind you at Josh’s abrupt action. Your stomach, already thick with nerves, couldn’t handle it. You quickly slapped an open palm over your mouth to conceal any projectile vomiting. Thankfully none came, but you had to clench your eyes shut once again as Josh made a wide, sloppy U-turn off of the street that was leading to the highway. 
And when he’d finally come to a stop again, you opened your eyes to see he’d pulled the car over into the nearest McDonald’s.
Focusing too hard on trying not to vomit helped you to stop the outrageous weeping for a few minutes. You finally peeled the hand from your mouth as you took several deep breaths, in and out, to calm yourself and your stomach. 
Before you even knew what was happening, Josh was getting out, running to the door of the establishment. You watched in the mirror to your right as he simultaneously got his wallet out of his back pocket. 
Choosing not to worry about it, you shut your eyes once more to ease your tummy. But it did not help and you felt the puke coming in just enough time to unlock your door, open it, and puke all over a piece of the yellow line that boxed the car into its space.
You groaned as you leaned back up into the car and into your seat, letting your hair fall from the impromptu ponytail that you were holding at the back of your neck. Popping open the glovebox, you grabbed a few napkins to wipe your face (these days, between the incessant crying and vomiting, you were fucking constantly thanking God for the years-accumulated collection).
And then the driver’s side door was opening once more, this time Josh’s khakis making the first appearance as he climbed back in. He had two cups, one balanced between his bicep, clad in a white, long-sleeved tee and his chest and one in his hand. He quickly placed both in the center cup holders and popped a straw in each. 
Your brows lifted, wondering. “What did you–?” 
“Sprite,” he pointed to the one at the front. “And water,” the one in the second holder. 
“How did you–?”
“There’s a part of my brain permanently cemented with what it was like to watch my mom be pregnant with Sammy,” he explained, eyes soft with a smile gracing his handsome features. “I was too young to remember watching her pregnancy with Ron, but Sammy. . . he’s always been tough–even in the fuckin’ womb.”
You gave a small giggle, stomach spinning when your hand went to grab the Sprite. The carbonation sounded perfect, and Sprite had been a go-to in a few cases of your recent nausea. 
The cool drink had been just what you’d needed, sighing as soon as you brought the straw away from your lips with the first sip. You kept it clutched in your hands as a lifeline when you looked at Josh next, eyes wet. “Thank you, Joshy,” you croaked, tone exuding gratefulness. 
“Yeah, always,” he affirmed, his eyebrows dipped in. The next few minutes were spent in silence, your thoughts finally quieted a little with the initial confession to him. You took a few quiet sips of your drink, the sound of you swallowing the loudest sound in the small car.
Knowing he most likely wasn’t wanting to pressure you to talk, you took the initiative. “I–I’m sorry for not– I’m–,” you choked, shaking your head. The tears were beginning to gather once fucking more. Yet, even with eyes wet and throat tight, you persevered. You had to get the rest of it said before you continued to the appointment–you were going to be late if you didn’t get going soon. And you weren’t about to tell him the rest afterwards. “I have to tell you the rest.”
His jaw clenched in preparation for it as he nodded, his body turning to better face you for what was left. “Lay it on me.”
You gulped, mimicking his movement so you could see him better. Your throat was so tight it nearly suffocated you with nerves. “The–the father,” you started, looking into the eyes that looked so eerily similar to his brother’s. Very much like the ones you hoped your baby would wind up having–yet, not entirely the same. “Do you want to know?”
Of course you’ll want to, you thought at your ridiculous question. And I’m going to tell you anyway, but I’m stalling like a pussy.
His lips quirked, but only the slightest, tiniest bit. “Only if you want to tell me.”
I have to.
“I–I do,” you said, your eyes darting down to your hands which wrung at your waist, itching to touch your tummy. So, you did, settling them on the small bump. And instantly, you felt better. You were beginning to find it slightly crazy what one simple touch could do. 
Choosing to watch your hands lace at your tummy instead of him, you took the last jump with two words. “It’s Jake.”
-🌼🌼🌼-
a/n: i promise you won't be waiting a month for Josh's reaction ;) see you very, very soon <3
ty for being the best readers in the world and pleaseee never hesitate to send in your wonderful thoughts!
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maochira · 2 months
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Oh cool request are open- 😲. Can I request aggressive positivity and care giving with Dad! Barou, Dad! Ego and Dad! Shidou with a workholic! Teenage! Son! Reader. Reader's a very chill individual... who isn't the best at self care. This especially shows when he get an incredibly high fever. He tries hiding it... keyword: tries. His dad eventually finds out. Do as you will with this scenario 👍.
Oooo!
Characters: Barou, Ego, Shidou
Tags: gn!teenager!reader (I know male reader was requested but I ended up writing this without any use of 3rd person pronouns, so it can be read as gn)
Dad!Barou has always been proud of what a hard worker you are and how much effort you put into whatever you set your mind to. It's usually what you get praised about the most and what he tells his friends and other family members when asked about you. Unfortunately, this has led to your self-confidence being very dependent on your father's - or really anyone's - praise. Barou didn't directly connect those dots, but he's been noticing how as time went on you would stay up longer to study and work on any task until exhaustion. While he didn't talk to you about it, he tried helping by giving you fewer chores and giving you more free time. That only backfired since you used that time to study even more. One day, you broke down because you got a grade slightly worse than usual, even though you spent all your time studying. Barou reassured you that it was still a good grade, even though it wasn't what you wished for. The conversation went a bit deeper until he got angry at how you only focused on the grades rather than how you feel physically and emotionally. Despite your protests, Barou created a daily schedule for you with strict times when to study and when to rest to take care of yourself - and there's no other choice than you having to follow it. You quickly got used to it and noticed how much better you felt without constant overworking.
There are many things you and dad!Ego have in common. One example is that you're just as willing to dedicate every single second of your free time towards your obsessions as your father. Although, this has led to you not getting enough sleep and your grades falling down because of that sleep deprivement. You'd rather pull an all-nighter to dedicate time to your obsessions, rather than "wasting time" by sleeping. Ego only started to notice how bad your overworking has gotten when you kept getting sick over and over for weeks. Even though you were told to rest, you only saw not having to go to school as another way to overwork yourself. That's when Ego had enough and decided to have a serious talk with you. He was angry and talked in a strict tone that was so much harsher than the last time you got into trouble. Although, it was obvious that your father only wanted you to take proper care of yourself.
When you were younger, Dad!Shidou would always have small competitions with you, which led you to be overly competitive with anyone around you, no matter if it was about a hobby or grades in school. As you got older, your competitiveness grew with you, and with that did the time you spent working on always being the best. Shidou always knew how eager you were to be the best in anything possible, and he would encourage you to keep going to reach your dreams. But at some point, you would only lock yourself away with negative feelings, because if you weren't the best at something, you would always feel like a failure. Luckily, your father noticed that pretty quickly and forced you to spend time with him rather than studying or doing whatever else you wanted to be the best in. Every day, Shidou would grab your arm and drag you outside to do something with him. Usually playing soccer to destress or go grocery shopping, just to get your mind on other things.
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