#how does it not feel like biting on a doorstop when you play that thing

[supercantaloupe]

the new grad oboist in orchestra is british and he makes short scrape reeds. so unfortunately i will not be able to glean any wisdom from him re: reedmaking i’m still basically on my own

[here4theheartbreak]

AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached... Until suddenly he wasn't. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn't part of the plan. 

Chapter Word Count: ~5.1k

“My father is literally trying to murder me.”

Minho didn’t bother to bite back his grin as soon as he entered the salon. He crossed the room as the handsome hairstylist whined and stomped one foot.

“You know, they say that a haircut is similar to going to a bar,” Minho commented as he took a seat.

“What?”

He lifted his chin to allow the cape to nestle against his throat. “The patrons dump their worries onto the stylist the same as they would a bartender. It’s cheap therapy. The bartender – and stylist – aren’t supposed to do things the other way around.”

Minho met Taemin’s gaze in the mirror, smirking at his pout.

“I’m having a crisis, hyung,” Taemin whined. Minho sighed patiently.

“Fine. Your father is metaphorically trying to murder you – I strongly doubt he’s intending to physically kill his youngest. Why do you think he’s out to get you?”

Taemin’s pout increased, making him look years younger than he actually was.

“He wants to arrange a marriage. Who even does that anymore?”

“Well, I mean quite a few families? It’s not like you have to marry the person he introduces you to.”

Taemin snorted, picking up his comb and spraying Minho’s hair lightly. “He all but threatened to cut me off and kick me out if I didn’t. Which is why I say, he’s out to get me.”

“Who’s the person, do you know?”

“Her name is Park Jisoo.”

“Oh, I know of that family. They’re pretty wealthy.”

“So my father said. I don’t care though. I don’t want to marry anyone, I’m happy how I am and I don’t wanna be tied down. If he’s so keen on me getting hitched, I might as well marry you.”

Minho snorted. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Taemin pouted again. “Why are you laughing?”

“Look, you and I might have fun in bed, but you said it yourself. You don’t want to be tied down. If you married me I’d drive you nuts. And either way, your dad is trying to set you up with a girl because he hates that you’re interested in men at all. Marrying me would set both of our fathers off.”

“It’d be fun to watch their heads explode though, wouldn’t it? Remember the first time your dad caught us kissing in the pool?”

“I thought mine was going to drown us both. I’ve never seen his face get so red. But to be fair… We were kids.”

“We were teenagers. All of our straight friends were already making out with their girlfriends in the broom closets.”

Minho chuckled. “Point made. Maybe she won’t be so bad. Everyone knows you’re a natural charmer, you’ll win her over in no time. You just have to make it clear you have boundaries and the marriage is a professional thing only.”

“That’s not fair to her.”

Minho smiled patiently. He watched Taemin through the mirror as he shaped the cut he knew Minho preferred, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’d known the man since Taemin was born, nearly – they’d grown up side by side in their apartment complex otherwise filled with teens and adults. Though there was an age gap, Minho adored Taemin, more than his same age friends most of the time. When Taemin realized at puberty that he might not be entirely into girls, it was natural for him to come to Minho… And to subsequently experiment with him.

Minho knew he was Taemin’s safety and friend… But not more.

Taemin had a reputation around their city as a bit of a player. People always came and went from his bed, and they had since he was barely legal. Minho was a constant, but the idea of being something more… It was a fantasy. Minho knew that, and resigned himself to what he was given. He loved Taemin in every way possible, and his happiness was what mattered. Minho honestly didn’t believe Taemin would ever find someone to settle down with – he was just too… Lee Taemin. Bouncing from person to person, content with a few nights of fun before moving on. It worked for them. Taemin never tired of Minho.

“So, when do you start shooting for your new role?” Taemin asked, breaking Minho’s inner dialogue.

“Hm? Oh, next week.”

“Do you need to leave Seoul for it?”

Minho grunted an affirmative. “Yeah, a month in Andong.”

“Ooh, it’s pretty there,” Taemin commented. He leaned down, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Pack me in your suitcase and take me with you.”

Minho beamed, pushing Taemin’s head playfully. “I wish. I don’t know any of the actors. There’s some rookie too, heard he thinks he’s hot shit.”

Taemin wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“I mean, he might be. I got that reputation too when I was new because I was good. I’ll give him a shot, but…” He shrugged the shoulder Taemin wasn’t perched on. “I’ll miss you.”

“Wanna hang out tonight?” Taemin smirked, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have a little fun?”

Minho chuckled. “Where’s Sehyoon?”

“Ah,” Taemin straightened up, angling his comb back to Minho’s hair. “You know how it is, easy come, easy go.”

“Dumped him, didn’t you?”

“Mutual separation. He wanted more, you know me.”

“He was cute.”

“He’s single.”

Minho snorted. “Not a chance. I’m not even dating you and I’ve got my hands full.”

Taemin smacked the back of Minho’s head with the comb. “I have scissors.”

Minho winced, rubbing the spot. “Such a brat.”

Taemin beamed at that, his entire face lighting up as he did. Minho couldn’t help but smile, his heart doing an all too familiar two step beat against his ribs. He knew he’d never end up with Taemin… But it didn’t stop him from secretly wanting to.

***

Minho bowed politely to Taemin’s father when he opened the door, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Good evening, Sir. Is Taemin in?”

“Not for the likes of you.”

Though Taemin’s father tolerated Minho to some degree, he was no fool about what went on between the two.

“I heard you intend to arrange a meeting for Taemin with the Park girl. She is quite beautiful.”

Taemin’s father straightened a little, scowling. “Her family is powerful. And she has the firm hand the boy needs.”

“Well, he does like a firm hand,” Minho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the subtle widening of Taemin’s father’s eyes. “I mean… He certainly needs it to keep in line, correct?”

“Hm.”

“He discussed it with me today. He’s quite nervous. Wondered if I could come over before my trip and relax him, get him energized to meet his potential bride to be. That’s why I’m here.’ Minho planted his most sweet smile, letting his head tilt just a bit. “Nothing scandalous.”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. “Hm… He’s in his room, playing that damned music too loud.” He stepped aside, allowing Minho in. “For a boy his age, he certainly acts like a child. You’re older than him, shouldn’t you be a better influence?”

Minho smiled and bowed as he stepped out of his sneakers. “Ah, you know your son better than anyone, Mr. Lee. He’s as stubborn as a mule. It’s an admirable trait, even if it drives us all a bit insane. It’ll come in handy in business.”

“I suppose you’re right. Go. Go, leave the door open a crack. I know how your kind is.”

Minho nodded and jogged up the stairs, rapping on Taemin’s door before opening it and slipping through. He shut it firmly, kicking Taemin’s makeshift doorstop under it to effectively lock it.

Taemin was stretched out on his bed in a pair of shredded jeans, showing more skin than they were covering. He was flipping through a magazine, and glanced up when Minho entered.

“You came.”

“Not yet, but I intend to.”

Taemin smirked, sitting up and tossing the magazine aside. “Well come on then.” He leaned back on his hands, shifting to show off the curve of his body. Minho sighed deeply, letting his gaze roam over Taemin. He stripped off his hoodie and t-shirt, crawling up Taemin’s legs.

“You’re a tease,” he scolded without venom when their noses brushed. Taemin smirked.

“It’s only teasing if I don’t come through with it.” He slid his palm down Minho’s chest, cupping his crotch and giving a playful squeeze that had Minho’s eyelids fluttering. “And you know I always come through.”

“Oh, I do.” Minho brushed his lips over Taemin’s neck. “How are you feeling it today?”

Taemin laid back, looking up at Minho. “Hm. Not too rough… But don’t go easy on me either.”

“Deal… Do you still have my bag?”

Taemin nodded, then jutted his chin toward his closet. “Floor, left side… What do you need from it?” His lips curved up into a smirk.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Minho winked and wiggled off the bed, heading over to the closet. He dug around a bit before rising, turning back to the bed.

Taemin’s grin was irrationally bright given the handful of items Minho had. He held a heavy black rope and a bottle of lube, as well as a thin strip of flat wood like an unmarked ruler, and a sturdy rubber ring. He crawled back onto the bed, placing all the items but the rope onto the stand.

“Arms up.”

Taemin obeyed, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He wet his lips, glancing up as Minho tied his arms together with the rope, then wound it through the rungs of the bedframe.

“I love when you’re like this,” Taemin whispered, nudging Minho’s arm with his cheek.

“Like what?”

“Bossy. Firm.”

“You need it,” Minho said, tugging the rope firmly. He grabbed Taemin’s jaw in a firm grip, squeezing just enough to pinch. “You’re a little shit. Always talking back and mouthing off to your elders. You’re lucky I do this instead of beating your ass.”

Taemin smirked. “I suck your cock too good for you to really be mad at any of that.”

Minho leaned forward, brushing his mouth against Taemin’s. “Says you.” He shoved his head back hard enough that Taemin bumped it against the wood frame, grimacing. He grinned broadly when Minho scooted down, tugging his belt off. He twisted his hips, helping Minho as much as he could to pull of his jeans. Minho swore.

“You know, if these weren’t so skintight…”

“Everyone would be disappointed,” Taemin snarked.

“I’d probably already be playing with your dick,” Minho said, finally yanking the denim down his slender legs. He tossed it off the bed and grabbed the base of Taemin’s foot firmly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t—” Taemin warned, his own eyes widening. Minho scraped his nail along the arch of Taemin’s foot, chuckling when he squeaked and began to writhe.

“Don’t,” he whined.

“You gonna be good? Or keep being a little brat?” Minho tickled him again.

“I’ll be good!” Taemin promised. Minho freed his foot, grabbed his boxers instead and yanking them off.

He pushed his legs open, sliding his hands over the smooth skin of his thighs. “You’re so ridiculously beautiful.”

“You don’t need to flirt,” Taemin said with a bright laugh, “I’ve been giving you my ass since we were teenagers.”

Minho smiled, but the words cut more deeply than Taemin would ever realize. It may have been true; they’d taken one another’s virginities, but Minho wished beyond all else that one day his praises and compliments and teasing suggestions would be seen as more… As a viable option for Taemin. But it just wasn’t in the cards. So he hid the hurt behind grins and playful flirtations, opting instead to be everything Taemin wanted.

He pushed his legs open a little further, the glint of something metallic catching his eye.

“Oh—”

“Found my surprise.” Taemin twisted his hips, spreading his legs wide to reveal a sturdy silver anal plug nestled in his ass. “I got myself ready for you.  I know how worked up we get… Thought this could make it… Kinda fun.”

“You… You are perfect,” Minho whispered. He moved up, grabbing the thin wooden paddle. He smacked it on his own hand, ignoring the tickling sting in favor of watching the way Taemin’s eyes dilated, his lips parting. Almost tickle soft, he brushed the edge of the paddle along the curve of Taemin’s muscle, watching it tense and relax. The first time he’d discovered Taemin had this kink it had been an accident. They’d been making out and Taemin, per his usual teasing attitude, had risen to walk off, earning a sharp swat on his bare ass. Their relationship escalated naturally afterward, each learning the other’s secret kinks and preferences. Despite the number of people Taemin slept with, Minho was the only one he relaxed like this with.

The first crack of the wood on his thigh landed on a quiet beat of the music. Taemin’s moan broke into a giggle. “Shh… My Dad’s gonna hear.”

“He can’t get in,” Minho said simply, smacking the other side just as hard. Taemin gasped, moaning softly. Minho alternated his smacks between the inner thighs and outer thighs, pausing every few strikes to massage the welted skin. He let a blow land lightly on Taemin’s stomach, just a few centimeter’s away from his cock, just enough to startle.

Taemin whined, his hips twitching up.

“Ohh… You liked that,” Minho said simply, a teasing lit in his tone. Taemin nodded, his eyes fluttering open.

“Again.”

“You don’t to be the boss,” Minho warned. He swatted Taemin’s exposed forearm with some force, watching the smooth skin redden and welt. “Try that again. Politely.”

Taemin bared his teeth, eyes narrowing. “Hit me again.”

Minho swatted his other forearm, giving it a matching welt.

“Somewhere else,” Taemin growled. Minho dropped the paddle and slapped Taemin across the cheek. He gasped, blinking tears from his eyes. Minho smirked, grabbing his chin again and yanking him forward as much as his bound arms would allow. He crawled up, going almost nose to nose with him.

“Don’t. Be. A. Brat.”

“Why not?” Taemin breathed. “You fucking love it. I can see how hard your cock is already.” He jerked his hips up, emphasizing his point. Minho squeezed harder.

“I’ll only fuck you if you be a good boy for me, Taemin. Can you do that?”

“That’s no fun. Plus… You wanna come too.”

“There are other ways to come.” He slid his thumb over Taemin’s plush bottom lip, pushing it into his mouth and pressing down on his tongue. “I do have the gag.”

Taemin’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and Minho knew he was affecting him.

“Would you like me to get that, baby?” He threatened, his tone measured and even. “Fuck your pretty mouth and not let you come for me?”

Taemin shook his head as well as he could with Minho’s firm grip. “I’ll try to be good.”

“Good boy.” Minho let go of his face and kissed him hard.

He pulled back and grabbed the rubber ring, reaching down to stroke Taemin’s cock a few times. “Remember… You don’t come until I say you can, brat.”

Taemin hissed as Minho slid the ring on, settling it against the base of his cock. He reached lower and grabbed the plug, tugging it. It caught for a moment then slid out, a dribble of lube following.

Minho swore under his breath, sliding two fingers into Taemin. He wiggled.

“Don’t, please, hyung.” He blinked down at him, smiling as politely as he could likely manage. “I’m stretched. I want you just to put it in.”

“You sure? You still seem so tight…”

Taemin snorted. “You know I can take it. Just fuck my ass. Fill me up. I know you want to.” He purred, spreading his legs further. He lifted them with a practiced ease, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he pressed his knees against his chest, his breathing coming in strained pants. The motion gave Minho a perfect view of his ass, wet with lube, the smallest gape when he flexed.

Minho slid his hands up the backs of Taemin’s thighs, feeling the musculature under his palms. Despite his relatively stagnant job as stylist, Taemin had the body of a dancer. He was slender and flexible, head to toe lean muscle and stamina to boot.

“Get my dick wet first,” Minho finally said. He pushed Taemin’s legs back down and rose, stripping out of his jeans and boxers. He stroked his own cock lazily, gaze roaming over Taemin’s bound form.

Taemin peeked through his shaggy bangs, lips parted and wet. He squeezed his thighs together repeatedly, obviously seeking any stimulation he could manage.

“Beg,” Minho growled.

“Please,” Taemin whispered, clearly more eager to please and get his reward than play stubborn. “Come fuck my ass, hyung. You have to go without it for a whole month. Come take what you need, fill me up and make me ache when I sit down. Please, I need it… No one screws me like you do,” he whined, spreading his legs open.

Minho crawled back onto the bed, straddling his chest and fisting his hair.

“Look at me.”

Taemin rolled his eyes up, wetting his lips. “Gonna make me choke on it, sir?”

There was the attitude. Minho smirked. “You know it.” He slid his tip over Taemin’s bottom lip.

“Get it nice and wet for your ass.” He pushed his cock in and slid his hips forward until the tip bumped against the back of Taemin’s throat. His shoulders jerked and Minho groaned, tightening his grip on his hair. Starting off slow but persistent, Minho pumped his hips, driving his cock as deep as it would go. He pulled Taemin forward, grunting softly when his throat began to relax, giving into the intrusion. Taemin gagged around him, coughing up spit and precome as Minho worked his cock into his throat.

“There you go, Tae… Swallow it down, baby. Work on that gag reflex,” Minho praised, holding Taemin’s chin with his free hand. Taemin looked up, tears filling his dark eyes. One slid down his cheek, accompanied with a hard gag, that had Minho’s eyes rolling back as his throat squeezed around his tip.

“Fuck… The way I wanna fill your mouth,” he panted. Taemin began to struggle, his hands in fists. Minho pulled back immediately and loosened his grip, searching his face for distress. Taemin coughed, dragging in much needed air.

“Please, not today,” he rasped. “My ass.”

Minho smirked, wiping spit from his chin. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll come up your ass. That mouth is just a damn big temptation.”

Taemin grinned broadly. “When you come back from filming you can come down my throat, okay?”

“Deal.” He kissed him gently, brushing his hair down from where he’d mussed it pulling. He settled between Taemin’s thighs, pushing his knees up to his chest again. “Relax.”

Taemin nodded, letting his eyes slip shut. Minho added lube to his spit slicked cock and lined up, taking only a moment before pushing past Taemin’s tight rim. They both moaned. Taemin’s head fell back onto the pillow, a small, contented smile crossing his face.

Minho braced himself on either side of Taemin’s chest and began to thrust, slow and steady to begin. Taemin was unbearably tight, his hole clenching and releasing in a pulse-like rhythm as his body adjusted to the intrusion.

Minho grabbed the paddle again, sliding the edge over Taemin’s cock.

Taemin whined, biting his bottom lip. Minho swatted his tip as gently as he could. Taemin bucked upward, nearly forcing Minho’s cock out. He let his legs fall over Minho’s shoulders, a high whimper slipping from his lips. Minho swatted his cock lightly again, this time driving as deeply as he could.

Taemin cried out, his body tensing. “Stop teasing me,” he snarled, his teeth bared.

“What was that?” Minho asked. He pulled his cock free, ignoring Taemin’s strained plea. Instead, he smacked the thin paddle lightly over Taemin’s gaped hole three times before driving two fingers in, thrusting them aggressively.

“I asked you a question, brat.”

Taemin moaned brokenly, his cock twitching against his heaving stomach. “Fuck me, please— Put it back in!”

“Not until you behave. I warned you.” Minho brought the paddle down on the exposed meat of his ass, grunting when Taemin’s ass clamped down on his fingers. “You don’t control this situation, Taemin. Do you?”

Taemin bit his lap, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth up. “Since you’re using my ass... Don’t I?” He asked. Minho cocked a brow.

“If you wanna be that way.” Minho pushed Taemin’s legs off his shoulders, kneeling between them to keep them spread open. He swatted Taemin’s hole and ass four times in quick succession before placing the paddle aside. He poured lube into his hand and made a fist around his cock before beginning to thrust his hips forward, squeezing and relaxing his fist rhythmically as he did. The wet squelch of the lube and Minho’s grunts punctuated the soft points of the music.

“You sure I need your body?” Minho grunted out. Taemin was squirming on the bed, his hole flexing as he tended and relaxed, clearly needing more. He wet his lips, eyes not leaving Minho’s cock.

“Or do you maybe need my cock up your tight ass to come, hm?”

Taemin chewed his bottom lip. His cock twitched at Minho’s words. “It won’t be as good... Your hand is nothing compared to my hole and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Minho grunted, shivering as he squeezed his tip. “But I’ll still be able to come and be satisfied. Will you?”

Taemin squirmed again. He remained silent, watching Minho masturbate in front of him for a few moments.

“I need it,” Taemin finally whispered.

“Oh? What was that?”

Taemin swallowed thickly. “I need your cock to feel good... Please, Hyung.”

“Ah, I thought so.” Minho stopped jerking off, grabbing the paddle and swatting Taemin’s thigh. “I’m waiting for those special words though.”

“Please!” Taemin hissed.

“No, the other ones.”

Taemin rolled his eyes. Minho swatted his thigh hard with his bare hand, smirking when he whimpered. “Aw, and here I thought you wanted my cock.” He leaned back, fisting his cock again.

“I’m sorry!” Taemin cried. “I— I’m sorry, sir. Please— Use my ass.”

Minho nodded. “There we go.” He knew Taemin was far from sorry; this was just the game they played. He had nothing to be sorry for, but it was damn sexy to watch him plead.

Minho rammed his cock back in, moaning when Taemin clenched around him and bucked off the bed. He grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed before smacking hard three times. Taemin’s ass clenched almost painfully tight, ripping a cry from Minho’s mouth.

He began to fuck into him hard and fast, smacking his ass every few thrusts for that perfect squeeze around his cock.

Taemin writhed under him, his hips twisting to help with the thrusts, head thrown back as soft cries of pleasure-pain fell from his bite swollen lips. He was the most beautiful person Minho had ever seen. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Taemin’s parted lips.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he panted.

“Thick—“ Taemin whined, the muscles in his arms bulging as he struggled against the ropes. “So big, it almost hurts... Fuck me harder, please—“ he broke off in a moan when Minho shifted angles, driving just a bit deeper.

Minho leaned back, slowly pushing Taemin’s hips up as he fucked into him.

Taemin smirked, open mouthed. “Wanna see?” He panted. Minho nodded. He reached forward and fisted Taemin’s hair, dragging his head forward. As he did, he folded Taemin’s flexible body more inward, still thrusting into his ass. He grabbed Taemin’s cock and pulled the ring off, angling it outward and pushing his body until Taemin was able to place the tip of his own cock into his mouth.

His eyes rolled back as he sucked, moan muffled.

Minho swore, his cock throbbing hard at the sight. He continued to fuck Taemin’s ass, each thrust shifting the cock between his lips.

“You wanna come like this?” Minho panted.

Taemin nodded as well as he could.

“Don’t swallow.”

He began to thrust as hard as he could manage, chasing his own orgasm. Taemin’s eyes rolled back, his moans muffled by the twitching cock between his lips. He clenched around Minho, toes curling as his balls began to throb, cock twitching.

Minho groaned, sliding his thumb over the underside of Taemin’s cock as he spilled into his own mouth. When the throbs slowed and stopped, Minho shifted, letting Taemin’s head go. His cock slipped free and he opened his mouth, showing Minho the thick, milky fluid within. Minho groaned. He let Taemin’s legs fall and leaned forward, kissing him hard.

Taemin wrapped his legs around Minho’s hips, moaning as their tongues slid together, sharing his come.

Minho’s stomach clenched, his balls drawing up almost painfully tight. He grunted into Taemin’s mouth, hips losing rhythm as his nerves heightened in sensitivity. Taemin pulled back, his lips glossy with come and spit.

“Fill my ass, hyung... Please,” he whispered, looking up at Minho from half closed eyes.

Minho grunted his name, grabbing Taemin’s hip almost painfully tight as the pressure in his body peaked, a wall of tension that built in his cock and sent shudders through his form. He came, cock throbbing against Taemin’s tight inner walls, his body clenching and releasing each spurt of fluid. He could hear himself grunting and whining, and Taemin speaking softly, though making out the words was an impossible feat.

One final throb and the tension of his body released all at once, the flood of feel good hormones turning every muscle into pudding. He collapsed over Taemin, grinning dumbly.

Taemin shifted, tugging at the ropes binding him. Minho reached up and pulled the release he’d tied into the rope, freeing Taemin before relaxing once more, nuzzling against his soft shoulder.

“Talk to me,” Minho mumbled, pressing kisses to his skin.

“I’m good.”

Minho pulled back, meeting Taemin’s sleepy gaze. “Yeah?”

Taemin nodded. “I promise. No floating.”

Minho nodded. He sat up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. This was always the time he hated. For the time they were having sex, the ‘no strings attached’ part of their relationship didn’t matter. He could kiss and cuddle and hold Taemin to his heart’s content. When they went far enough, and Taemin hit that floaty, feel good feeling as he described it, it gave Minho an out. Free reign to take care of Taemin like he wanted to all the time, bring him back to earth slowly. When he didn’t reach that point… Minho was just another quick fuck. The only difference was that Taemin didn’t kick him out of his house when he was done. Minho wasn’t sure that would be worse.

He pulled on his jeans, passing Taemin his jeans and boxers before rising to put away their toys.

“Why is this door shut?!” The door shook in its frame as Taemin’s father rapped on it.

Minho pulled a face, showing his teeth before chuckling. He slid the closet shut and ran fingers through his hair before nudging the stopper out of the way and opening it, smiling sheepishly and bowing.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“I told you to keep that door open,” He snapped. “Why is your shirt off? I swear—"

“It’s just so hot,” Minho whined as well as he could, fanning his hand in front of his face. “We shut the door to try and keep the cool air from the window in the room.” He shifted to show Taemin on the bed, his jeans perfectly in place, shirt missing still. “Could we have permission to turn the AC up a little?”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. Minho knew he could likely smell the sex from the room. He kept the innocent smile planted on his face nonetheless even as Taemin’s father’s eyes searched the room for any physical sign of their coitus.

“I will turn up the air conditioning. Keep the door open, it allows for better airflow… And put on a damn shirt.”

Minho bowed his head politely, stepping further into the room and grabbing his shirt from the floor. Taemin’s father scanned the room once more, his lips disappearing into an annoyed line before he stalked off.

Minho sat on the bed, pulling his shirt on. “You have got to get a place of your own, Tae.”

“I like living rent free,” Taemin whined. “I can save my money for stuff I want.”

“I know, and I get it – I hated moving out of my parents… But your dad is so pushy.”

Taemin shrugged. He sat up and moved to where Minho was sitting, putting his head on his shoulder.

“I won’t have to worry about it in a few weeks. I’ll be getting hitched.” The sarcasm was obvious in his tone.

“You don’t have to say yes, Tae. You should follow your heart.”

Taemin snorted. “It’s easier. I’ll just do what you said, let her know I’m not gonna be some good husband. I’ll go through the motions, be married, but she has to accept that she won’t be my only person. I don’t do love.”

Minho sighed. “Maybe you will. What if she ends up being perfect for you?”

“I doubt it. You know I’m up for anything but I’ve always leaned toward guys. If I end up with anyone long term I think it’ll be someone male identifying.”

“Never know.” Minho nudged him playfully. “Just go to the date with an open mind, okay?”

“Okay.” Taemin sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s sending me to her next Friday.”

“End of the same week I leave. You’ll have to text me with how it went. Or Facetime me in the evening.”

“I will. I’m sure I’ll need your support,” Taemin said through a laugh. “Wanna play a game? We can order something for food.”

Minho nodded. “Always. You order, I’ll set it up.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they played rounds of the game, spending the next few hours with one another. It was always this way, as long as Minho could remember. He loved it, and wouldn’t dare ruin it by asking for more. Even if, sometimes, in his dreams, he wished.

[tardis-sapphics]

mistletoemistletoemistletoemistletoE but in all seriousness............... what about christmas gift exchange (THEN mistletoe)

i did it!!! before christmas ends!!!! yes!!!! this was a fab prompt, thanks pal.

also here’s the translator i used for this fic, if you want a visualisation.

merry christmas, happy hanukkah, and happy holidays to you all! i hope your day has been filled with love and joy (and if not, i’m more than happy to shower you in it myself)!

What do you get for the woman who wants for nothing?

This is Graham’s problem, currently. By finding the Doctor, he lost Grace but gained a family – and he loves travelling with them, it’s great, it’s fun, but it means he has to buy more presents for people he doesn’t know as well. Grace was so much easier to buy for. Not to mention she would’ve known exactly what to buy, and where.

(And. Well. That’s a reflection for another time.)

The others are easy to find gifts for. Graham bought Ryan’s and Yaz’s presents back in November. (Or was it forward into November?) But the Doctor… Doc is proving the most difficult one. Again.

Seriously, what do you get a 2000 year old alien? Another time-travelling box?

Christ alive, humans are so much easier to buy for.

He confides in the two youngest of the team about his gift-giving woes. He doesn’t have to be secretive – the Doctor’s off “quarking a micropoint bi-axial rotor” that had “gone a bit wobbly”, whatever the bleeding hell that means. It’s just the three of them around the console, the TARDIS’ gentle thrumming to offer sympathies at their brain-wracking.

But neither of them are any good.

It’s alright for some. Yaz has got the Doctor a present, already. Of course she found something. More often than not those two are joined at the hip, and Graham’s long suspected that something between them needs to be addressed.

And Christmas is tomorrow. (Tomorrow being no more than a construct at this point. Graham can’t remember the last time he saw the Earth at night. Oh, blimey, that’s a lot to think about.)

“Even you, Yaz?” he sighs, after a third round of hypothesising fizzles away into nothing. “You’ve got her something. Surely you have ideas, still?!”

Yaz shakes her head. “Only ‘cause the Doctor asked me to get it for her. She doesn’t have money and she gets too distracted if she goes into Earth shops. I’m sorry, Graham, you’ll have to ask her.”

In all honesty, he’s starting to feel a little bit betrayed by his luck.

Doc chooses this time to wander into the console room, heavy duty welding glasses over her eyes and a nasty pair of pliers in her hands.

“Yaz! I think I left the electromagnetic wave shifter pump by you, can you pass it over?”

Sure enough, there’s some sort of mechanical invention close to the police officer, hanging by a hook on the console. Yaz is immediately on the case - she grabs it from its resting place and zips over to the Doctor as if she was magnetised to the Time Lord. The Doctor watches her the entire time, her mouth turned up just slightly in expectation.

“They’re so not subtle,” Ryan sighs, a playful smile on his face. The noise diverts his attention for a second, but Graham turns his head back again and finds his grandson isn’t wrong at all.

Yaz gently pulls the welding glasses up onto the Doc’s forehead, sharing a quiet conversation and a giggle. Something deeply joyful has blossomed on the blonde woman’s face, wondrous and overwhelming. Her smile grows exponentially when Yaz gives her a kiss on the cheek, placing the pump into the Doctor’s free hand.

It’s a perfect image of the two of them, Graham thinks. But then he stops himself. No, it’s almost perfect. ‘Course, it’s Christmas; it’s a moment that deserves falling snow and mistletoe! Nothing less for the two women that deserve it most.

And, ooh, hey, that’s a good idea. That’s a good one an’ all.

Doc moves to disappear not long after - but not before watching Yasmin hop back over to Graham and Ryan. She always watches them go, Graham’s noticed, like she’s thankful for every second she’s able to see her. God knows she’s loved and lost more than anyone here, hundreds of times over if not more.

She does it for Graham and Ryan, she’s always watching out for them, but there’s a wistful edge to her loving gaze when she looks at Yaz.

Seems the woman does want for something after all. Luckily, Graham’s got just the idea for her.

He catches sight of her fluttering coattails. “Hey, Doc, can we make a quick stop at a Tesco?”

Ryan looks like he’s just been struck like lightning. “Wait, wait, make that IKEA!”

Christmas isn’t feeling like it should.

He can’t help but feel out of sorts today. Like he’s been dropped into an alternate universe, but instead of that Solitary thing trying to tempt them to stay or whatever that… thing was called, he’s just been left without Grace.

He doesn’t know if that’s worse. He’s picturing it all, when everything was right, as he moves through Christmas morning. He should be in the kitchen, he thinks, with her, as they cook a turkey for the two of them. Their Christmas dinner is mournful and it’s too quiet without her cracking jokes. They’ve got Michael Bublé playing but he should be hearing her singing; he should be hearing her soul jumping out every time she opens her mouth to croon along.

She’s walking past in the corner of her eye but he’s expecting her to be sat down in the living room every time he enters and she’s not.

This is the worst he’s been in a while, he knows. Grief’s a monster he wishes he wasn’t personally acquainted with, and it really bites the most when you should be celebrating with family.

Christmas is lonely without her. Life is lonely without Grace.

Despite all that, despite the heaviness crushing his chest and the smile he can see never quite reaching Ryan’s eyes, he’s still glad he’s here. He’s glad he’s continuing with Christmas even if part of him just wants to go to bed and do away with the whole bleeding holiday.

Because Doc and Yaz have joined them for the afternoon, and it means the world to both of the men.

Neither of the girls are tiptoeing around the subject, but they’re not making it their priority either. They’re just existing alongside their friends; pulling crackers; asking questions and finding out about each other’s traditions. What do Ryan and Graham usually do at Christmas? What was the best Christmas present they ever got each other? What was Grace’s favourite thing to do? He answers best he can, trying his hardest to make light of it all.

And it works. Conversation quickly dissolves into Yaz and Ryan having a food fight with the Quality Street sweets so the Doctor, lying horizontally on the lounge chair with her legs dangling over the side, launches into telling Graham about the time she almost got Oliver Cromwell to reinstate Christmas during his rule. It’s about as close to ‘tradition’ as Doc gets - keeping in with the rest of the year. Adventuring and trying to help however she can.

But now it’s his turn to help the Doctor, this Christmas, and he’s a little anxious about it.

He and Ryan have already opened their presents to each other. The scarf Ryan got him is pretty decent quality, he’s surprised - and Ryan’s already buzzing about his Red Red Exemption 2 game. If that’s what it’s called. But with the Doctor and Yaz here, the gift exchange can continue. When Doc finally finishes her story, he beckons everyone together and collects the remaining gifts from under the tinsel-drowned tree.

“Ooh! The gifts! I forgot about the gifts!” the Doctor grins, jumping up in her seat giddily.

Graham just hopes his gift can live up to her excitement.

For sake of the presents’ safety, Yaz has been the one to transport her and the Doc’s presents in her bag; after she adds to the pile, they all dive in. There’s no organisation, no rhyme, no reason. It’s every person for themselves. Ryan and the Doctor tear into the carefully wrapped gifts with gleeful abandon. Graham and Yaz share a look and laugh.

Ryan sighs in relief when he unwraps the Apple Airpods Yaz got him - his broke the day earlier. Graham is touched, frankly, by Yaz’s frog doorstop, another bit of Grace he can keep for himself. Yaz is already leafing through the baking recipe book Graham got her, but her eyes keep flickering over to the Cards Against Humanity set she received from Ryan. Meanwhile, the Doctor is delighted by Ryan’s toothbrush holder (Yaz seems to have an uncomfortable memory springing to the surface; Graham thinks it best not to ask). She’s holding the ABBA Gold CD from Yaz close to her chest, too. Poor TARDIS, Graham thinks, forced to play that again and again.

She hands out her presents to the rest of the team herself. They’re all small, and, as they unwrap them at the same time, the same idea. A pendant - “lovingly crafted from Sheffield steel,” the Doctor grins - with a Gallifreyan word stamped in.

“What’ve I got?” Ryan wonders, his mouth full of a toffee fudge stick as he squints at the foreign circles. It’s made up of little circles and semi-circles, a satisfying little pattern.

“Trailblazer,” Doc answers, and her smile is an answer to Ryan’s proud little beam. “You’re amazing, Ryan! And we wouldn’t even be a fam without you.”

Graham’s Gallifreyan word is more simple, like a moon and a sunbeam on opposite sides of the circle. “And me?” He takes his turn.

“Reason.” It’s pointed - a reminder, Graham realises, of how he close he was to straying from his de facto role in that heart-stopping face-off on Ranskoor av Kolos. And in that way he’s even more grateful for it. “You’ve been the voice of it more times than I can count. Sometimes we need grounding.”

Yaz takes in every detail of the meticulously carved metal of her necklace. Hers is like a sun on its side, a great cone of light emanating across the middle.

“Let me guess, mine says ‘stubborn’,” she quips, and they all laugh.

“Ey, that should be Graham’s,” Ryan jokes, and Graham nudges his knee lightly.

The Doctor only speaks after the laughter has died down. “It says ‘rapture’,” she explains, and her eyes can’t leave Yaz’s. “It’s great how much you love every moment.”

Ryan sends a pointed look at his granddad, a single eyebrow not-so-unsubtly raised. Graham can’t suppress his chuckle.

There’s one present left to open, one terribly wrapped little present. As soon as the Doctor alights on it, the nervousness jumps back into his body and his chuckle subsides.

It’s the last present. That’s even worse. The wrapping is off in a second. The Doctor holds aloft a little green plant, tongue out as she peers at it. Then sniffs.

“Yep, definitely real mistletoe!” she exclaims. “Awesome. Thanks, Graham, I actually really wanted one of these!”

She’s smiling, and every word is genuine, but it’s moments like these when he’s reminded just how much more intelligent and older she is than all of them, by far. In a moment she’s taken stock of every thought that could have been going through his head to make him buy it. She’s sussed him out in a second, and he knows it.

But the contemplative look on her face tells him he pulled it off. Not to mention, Yaz’s staring at it, too, as if it wasn’t bleedin’ obvious why the Doctor would want mistletoe.

“You said you didn’t have these lying around in your TARDIS, you know,” he whittles on. She never said that. Improvisation was never his strong suit. He clears his throat. “It’s Christmas tradition, you see.”

“I really love it, Graham, thank you,” she smiles sweetly.

It’s later, much later, when it finally happens. Ryan has fallen asleep under the blanket to the sound of Call the Midwife playing on the TV. Graham’s too engrossed to fall asleep, full of Christmas pudding as he is, but there’s a birth happening and he’d rather not watch that, thanks.

And he’s thirsty. Yaz offered to fetch drinks a couple of minutes later, and the Doctor disappeared not long after. He’d go to investigate but he’s comfy and he doesn’t want to wake Ryan.

In the end, he doesn’t have to get up at all. Haloed by the kitchen light, the Doctor and Yaz stand underneath the mistletoe fixed to the door frame. There are two full glasses of water at Yaz’s feet, and another in Doc’s hand. But they’re forgotten now. The two women only have eyes for each other, and they share a quiet laugh before leaning in for the kiss they’ve both been wanting for a while now.

Merry Christmas, girls, Graham thinks. Took you long enough.

He leaves them to it and turns his head back to grandson. It’s a nice moment to just pause, to reflect on what he still has. He watches Ryan as his snores start to increase in volume, and smiles to himself.

He has a family, still. He doesn’t have Grace anymore, but he’s part of a family that love each other to bits.

It’ll do for him. It’ll do just fine.

[imagining-supernatural]

The Best Laid Plans...

Part 2 of But It Burns

Summary: When you hit rock bottom, you have nowhere to go and end up on your former best friend’s doorstop, bruised, bloody, and broken. You aren’t expecting him and his girlfriend to take you in and try to patch up your shattered life, especially with the danger your presence puts them in.

Warnings: Language, medical scare, hospitals

Word Count: 3301

“This is huge! I should call this into the station. At least about Stark.”

“Why don’t you? We don’t own Y/N anything.”

“Buck… she trusted you. Above everyone else. In a matter of life or death, she came to you. Don’t you want to find out why?”

A whispered conversation slowly woke you up. After a moment of floating along the edge of consciousness, you finally tumbled over the edge and managed to just barely hold back a groan of pain. You needed to hear Bucky and Natasha uncensored.

“It’s just what she does, Natasha. She comes to me to try and sweep things under the rug for her when she fucks up. It was like this all throughout college. Maybe if we play this one by the book, call it in, have her actually face her consequences in jail, then she’ll finally get her shit together.”

“Or maybe this baby will set her straight. Maybe we can help her get out of the country, like she said. She could be a valuable asset to us. She was married to Tony Stark. The kind of information she has on the Mob?”

“She says she’s pregnant. She says she was married to Stark. She says the Mob will be after her. The last time I saw her, she was so fucked up on so many different drugs, Nat. Maybe she’s having some kind of drug-induced psychotic break…”

“You don’t believe that, Bucky. I can tell. Y/N’s telling the truth. I know you know it.”

“The truth as she believes it,” he whispered weakly.

You couldn’t blame him for not trusting you. You’d manipulated him into this. Manipulated him into hating you. Into letting you go. Into moving on without you in his life. You’d crushed the dream of a future the two of you had built up with matching houses in the suburbs and kids growing up next to each other and summer vacations with each other’s families. It was your fault you were no longer a part of his life.

Which just reminded you that you needed to get the fuck out of his life again.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. Well, your right eye. The left eye was swollen shut, which wasn’t a surprise in the least. It was a miracle you’d gotten out of your house alive last night, much less all the way across town to Bucky’s apartment.

Bucky and Natasha’s apartment. It wasn’t just his life you were putting in danger by being here.

Experimentally, you lifted you arm to push down the sheet of the bed you were on. They must have finished stitching you up, found some clean clothes for you, and put you in what looked to be a guest room. Tastefully decorated but lacking the personality that came from a constant occupant. Generic paintings from a home décor store and a bookcase with old classics and framed pictures of the two of them.

With careful, measured movements, you swung your feet off the bed until you were sitting up, biting back another groan. Tony hadn’t ever beat you this badly before. Some nights he got drunk and you angered him, but this had been different. It was as if the devil had possessed him. The man you’d married was nowhere to be seen.

It took a moment of deep breathing before you convinced yourself to stand up. As soon as you were upright, a sharp stab of pain hit your abdomen, quickly shooting through your body. A shout of agony escaped your lips and you curled in on yourself, falling to the ground. “Fucking, goddamned mother of shit!”

“Y/N?” Soft fingers danced across your shoulder. Natasha. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—” another wave of red hot coals rushed through your body, cutting off your words. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Fuck, the baby… You reached down and felt along the leggings you were wearing, eyes widening when your fingers came back red. Wide, terrified eyes darted up to meet Natasha’s. “I’m bleeding. I’m fucking bleeding. God, I’m going to lose my baby. I can’t—I need him. I can’t lose him!”

“We are going to the hospital, Y/N.” Her voice left no room for negotiation. Not that you would have. You’d been an idiot last night. You should have gone straight to the hospital. If you lost your baby, it would be your fault. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. Frozen in fear, you could only watch as Natasha looked over her shoulder. “Bucky, bring the car around. I’ll bring Y/N out. And give Steve a call. Have him waiting at the back door of the hospital and a doctor ready as soon as we get there.”

The drive to the hospital happened in a blur. Natasha sat in the back of the car with you, holding your hand while Bucky drove. You were only marginally aware of them. All of your attention was on your baby. You couldn’t feel anything. Could you feel him before now? Why didn’t you know what was going on with him?

“We’re here,” Bucky said in a low voice, drawing your attention. You looked up to see a cop by the back door with a wheelchair. Bucky turned around in his seat to look at you. “That’s Steve. If you trust me you can trust him.”

“Fuck, I don’t even care. Get me to a fucking doctor.”

You could figure out logistics later. Right now, your kid was the only thing that mattered. You tried to keep as quiet as possible when Bucky moved you to the wheelchair, even though it felt like an earthquake was setting off landmines inside of you. Once you were inside the hospital, a nurse and doctor took you from Bucky and wheeled you into a room without windows. They poked and prodded and asked questions upon questions and somehow managed to finagle your entire medical history from you in the first five minutes. On minute six, you were being prepped for surgery. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you were pulled under the line of consciousness and left at the mercy of others.

It felt like you’d been run over by a garbage truck when you woke. Fuck, what happened? You couldn’t even move your legs. They were like cement locked to the bed. Tony had been out checking on a shipment last night, so he couldn’t have—

Fucking shit, you’d killed him. Then you went to Bucky’s and his girlfriend stitched you up and—

“Y/N?” Bucky’s raspy voice broke through your thoughts.

“The baby? What—God, please tell me he’s okay. I can’t feel him, Buck!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Bucky was by your side in an instant, holding your hands still so you wouldn’t rip out your IVs and make things worse. “The baby’s okay, Y/N. He’s fine. As long as you take it easy, he’ll stay that way.”

As his icy blue eyes bore into yours, you forced yourself to calm down, process his words, accept them. “Really?”

Bucky nodded.

Relief flowed through your veins, making your head fall back onto your pillow like a weight. “Oh, thank God.”

Hesitantly, Bucky let go of your hands, as if he wasn’t sure that you wouldn’t start thrashing around again. All you did was move your hand over your stomach gently, as if you’d be able to feel the baby. Bucky pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, keeping his eyes on you. “You were in surgery for twelve hours. Dr. Banner thinks both you and the kid will be just fine, but he’s putting you on bedrest for at least a month. Maybe the rest of the pregnancy.”

“Gonna make getting to Ecuador a hell of a lot harder,” you mused. But you could make this work. The kid was fine. You were fine. And you’d make damn sure the both of you stayed that way. Which reminded you… “How am I here? Who knows I’m here?”

“Me, Natasha, the doctor and nurses who worked on you, and Steve, Natasha’s partner. But as far as computer records go, it’s Natasha who’s three months pregnant and just had a twelve-hour surgery. We know you were worried about being put in the system.”

“So you decided to commit insurance fraud for me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No. They’ll bill this, but they’ll make a mistake so the insurance company rejects it. We’ll pay in cash, full. And you will pay us back.”

“With interest,” you promised, closing your eyes. “And hazard pay. And rent for the night I stayed with you.”

“Oh,” Natasha’s voice came from the door, prompting you to open your eyes again. “You’re paying more than one night of rent. You’re on bedrest, sweetie.”

“I can be on bedrest in a hotel room. You’ve already done more than you should have to.”

Bucky let out a short, humorless laugh and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You came to me. Again. If you didn’t want my help you should have stayed away.”

“I should have,” you agreed quickly. “But I’m still that selfish person I was five years ago. You’re still my safe place and I needed that last night. But I didn’t think about how that would affect you. And I’m sorry for that, but I’m trying to fix it, Bucky.”

“You weren’t selfish, Y/N. Not last night.”

“That’s why I have a cop committing insurance fraud for me while the entire Mob is out for my head on a platter?”

“Why did you come to me last night?”

“I just killed my husband and I was bleeding out and—”

“Why did you come to me last night?” He interrupted to ask again.

“You were the only person I knew wouldn’t kill me—”

“Why did you come to me last night?”

“I don’t know what answer you’re looking for!” You yelled. “I was emotionally strung out and not thinking straight and I needed someone I trusted while I got my feet back under me.”

“You didn’t come to me because you were scared for your own life, Y/N. You were scared for your baby. Making sure you lived long enough for him to be born. That’s why you came to me.”

Huffing a short breath, you looked away and shook your head. “No, I didn’t. If I had then I would have gone to a hospital. I would have chanced being entered into the system so an actual doctor could patch me up and make sure my baby was fine instead of my former best friend and his cop girlfriend.”

“Well, your former best friend and his cop girlfriend have already talked about this,” Natasha said, pulling up another chair. “And you’re staying with us. Tony Stark’s body was found early this morning. James Rhodes was also found dead a few hours ago. I’d guess there’s a few days until someone takes Stark’s mantel and the Mob get in order again. That means we have a few days to figure out how to keep you in our apartment, safe.”

“Safe,” you laughed. “Right. Safe. I’m pregnant with Tony’s baby. His only child. They killed Rhodey because he was Tony’s second. You really think they aren’t going to feel threatened by Tony’s kid? His heir? There are people in the Mob who fucking worshiped the ground Tony walked on. They’re probably searching for me so they can make sure this kid is born, then they’ll kill me and raise the kid so they can brainwash him into their perfect ideals. And the people who want to take Tony’s place? Well, I’m a threat. I know far too much. I’m not safe here.”

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N,” Natasha assured you, to which you just laughed. She brushed off your reaction. “The doctor wants to keep you here overnight. He’ll be in in a few minutes to talk to you himself. Bucky and I will install a new security system at our apartment tonight—”

“No. Fuck, you can’t change anything. If they come looking and find out about Bucky, they’ll notice the new system. It’ll be a red flag.”

“We’ve been looking at new security systems for a few weeks already. It’s not a rash decision.”

“I—” well fine. That wouldn’t be too much of a red flag. Besides, a cop and a P.I. living together? Talk about a couple who had every right to be paranoid. And the opening line to some joke. “Okay. But as soon as I get the green light from the doctor, I’m out of here. I promise you won’t see me again. I’m done putting you in danger.”

“You say that like you’ve put him in danger before,” Natasha observed.

Shit.

“If only you knew how many black eyes he got on the playground because of me…” it was a weak coverup. And, unfortunately, both of them saw right through it.

“Y/N…” Bucky prompted. “When did you put me in danger before?”

The door to your room opened, showing in a doctor and you could have kissed him for his perfectly-timed intrusion.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he started, eyes still on your chart. You shook your head briefly in surprise. Y/L/N was a name you hadn’t heard since you married Tony. “Your tests look good. Not as good as I’d like, but you’re stable. You and the babies.”

“He’s really fine? He won’t have any problems?”

The doctor – Dr. Banner, Bucky had said – met your eyes and you didn’t like the apology in them. “There is a good chance your babies will be just fine. However, I do want you to be prepared for the developmental issues that might arise. The stress and trauma they endured was substantial. But with proper care, they should be just fine.”

Holy fuck… “Hold up…They?”

“You’re carrying twins, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“What the fuck?” It was like all of the air had been sucked out of your lungs. “Fucking twins?”

Dr. Banner nodded. “It’s a miracle both of them survived.”

“How the hell didn’t I know I’m having twins before now?”

“You’re about ten weeks along, which is usually when the ultrasound shows if you’re going to have more than one child. Would you like to meet them?”

“I— I don’t know.” Twins… What would Tony have done with twins? Would he have chosen a favorite? Were you going to end up choosing a favorite? What kind of a mother did you hope to be? One child had been a daunting enough future. But two?

“You don’t know?” Bucky challenged. “How can you not know?”

What kind of a mother didn’t even want to see her children on an ultrasound? Your eyes fell to your hands laying limply in your lap. The hands that killed the father of these children. Shit.

“Okay, men out,” Natasha announced, standing up to pull Bucky out of his chair. “Y/N and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Nat—”

“Out,” she ordered, cutting Bucky’s protest short. It wasn’t long before it was just you and Natasha in the room. She took a deep breath before turning towards you. “So, twins, huh?”

“I can’t do this.” It just slipped out. “Fuck.”

Natasha perched on the edge of the bed. “You’d be surprised at what you can do.”

“I started working at a bar and dealing drugs part time for my boss in college and somehow ended up marrying and ultimately killing the Mob Boss of Brooklyn not even six years later. There’s very little that would surprise me about myself anymore.”

“Dealing drugs? Bucky never told me that.”

“Bucky doesn’t know.” With a shaking hand, you carefully lifted up the hospital gown you were wearing and looked down at the white bandage on your abdomen from where they’d made the incision during surgery. “Fucking twins. God has a twisted sense of humor.”

If you could stay alive until you gave birth then you could give them up for adoption. Let them go to a family that would raise them right. It would be anonymous. They’d be safe from the zealous mobsters who followed your husband.

“Look, Y/N. If you give us intel on the Mob, I can get you into Witness Protection. You’ll be safe there.”

“They’ll find me there. You really think someone’s safe from the Mob just because they have a brand spankin’ new government issued ID?”

Six months. That was how long you’d have to stay alive. Just long enough for your babies to be adopted by someone else. After that, no one would care what happened to you. After that you wouldn’t have to worry so much. It would just be your life on the line. And your life wasn’t worth much.

“What’s your big plan, then?”

“Ecuador. Los Cuernos de Cobre keeps away the Brooklyn Mob. Really the only enemies that can hold a candle to the Mob. They don’t know my face there. I’ll be safest there.”

“Too bad the doctor said you’re not cleared for travel of any kind. Sounds like you’re stuck here a little longer.”

“I’ll figure something out,” you mumbled.

Natasha glanced around the room and sighed heavily. “Look, Y/N. I don’t know you. And I instantly didn’t like you when Bucky told me about you. But… There’s another side to your history with him, isn’t there? A reason you were such a bitch to him.”

“Nope,” you lied. “That’s just who I am.”

“I’d be a horrible detective if I believed you.” She reached for your hand and you hesitated before letting her take it. “You’re going to be staying with us for a few weeks. If you take off now, Bucky will worry himself sick over you. He’s still hurt over what went down five years ago between you two. So don’t you dare think you can just sneak out. Promise me that you’ll, I don’t know, talk to him? Talk to me? He loves you. I don’t know in what way he loves you, but he does. And after everything you’ve put him through, he deserves to know why you treated him like that.”

“Great idea,” you mumbled. “Let the hormonal, pregnant murderer into your home.”

“Self-defense, Y/N. You killed him in self-defense.”

“Maybe I wasn’t just talking about him. You don’t know shit about me, Natasha. If you did, you’d arrest me right now.”

She smirked, squeezing your fingers. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I haven’t ruled that option out yet.”

You really didn’t have any options here. No say. You were going to be staying with Bucky and his cop girlfriend for the foreseeable future. At least she was likeable. She wasn’t going to take your shit. But she also wasn’t going to be an easy target to pull the wool over her eyes.

“I’m glad he has you,” you said honestly. “You seem like the kind of person he deserves.”

“You don’t know shit about me, Y/N,” she stole your words with a half-smile.

“And if I did, I have a feeling I’d be saying the exact same thing.”

She squeezed your fingers again before letting go and standing up. “You should take the doctor up on that ultrasound. See those cute little blobs and remind yourself why you got yourself into this shit-storm in the first place. You’re protecting them.”

Just before she reached the door, you called out her name. She turned and caught your eye. “Thank you, Natasha. And, uh, can you send in the doctor? You’re right. I should—I should see the babies. Remember why I killed him.”

She caught the way your voice broke on the last sentence and tilted her head. “You loved him, didn’t you? Stark?”

“More than I should have,” you confirmed, offering a half smile to mask the pain.

Next: Blood Revealeth Secrets

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The Tragic Tale of Emilie Agreste - Chapter 4

Full chapter! The rest of the story is on AO3 due to mature elements in this story. If you want to read the full story, here is the current chapter on AO3 and here is the story link.

On Monday morning, before the rest of the family woke for their days, Emilie snuck out of the house for the long drive to the theatre. The long drive gave her a chance to focus on an action and let her mind be blank. No worries, no nightmares, just her, the car and the road. She found parking quickly enough and had arrived fifteen minutes early. Not wanting to wait inside her baking sedan and taking Gabriel’s warning of arriving before eight seriously, Emilie took a walk along the city block. In basic trainers, jeans, and a tank op, Emilie felt like she could walk the streets unnoticed. She enjoyed the anonymity until her path brought her to the theatre door. She went inside and promptly at eight, Emilie knocked at the door of the closet. Once again, Gabriel opened the door and stood in the doorway. “Ms. Emilie, you came back.”

Emilie stood her ground. “I did.” When it became apparent that Gabriel would not move, Emilie spoke again. “Mr. Agreste, will you please move so that I might assist you?”

Gabriel sighed and moved, holding the door open for morning visitor. “Please come in.” As Emilie walked into the closet, Gabriel moved the doorstop into the doorjamb, keeping the door ajar.

Emilie noticed the changes to the long table. The piles of props were gone, put away or tossed depending on functionality. The accessories and clothing piles were half the size from Saturday as well. “I see you have been busy, Mr. Agreste. Do these costumes still need to be hung?”

“Yes, the remaining costumes belong rack J,” the dour costume maker replied. “You are allowed to call me Gabriel. You needn’t be that formal.”

A tinge of pink would have settled on Emilie’s face had she not already primed herself with blush. “I’m sorry. My sister made a comment, and I,” she trailed off, not wanting to reveal that she talked about him at the dinner table. It hit too close to the early years of school when Amelie and Emilie would come home with tales of which classmates were their boyfriends on the playground that week only to be replaced the following week for superficial, childish reasons such as liking biscuits more than cake.

A smile escaped Gabriel’s stubborn demeanour. “What comment did your sister make?”

Emilie spoke as she went to work, hanging clothes. “She might have said something along the lines of being overly familiar. The comment was out of line. Even Frederick told her nothing deserving of that description happened.” It didn’t occur to Emilie that she said anything revealing until Gabriel spoke.

He paused mid-hanging of another flimsy outfit. “You were discussing with your sister and her husband whether or not I was overly familiar with you.” He finished hanging the outfit and hung it on the rack. “Do you think I was overly familiar with you?” Gabriel partially hoped the answer was yes so he could have an out from keeping his volunteer busy. He partially hoped the answer was no so she could stay.

The tinge of pink grew to a distinct shade of pink. It was starting to peak through the makeup which was so carefully applied in the dim light of daybreak. “I do not.” Emilie moved to playful teasing to deflect from the embarrassment of the situation. “It was two against one, you see. Frederick was the deciding vote after Amelie decided that applying plasters was so intimate, one could only apply plasters to another adult within the confines of marriage or engagement at least.”

“Where does the line exist for first aid administration?” Gabriel openly mused.

“Probably somewhere between applying plasters and kissing bumps and bruises to make them feel better.”

The costume maker wondered how much blush he could get to show through her make-up by asking Emilie if she wanted a kiss on her finger to make it feel better. He ultimately decided against such things since a blush was not worth his job. They worked on hanging up the rest of the pile without discussion. As they got towards the end, Gabriel gave Emilie a warning on the time. “It’s already 8:45. You should probably make your way to the stage. James doesn’t consider anyone on time unless they are at least 10 minutes early.”

Emilie finished hanging up the last costume in her hands and responded, “thank you for the tip, Mr. Agreste.” She thought about it for a moment, and reconsidered. “Thank you, Gabriel. I’ll try to remember to use your first name.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck with rehearsal, Ms. Emilie.”

A grin spread on Emilie’s face as she mocked Gabriel’s opening lines. “You are allowed to call me Emilie. You needn’t be that formal.” As she headed towards the door, she asked one last question. “Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll find something for you to do, Emilie.” Gabriel felt as if he was crossing line by dropping the miss, but the smile on her face when he said her name made him not care.

Emilie made her way through the theatre to the stage right before 8:49. More than half the cast was already seated, waiting for James to take the lead. Emilie found a seat next to Denise, who had been chosen to play Titania. Denise greeted Emilie with a question. “How did you get in? I didn’t see you come in the front door, and I thought maybe Cheryl scared you away with her hammy acting.” A low ‘bite me’ called from the other side of the theatre.

Emilie shook her head, and informed her new friend. “I came early and was helping out backstage.”

Denise gave her casted fairy a knowing look. “Is that what the kids are calling these days?

“What? No, I was helping Mr. Agreste hang up costumes.”

Denise dropped her voice down low. “Really, you were helping the Gabriel Agreste, the stern-faced costume man, hang up clothes?”

Emilie was perplexed by the Denise’s reaction. “Yes, and why are we whispering?”

Denise mulled over her answer before responding. “Even if Gabriel is not my cup of tea, I am well aware that he is a conventionally attractive person. I am also aware that more than half the women in this production has at some point approached him and been turned down. One woman has such a reputation for chasing after him, that at one point he had multiple copies of her costume ready to go because she kept coming with excuses for him to fix said costume. I don’t think any of them would be particularly happy that the new girl is getting cosy with the collective eye candy.”

Emilie did not have a chance to respond to Denise before the director called for the start of rehearsal. James explained that they were going to go through the entire play once before selecting sections to focus on. That was how he wanted to start every rehearsal, after warm-up exercises. Tomorrow during rehearsal, groups of performers would be called back to the closet to be measured for costumes and possibly given a costume to try on for adjustments. Lunch will be taken 12:30 to 1:30 every day. In four weeks when the show starts running, practices will change to make up for performing at night. During the run, the show starts 7 pm Wednesday through Saturday, with a matinée at 2pm on Thursdays and Sundays. Performers are expected to be in the Theatre and back stage 4 hours before every performance, except on Thursdays. On Thursdays when the theatre puts on two shows, then actors needed to be on set one hour before the first show. James requested everyone to get on stage so they could begin rehearsals.

Emilie asked Denise how measurements for costumes would go. Emilie had only been in very low-to-no budget community and school productions and had gotten used to purchasing or bringing in a costume for the show. She hadn’t gone through a costume fitting before.

Denise explained, “My Little Lamb, first it’s almost always grouped by gender, so tomorrow, most likely you, me, and all the other fairies will go get measured at once. We all strip down to our skivvies or a slip, and Gabriel takes our measurements while Nathalie writes them down. Usually Gabriel has a costume from a prior production that works or is close enough, and he’ll have you try it on. I heard we have a bigger budget this time for costumes, so everyone might be getting new costumes. After measurements are done you come back to rehearsal.”

Emilie fixated on the point of Gabriel taking the measurements. “Why doesn’t Nathalie do the measurements or let us provide our measurements to him?”

“Because she only assists Gabriel when James asks her to. Because I’m really not sure she know how to accurately measure someone. Because he’s very nit-picky and doesn’t want anyone’s vanity measurements. Because it’s literally in a room full of people so no one believes he’s going to cope a feel in front of that many witnesses. Because he’s the only one who knows which measurements he needs. There’s many reasons, just pick one.”

Every reason Denise listed was logical. It made sense. Emilie still dreaded tomorrow regardless of sense and logic.