#most parents (and the God i was raised to believe in) have constant expectations from their children

[pucksandpower]

Rockabye Baby

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: you and Oscar take the next step in building your family … just not in the way that anyone expected

Note: I really wanted to get something silly and cute posted for Mother’s Day — and so this was born! I hope you have as much fun reading this as I did writing it 🫶

You snuggle closer to Oscar in bed, resting your head on his chest as his fingers lazily trail up and down your arm. It’s been an exhausting few weeks on the road, with races back-to-back, but these quiet moments together make it all worth it.

“Osc?” You murmur sleepily. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, babe.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Anything.”

You hesitate, not sure if you should broach the subject. But you’ve been together for years now, surely he’s thought about it too? “Have you ever, you know … thought about having kids?”

Oscar tenses slightly, his fingers stilling on your skin. “Kids?”

“Yeah.” You prop yourself up on one elbow to study his face. “We’re not getting any younger. And I know racing is your whole life, but … I don’t know, I think you’d make an amazing dad.”

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “You do, huh?” His fingers resume their gentle stroking along your arm. “I can’t lie, the idea terrifies me. All the responsibility, the pressure ...” He blows out a long breath. “But with you by my side? I think we could make it work.”

Hope blooms in your chest and you lean in to kiss him, long and lingering. “Really? You mean that?”

“Well, not right this second.” He chuckles, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “But someday? Definitely.”

You beam at him, buzzing with a childlike excitement you haven’t felt in years. “Oscar Piastri, future father. I can’t wait.”

He pulls you close, tucking you under his chin. “Me neither. Now get some rest, yeah? Big day tomorrow.”

You hum contentedly, letting his steady heartbeat lull you toward sleep. Kids with Oscar … you can’t imagine anything better.

A few days later, you’re curled up on the sofa after a long day of work, idly scrolling through your phone while Oscar pads around the flat. He’s been oddly restless and fidgety all evening, but you’ve learned not to question his little quirks. He’ll open up when he’s ready.

“So,” he begins, sinking onto the couch beside you with an adorably nervous expression. “You know how the other night you mentioned, um … wanting to be a mum someday?”

You perk up instantly, setting your phone aside as your pulse kicks up a notch. “Yeah?”

“Well.” He ducks his head shyly, then pulls something from behind his back — a small, smooth rock, painted in garish shades of papaya. “I got you this.”

You blink at him. “A … rock?”

“It’s our baby!” He thrusts it toward you proudly. “See, I’m the dad now. Taking those first steps.”

A startled laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Oscar, you dork. That’s the cutest, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Too much?” He grimaces, though his eyes are twinkling with barely contained mirth. “I just thought, you know, we could start small. Get used to the idea before, uh, before anything bigger.”

“Oh my god, I love you.” You take the rock from his hand, cradling it tenderly as you peck his cheek. “Hi there, little guy. Hope you don’t mind a slightly non-traditional family.”

“Not at all.” Oscar drapes his arm around your shoulders as you lean into his side. “We’ll just raise him to be open-minded and accepting. Like his mum.”

“His mum who gave birth to him in pebble form, you mean?”

Oscar shrugs unapologetically. “He’ll be the talk of the playground.”

You dissolve into helpless giggles, nestling even closer. “This is certifiably insane, you know that? I can’t believe we’re grown adults playing house with a pet rock.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.” Oscar nuzzles into the crook of your neck, warm and solid against you. “We’re new parents. We can do whatever we want.”

Over the next few days, Rocky, as you’ve lovingly dubbed him, becomes a constant presence. You bring him along when you travel to the next race, introducing him proudly to the team. Lando takes one look and bursts out laughing.

“What the bloody hell is that thing?”

“Our son,” Oscar says with a straight face. “Would you like to meet your nephew?”

“You two are properly mental.” But there’s an unmistakable fondness in Lando’s smile as he gently pokes at Rocky. “S’pose he takes after his dad, eh?”

You crack up at the offended look on Oscar’s face. “Oh, trust me, I’ll be handling most of the heavy lifting around here.”

From there, it only escalates. Rocky gets his own tiny race suit, his own seat in Oscar’s car (firmly buckled in, of course — safety first). You find yourself referring to him with increasingly outlandish endearments.

“Here, let me get the handsomest stone in the whole wide world a bottle before we try tummy time.”

“How’s my little pebble today? Did you sleep okay in your bassinet?”

Logan nearly falls over laughing the first time he sees Rocky strapped into a miniature car seat on the plane between races.

“You guys are too much, man.” He shakes his head in bewildered amusement. “Where do you even find stuff like that?”

Oscar smirks. “Parents have their ways.”

The joke takes on a life of its own, morphing from a silly gag into a full-blown inside joke, an ever-present reminder that someday, when you’re both ready, you really will have a baby of your own to dote on. For now, though, raising Rocky together is more than enough.

It really hits you one evening as the team celebrates Oscar’s latest podium finish. You’re sitting with a small group, letting the lively chatter of friends and team members wash over you, when you become aware of Oscar sitting across from you. He’s got Rocky nestled in the crook of his elbow, cooing nonsense as he gently jostles him.

“Who’s a good little guy? You are, that’s who. Gonna grow up big and strong like your dad, yeah?” His expression is so tender, so achingly soft, that you feel your heart swell fit to burst.

He’s going to be an incredible father someday, you realize with a jolt of startling clarity. Look at how natural it comes to him, how happy and content he seems, just cradling that silly rock.

Later that night, you find yourself curled around Oscar in bed, trailing feather-light kisses along the line of his throat. He hums deep in his chest, tangling one hand in your hair to tug you closer.

“Mmm, what was that for?”

“Nothing.” You prop your chin on his chest, drinking in the achingly handsome lines of his face. “You just … you’re gonna be such an amazing dad, you know that?”

A bashful smile tugs at his lips as his free hand smooths along the curve of your hip. “Yeah? You really think so?”

“I know so.” You reach out to trace the sharp line of his jaw with one fingertip. “Any kid would be lucky to have you.”

Oscar’s gaze softens to molten gold in the dim light. “Not nearly as lucky as we are to have you. You’re the best mum Rocky could’ve asked for.”

He kisses you then, deep and searing, pulling you flush against him as the world around you falls away. And when he finally breaks away, breathless but beaming, you know without a shadow of a doubt:

Whenever the time comes, whenever you meet your real baby … everything is going to be okay. More than okay.

Because you’ll have Oscar by your side, just like always. Your partner, your best friend, and the love of your life.

***

Five Years Later

You cradle your newborn daughter to your chest, gazing down at her perfect little face in pure wonderment. It’s only been a few hours since she made her entrance into the world, but you’re already hopelessly in love.

“She’s beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, voice thick with unshed tears as he brushes one reverent fingertip along her downy cheek. “Just like her mum.”

You lean into him, overcome. This right here — the two of you and your brand new baby girl — is everything you’ve ever wanted. All those years of loving Oscar, of dreaming about starting a family together … it was all leading to this shining moment.

A soft knock at the door breaks the tranquil silence. Oscar shoots you a quizzical look as a familiar face pokes his head in.

“This a bad time?” Lando grins crookedly. “I come bearing gifts for the little one.”

“Lando!” You can’t help but beam at the sight of your friend. “Get in here, you muppet.”

He slips inside, toeing off his shoes with a cheeky wink in your direction. “Well someone’s in a good mood. Can’t imagine why.”

“Are you kidding? I’m amazing. Completely knackered, but amazing.” You gesture for him to come closer with your free hand. “Here, come meet Oscar’s little co-driver.”

Lando’s expression melts into something unbearably soft as he peers down at the tiny bundle in your arms. “Aww, mate … she’s perfect. Well done, you two.”

“Do you, uh ...” Oscar clears his throat gruffly. “D’you want to hold her?”

For a moment, Lando looks almost scared, like a deer caught in the headlights. Then he nods jerkily, settling into the bedside chair with surprising care as you transfer your daughter into his arms. He cradles her close with the utmost tenderness, rocking her ever so slightly as she lets out the faintest sigh.

“Look at you,” he breathes, sounding utterly besotted already. “Just a teeny little thing, aren’t you?”

It’s like seeing an entirely different side of him, one you never could have anticipated. Not the cheeky, irreverent joker you’ve known for years, but a man, a friend, wholly disarmed by new life and possibility. You exchange a look with Oscar, heart fit to bursting.

“So,” Lando continues, still totally entranced by the baby. “I know we ribbed you mercilessly for a while there about the whole rock baby thing ...”

Your mouth falls open in recollection. “Lando, please don’t-”

But he’s already reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a familiar splash of textured papaya. “But there’s no way I’d let my favorite nephew miss out on this.”

Rocky, battered and faded but unmistakable, sits nestled in Lando’s palm. You nearly choke on a startled laugh.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Hold up, there’s more.” Lando somehow manages to keep cradling the baby with one arm as he bends down with the other, hauling a plastic bucket onto the bed. You gape at the contents — dozens upon dozens of smooth pebbles, each one lovingly decorated in bright shades of orange.

“Had to get the whole family involved, didn’t I?” Lando says with a shameless grin. “She’s got loads of brothers and sisters to look after her now.”

You swat at him in a flood of exasperated affection. “You absolute prick. Look at you, being all sentimental.”

“Me? Never.” But the shine of unshed tears in his eyes contradicts the words. He transfers the baby back to you with exaggerated care, then takes a moment to stroke one gentle finger along her tiny cheek. “You’ve got one hell of a village behind you, little one.”

Over the next short while, Lando pulls up a chair and regales you all with outrageous stories and anecdotes, all while Rocky and his “siblings“ make the rounds, passed from person to person like favorite old friends. At one point, Oscar’s cradling your human baby in one arm and your original baby rock in the other, murmuring nonsense to them both as you blink back tears for what feels like the thousandth time that day.

“Look at you,” you say in awe, drinking in the sight. “My little family.”

Oscar meets your gaze over the top of your daughter’s head, his own eyes shining. “Our family,” he corrects softly.

You’re still reveling in that realization when a quiet knock sounds at the door. A nurse bustles in with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but we’re going to need to move the baby to the nursery soon. Just for a little while to let mum rest.”

Oh. You clutch your daughter closer on instinct, chest caving with an aching reluctance you weren’t expecting. How can you possibly bear to let her go already?

But then Lando slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm embrace. “Oi, it’s alright. We’ll keep an eye on her for you, yeah? Give Uncle Lando and Mini Piastri some quality time.”

Rocky sits nestled in his other palm, as stalwart and patient as ever even after all these years. You nod quickly, swiping at your damp cheeks as you kiss your daughter’s downy head one last time before relinquishing her to the nurse.

“I’ll be right back, sweet girl. Don’t go growing too much while I’m gone.”

Watching her get wheeled away is harder than you could have imagined, like a physical ache in your chest. Oscar wraps you up in his arms from behind, steadying you with his usual quiet strength.

“She’s okay, babe,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hairline. “She’s just down the hall. We’re not going anywhere.”

You let his soothing words wash over you, turning into his embrace until your breathing evens out again. First lesson of parenthood learned — this part’s not easy. But you’ll get through it, just like everything else, with Oscar by your side.

Rocky sits on the bedside table, bold colors slightly faded but message as bright and clear as ever. A reminder that sometimes, the smallest, silliest things can take on the biggest meaning when it comes to family.

“Alright lovebirds,” Lando pipes up, slinging an arm around each of your shoulders. “What d’you say we bring the whole crew down to see the little miss soon, eh? Give her many uncles a chance to swoon all over her?”

You manage a watery chuckle, leaning into Lando’s side as Oscar tucks himself against your other side. Because this? This little patchwork family you’ve built around yourselves, kept close through all the chaos and the years? This is what it’s all about. The fierce loyalty, the bond forged by adversity and triumph and teamwork. The family you’ve chosen over and over again, year after year, through all of life’s twists and turns.

Your eyes drift to Rocky, resting quietly on the nightstand by your hospital bed. Once an inside joke, a silly gift from your husband to make you smile. Now a treasured heirloom, a precious mascot for the latest member of your ever-expanding clan.

Maybe you’ll hold onto that little rock for another few decades, you muse, draping one arm around Oscar’s trim waist. Long enough for your daughter — and any other little ones who may eventually join her — to grow up passing him between chubby baby fists. Long enough for your grandchildren to gather around and listen to stories about.

“Come on then,” you’ll say with an indulgent smile. “Let Granny tell you the story of Rocky. How he was the very first baby in our little family ...”

***

r/offmychest

u/NumberOneRockHater · 9h

My parents and entire family are convinced a ROCK is my older brother!

Okay, I have to get this off my chest because it’s been driving me crazy for years. My parents and extended family are all obsessed with this rock that they insist is my older brother “Rocky” (ugh, I know).

I’m talking full-on delusion levels here. Ever since before I was born, my dad got my mom this painted rock as a joke “baby”. Well, the joke escalated to the point where they started taking this rock everywhere, dressing it up in little outfits, calling it “him”, the whole nine yards.

At first I thought it was just a weird little quirk, you know? Silly but harmless. Except it never stopped. I’m 16 years old now and my PARENTS STILL REFER TO THIS ROCK AS MY SIBLING.

It’s always “Where’s your brother?” and “Did you pack Rocky’s bag for our trip?” and “Don’t forget to wish your brother a happy birthday!” My uncle (who is the WORST enabler) will show up to every family event pulling more painted rocks out of his pockets like “Look, more kids for you guys!”

Meanwhile I’m just standing there like a crazy person. How is nobody else concerned that my entire family has deluded themselves into believing a literal inanimate object is a sentient being?

And the real kicker? This dumb rock has been passed around and adored more than me, an actual human child. I have clear memories of being like 6 years old and my parents getting legitimately UPSET at me for dropping Rocky on the ground. While I’m standing right there!

My dad loves telling this stupid story about the day I was born, how my uncle showed up at the hospital like “I brought the baby’s siblings!” and pulled out an entire bucket of painted pebbles. PEBBLES, PEOPLE. As my “brothers and sisters”?

I’m honestly losing my mind here. No matter how much I protest or roll my eyes, they always play it off as a silly inside joke. Like yeah, I’m sure getting your knickers in a twist over my lack of acknowledgment for THE ROCK YOU NAMED AND CLAIM IS MY SIBLING is a totally normal thing to do! My mum actually teared up the last time I put my foot down, saying she could never abandon her “firstborn.” Um, hello? I was the firstborn, you weirdos!

At this point, I have to assume that either A) My parents and family are all certifiable and living in a shared psychosis, or B) This is some sort of Truman Show situational prank that I’m not in on.

Is it too late to be adopted by a normal family? Or do I need to be the one committed for dealing with this nonsense?

Please tell me I’m not actually going insane here. Anybody else have a family this completely deluded?

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u/NosyAndProud · 8h

LOL no way, your family sounds hilarious! I’m dying at the image of your poor teen self dealing with this ongoing rocky sibling chronicle. But in their defense, you’ve gotta admit it’s a pretty creative way to memorialize a dumb inside joke, right?

My advice? Lean into it. Get your big brother an outfit for the next family gathering. Play fight with “him” in front of your friends and horrify them. TP the house and blame it on Rocky’s delinquent behavior. The possibilities for messing with everyone are endless!

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Reply from u/NumberOneRockHater · 6h

I’m honestly crying, your suggestions have me wheezing! Although if I DID embrace this, I’m pretty sure my uncle would lose his mind. He’s already brought enough “rock siblings” for an entire pebble daycare at this point.

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u/JudgingLoudly · 7h

This is sending me! I’m just imagining you as a little kid, trying to argue with your parents about why inanimate objects can’t actually be siblings. And them being full-on “Well ackshually, this is Rocky your brother” 🤓☝️

But also lowkey it’s kinda sweet? I mean objectifying nonliving things is usually a bad idea (see every Disney movie ever). But if it’s just a quirky tradition that brings your family joy and makes them feel special, who are we to judge? You only get one weird childhood!

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Reply from u/NumberOneRockHater · 5h

Yes, exactly! It was always “But Rocky will be so disappointed if you don’t share your toys with him!” Like … what?

And don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful parents and we’re a very close, loving family. That’s what makes this particular shared psychosis so baffling! Just a big ol’ collective break from reality to obsess over this stupid rock, I guess.

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u/LiveForDrama · 4h

Ok but real talk, I would give ANYTHING to have been a fly on the wall when your uncle first unveiled the “siblings” 💀 I’m picturing this grown man deadass pulling pebbles out of his pockets and ceremoniously announcing “Here’s baby Pumice, and little Granite, and this one is called Basalt ...”

And your parents were just like “Why, HELLO THERE LITTLE ONES! WHAT DELIGHTFUL NEW ADDITIONS TO OUR BROOD!” Just … no questions asked. No commentary on the total insanity. God, I love families.

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Reply from u/NumberOneRockHater · 3h

You have NO idea. I still have flashbulb memories of being like 10 years old, walking into the living room to find my GROWN-ASS UNCLE lying on the floor, lining up those idiotic pebbles and introducing them one by one.

Meanwhile my dad is on the couch COOING at them and having full-on conversations like “Isn’t that right, little fella? Your uncle just loves to spoil you, doesn’t he?” MY BRAIN COULD NOT COMPUTE.

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u/GlassHalfFull · 2h

Ok, gotta say … as someone raised by very boring, no-nonsense parents, I’m just a lil bit jealous of the sheer unrestrained WHIMSY your family has cultivated here.

Like, you’ll always have this hilarious shared experience to look back on! Sure it’s a rock, but it’s THEIR rock, you know? That’s beautiful in a weird way. At least your childhood wasn’t mind-numbing evenings full of tax documents and khaki pantsuits?

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Reply from u/NumberOneRockHater · 1h

Haha, you make a good point! I definitely can’t say my childhood was dull, that’s for sure. Although I do have traumatic memories of losing Rocky at a rest stop when I was 5, and my parents freaking out for hours until we found him under a vending machine. Totally normal.

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[adaptive-radiation]

Youth by Glass Animals is one of my new favourite songs 

[nikageeee]

Don't mean to get too dark- who am I kidding. Dead dove used to be my gem. If this is too dark you don't have to answer this.

We all know Travis is reckless when it comes to his own safety and has self-destructive, downright suicidal tendency (handing Laura that shotgun when guilt got to him too much). Considering his history of parental abuse...(56 years holy mother of God...) how severe do you think his mental problem is? I see avoidant personality disorder so that's given. Depression? Drinking problem? (Descendant of bootleggers so maybe genetics envolved too) Anxiety? It'll be a struggle getting his ass to a therapy...

PSA Heavy topics involving mental health , abuse and suicide discussed** just incase these are topics you don’t want to see- so can scroll away dear reader!

It is a dark topic but an interesting discussion. I will clarify I’m by no means experienced or qualified to really say much on mental illness. Cause I don’t know an awful lot about them and I don’t feel it would be right for me to speculate on that.

Something I do see in Travis of course is anxiety and very depressive thoughts. As we know he’s a victim of narcissistic and (likely) physical abuse at the hands of his mother- I can imagine that’s had a huge impact on his mental health.

I like to imagine one of the happiest points in Travis’s life was when he attended police academy and was no longer living under his parents roof. Though that would become conflicting for him when he returns home. Imagine a very young Travis going to the city, being raised so strictly and sheltered.

He’d have needed so much coaxing to try much- most of which he would feel guilty over. He drinks. He smokes. He has sex for the first time (possibly paid for or a one night stand- god forbid if ma ever knew what he was doing with those ‘filthy city sluts’). He also realizes he can run his mouth all he wants without someone batting an eye.

He hated how stifled he felt by his parents turning up for graduation. Immediately boxed back up. His peers observing how his parents spell out his plans for him.

Essentially:

Oh good you can come home now. Work for North Kill Dpt. That’s what you want Travis, right?

And he supposes it is. They convince him he’s not built for city life. Convincing him again that his place is with his family. Shouldn’t he even be grateful they got Hank to pull some strings??

He loved his taste of independence, but he’s gaslit enough into believing he’s needed at home.

Our home needs protecting. Us Hackett’s have North Kill’s best interests in mind…

And he can’t lie. The idea of enforcing the law on people who previously looked down on him is so appealing. It serves the illusion of control.

When he moves home he insists on moving out- probably a tiny place (I decided on a little cabin in hunting grounds). again this serves the illusion of him having control. He still has to show up for Sunday dinners.

But for the most part he can control this space. Lives minimally. On small meals he can make from tins and if he can diner food.

Ma constantly in his ears about how much he dedicates to family. Home cooked meals can taste great, but forever associated with the hurt and nagging and constant expectations of where he should be in life.

By the time he’s made deputy he goes through a period of apathy. The void of emotion. Of feeling trapped. He picks up smoking for the first time since college.

He might think about how things would be if he just wasn’t around anymore. Signs of him struggling would just be met with frustration or dismissal.

Like his Ma seeing him disheveled and low and if she asks him what’s the matter... Well, it’s Constance. From her mouth it’s asked more like an accusation rather than out of concern for her eldest-

What’s a matter with you?

She’ll tell him he has no troubles- he has a stable job, a healthy family. He should be grateful. All he needs is to just look at Chris. He’s got his wife now. Baby on the way. Just meet a proper woman Travis.

But he knows no woman he chooses would ever good enough for Ma. The ideal woman she perceived for Travis sounds like hell to him quite frankly.

-From a distinguished or proper family. Houseproud. Will make proper meals in the kitchen. God loving.

-Will stay in good shape after 3 kids.

-Knows when to speak- no loudmouths.

-If she has a hobby like crochet or piano that’s great in my book.

Travis knows immediately she sees someone like her as a great fit for him. And he refuses to marry his mother- or someone easily manipulated into her image.

All he can do is drown his woes in the local bar at the weekend. He does not consider himself an alcoholic at this point. However, as the years go by things get more demanding and take an even greater toll on him.

After the fire things go to shit. The job situation I mentioned in a previous headcanon post. He’s spread thin. Alcoholism is debatable, but across those six years he will have moments of complete excess.

It’s harmless to keep some scotch under his desk right? Something that would have been unspeakable for him to do before now becomes a means to ease him down after a hard full moon or family arguement.

Having buried someone who he respected, dare I say, looked up to as a surrogate father. Having seen and heard people question the position of sheriff landing on his lap. It’s too much at times. But Jed didn’t raise to him to crack under pressure.

The thoughts of not being here come back again- but then he’d be so selfish if he did that right? He’d be the biggest let down to his own family…

Travis continues on, drinking and smoking and the late nights with a couple of silent tears here or there. Ones he can just swipe away and dismiss.

He will become a bit too used to disregarding his own emotions.

He bites back at people with passive aggression and an expression of steely ice. When he’s on his own he may even shed a silent tear or two. Purposely smash a few things in a mix of clumsiness and frustration. Ceramic mugs don’t last long at Travis’s.

It’s something Chris makes lighthearted jokes about.

‘Uncle Travis always needs more mugs for Christmas, Kaleigh.’

As if he’s just clumsy and heavy handed.

It hurts.

So tldr;

I think Travis would suffer from serious bouts of anxiety, depression, low self esteem and addictive tendencies. So pretty bad troughs.

Most of his peaks are just tastes of normalacy I think? Any higher moments he grows anxious that he is both undeserving and things are going to predictably dip luck wise for him.

He’d be prone to anger and frustration as his breaking point responses. At the other side absolute emotional numbness where all he can do is go through it all until he snaps again.

It’s a cycle of getting a bit better, then getting worse than the last time…

[somnambulants]

hi!! i was just wondering if i could request more yelena where yelena introduces her gf to natasha and her family and she’s uncharacteristically nervous so nat finds it amusing? thank you :)

a bit of minor surgery

summary: Yelena tries to keep you to herself but her family has other ideas word count: 1.7K notes: so this is a little different to what you asked for but i hope you still like it! for the sake of this, nat, yelena, alexei and melina are just one happy family 

“But if we –"

Natasha holds up a hand and Yelena stops talking. “Do you hear that?”

It’s faint but there’s the sound of someone moving around on her apartment floor. Being the only person who lives on this floor and one of the few in this building is enough for this to raise the hairs on the back of her neck.

Survival for them has always meant constant vigilance.

Both of their heads swivel towards the front door as the footsteps become louder, very clearly approaching her apartment.

Yelena doesn’t have to look to know Natasha is mirroring her, pulling out her gun and scanning every entry-way for possible intruders.

On edge, Yelena presses herself against the door, readying herself until she listens properly and realises the approaching footsteps sound familiar. 

Somehow, she feels herself relax and become even more tense at the same time.

“Stop,” she says as Natasha moves towards the door as well, holding an arm out to stop her. “It’s okay. I know who it is.”

At her words Natasha relaxes, putting her gun away but she watches her face carefully as she does so.

The panic Yelena can feel building inside her must not be as well hidden as she thought because a slow grin spreads across her face as the sound of a gentle knock echoes through Yelena’s apartment.

“Is it..?”

“Yes,” Yelena replies curtly. “And no. You can’t meet them.”

Natasha gives her a wicked look, clicking her teeth together teasingly. “What? Scared I’ll…eat them?”

She snickers as Yelena reaches out and shoves her hard enough to knock the air out of her while also giving her a firm and clear: im going to kill you if you don't listen to me look as she goes to open the door.

Not that it's ever stopped Natasha before.

“Just stay there,” Yelena hisses and then wrenches the door open, finding you behind it with your hand still mid-air, prepared to knock a second time.

“Y/N!”

“Hi,” you say, looking a little startled but smiling at her none the less as you drop your hand.

Beside her and thankfully, just out of your view, Natasha, to her credit, is silent but Yelena can feel her gaze glued to her face and can especially feel the amusement radiating off her in waves.

She grits her teeth, forcing a smile. Your own fades a little as you take her in. “Is this a bad time?”

“No,” Yelena says quickly. Still out of sight, Natasha lets out a huff of laughter just quiet enough that she hopes she’s the only one that hears her.

“Not at all,” she adds, and since the door covers most of her body, it’s safe for her to reach out and pinch Natasha on the arm. Which is what she does. Hard. “Just --give me a second?”

Clearly still puzzled, you nod and Yelena closes the door, giving you a smile that she has a feeling looks more like a grimace.

Next she grabs Natasha by the arm and starts walking her forcibly towards the window. “Out.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow as she pulls them to an abrupt stop, looking at her then looking out the window. “You seriously want me to scale ten stories because you’re an idiot?”

As an answer, Yelena unlocks the latch and lets the window sweep open, giving her a pointed look that says: Yes. Obviously. 

Natasha rolls her eyes but to Yelena’s relief, she slides out the window.

“неудачник,” is all she says in parting before she disappears, dropping down the stairwell and vanishing from sight completely.

The word lingers in the air after her: Loser.

Yelena scowls after her for a second before she rushes back to the door and opens it, letting out a sigh of relief when she sees you’re still there, standing in the same spot.

“Sorry,” she apologises, swinging the door open. “There was just a uh, complication....a spider. I caught it and put it outside. I know you hate them.”

As she speaks, you slowly raise one eyebrow at her. The other quickly follows and it's then that she notices the narrowed look in your eyes.

When you start speaking, your voice is low and scarily calm. “So it has nothing to do with the woman I just made eye contact with as she was climbing down your fire escape?”

Something Yelena is proud to say is that in her life there have been very few times she’s been at a loss for words. 

This however is one of them.

She stares at you, blankly, knowing her panic must be showing on her face by the way your expression progressively becomes darker and darker as seconds pass and she fumbles frantically for something to say.

“I, uh, she is, she, uh –”

“—Natasha Romanoff. Nice to meet you.”

To her credit, Natasha has always been the stealthier of the two of them. Ignoring that fact, Yelena chooses to believe that her being distracted by you is why she doesn’t hear her coming back up the stairwell.

She also chooses to believe that she didn’t visibly jump at the sound of her voice and that the cough Natasha lets out is genuine and not covering up a laugh that says she’s going to mock her mercilessly for this entire thing later.

Of course, Yelena can’t fool herself but she tries anyway.

You look even more unimpressed as Natasha comes to a stop beside her and it clicks in Yelena’s head that you think her and Natasha – her and Natasha. She can’t even finish the thought.

As funny as it is, she doesn’t let herself laugh, knowing instinctively that it’s not a good idea. The flinty look in your eyes just confirms how much of a not good idea that is.

Just because you weren’t raised like her doesn’t mean that you couldn’t pack a punch; something she learned early on in your relationship when she’d accidentally snuck up on you once. She’d had a black eye for weeks after that.

“Natasha is my --” she isn’t sure how to say: ‘this is the woman I was trained to kill people with while we grew up being tortured and experimented on, remember I told you?’ In a way that won’t make you go running for the hills.

As she trails off, Natasha, sensing her panic, jumps in. Yelena knows that internally, she must be laughing hysterically though to her merit, she keeps it to herself. “I’m her… sister. Of sorts.”

You know about her past – all of what she was willing to repeat of it anyway – so comprehension quickly dawns on your face.

“Then why…?”

She watches as Natasha’s mouth twitches, sounding amused as she directly addresses you: “Well... my sister is an idiot. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Yelena tenses as you give her a once over, raking your eyes over her consideringly, before you turn back to Natasha.  “I may have noticed that. Yes.”

"Hey," Yelena protests, weakly. "That's not fair."

You give her a pointed look and she falls silent. Resigned to her fate, she lets out a sigh.

She can tell from the matching scheming looks brewing in both your own and Natasha’s eyes that this is only going to be the start of her own personal torment.

--

The one thing she really, really hates about her family is that they have this habit of showing up unannounced – you’d think that the whole being assassins and consequently, a little trigger happy as a result would make someone call ahead but no.

Never.

For this reason, it comes as no surprise when there’s the familiar three tap repetitive secret knock knock knock they had all come up with years ago on her front door early the following morning.

Silently, Yelena prays you don’t hear it and stay asleep as she drags herself out of bed and prepares herself for what she’s about to deal with.

Truthfully, she’s a little surprised that they’d had enough tact to wait until morning. She’d half expected them to be knocking her door down the second Natasha relayed last nights events to them. 

Yanking the door open, she comes face-to-face with Alexei and Melina. Taking them both in and cataloguing mentally that they look alive and uninjured, she lets herself glare at both of them.

“Is something wrong?”

They both frown. “No?”

“Okay I’m closing the door then.”

She starts to swing it shut but it’s quickly caught as Alexei shoves a foot in between it and the doorframe, giving her a reproachful look.

“Is your –”

“Yes,” Yelena interrupts, scowling harder than before, if that was even possible. “Now, leave.”

The look on Alexei’s face shifts, now suddenly a little too much on the wrong side of sneaky. “Can we—”

“No.”

“But–"

“I don’t care. You can’t meet them,” she barks, probably too loudly, as she shoves him back out into the hallway. If she has to throw them bodily out of here, she will. It just would likely attract your attention, which is the opposite of what she wants. “They’re asleep.”

“We can wake them,” he suggests, unhelpfully.

Yelena glares at him harder. “No.”

It’s faint but all of a sudden, she can hear the sound of a door squeaking as it opens. Her bedroom door to be more exact. Your voice calling out to her quickly follows.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m closing the door now.”

“Hey, no wait –” Alexei starts to protest. Yelena closes the door firmly in their faces and is working on dead-bolting it just as you appear in her line of sight.

You blink at her blearily, wearing just one of her T-shirts and nothing else. Thank god she hadn’t let them in. “Who was that?”

“Neighbours,” Yelena lies. “Looking for their …cat.”

Still half asleep, you don’t think to question her and she sags against the door in relief as you venture into the kitchen in search of coffee.

To her relief, there are no subsequent persistent knocks or calls through the door and after a second, she can hear the quiet sound of footsteps and Alexei’s grumbling as they retreat.

Natasha is one thing – their parents or pseudo-parents or whatever they are – are another thing entirely. She’d save that one for another day.

Or never, preferably.

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[tenthgrove]

Can I request the one where La Squadra thought the reader was pregnant (when she just actually visited her kid) situation for Bruno's gang?

Mother Mother- Bucci Edition

Team Buccerati x Reader (Fem), Platonic, SFW

Bruno Buccerati is feeling restless. He's not one to pry, but your behaviour lately is starting to concern him. Leaving the base for hours without explanation is no cause for worry in itself, after all, you're not obliged to inform him of your whereabouts 24/7 and you're hardly the only one on the team who does this, but together with the ceaseless obsession with cutting your finances, the uncharacteristic melancholy and the jolt of panic whenever your personal circumstances become the topic of conversation all add up to a bad picture.

The final straw for Buccerati came today, in which while passing you idly on the sofa he caught sight of the word 'parenthood' printed on the title of the leaflet you were reading. He didn't see the rest of what it said, but your guilty smile at being caught spoke well enough for itself.

Buccerati truly does feel bad about this, but with how defensive you become at even the smallest sign of confrontation, he sees no other choice. As he watches you depart your bedroom and head into the bathroom, he waits quietly for the rush of water from the shower, before sneaking into your unlocked bedroom unnoticed.

He will make clear, he thinks to himself as he pilfers through the loose paper on your desk for that leaflet, that he is not angry. If it's what your heart is set on, he isn't even that opposed to the idea of you raising the baby yourself. The squad is decently paid and their work isn't as dangerous or all-consuming as some, so they can manage. He even feels a little bit of excitement at the thought of helping you with your offspring. He's only doing this because it can't be healthy for you to conceal your pregnancy like this. Children have always been such precious things to him.

A pink leaflet flits off of the desk and Buccerati picks up his prize. He reads the title in full.

"Parenthood for the Parents of Hospitalised Children: What Doctors Advise"

Ahh. Now that changes things. Buccerati feels his heart sink at the sight of the stock image of a mother and father standing over the bedside of a sickly-looking girl. He guiltily returns the leaflet to its former place and tries to reorganise the paper as he found it, before exiting quickly.

Having learned his lesson well about making assumptions on too little evidence, Buccerati sits down with his phone book. There's a fellow on one of the intel teams who owes him a small favour, and it's time he called on it.

“Hello, it’s Buccerati, could you do something for me quickly? I need you to check the records of all the hospitals in Naples that hospitalise chronically ill children, and take a look through the names of the patients in the children's ward," he requests. "There's a specific surname I'm after, hang on, I'll find it for you." Buccerati racks his brains. If there's one thing he's certain your being honest about it's your real name. He pulls it from his memories and relays it to his friend. "No, no need to take any action once you find them. Just let me know the details, particularly of the illness. Very well, thank you," he concludes the phone call and hangs up. He leans back in the seat and sighs.

He barely gets half an hour to rest before the phone rings.

"Oh hello, that was quick. Did you find them? That's excellent. What did the records say?"

The agent relays his findings. Matching the surname he gave him is a little girl about 5 years old, currently residing in the hospital closest to Buccerati's base. The child is suffering from a frightful condition that, although rarely fatal with treatment, can leave sufferers in need of constant medical care for months on end, along with more minor support for years after.

The most concerning thing about the records is that the agent was able to find visitation logs attached to the data, and they all speak of a single, anonymous visitor with recorded visits matching perfectly with the dates and times of your disappearances.

Buccerati thanks the agent and promises to wire him a little money for his quick and extensive help. Hanging up, he broods deeply. He cannot simply allow your suffering to continue if there's anything, anything at all he can do to help.

He is broken from his trance by the sounds of panicked footsteps running in from the hall. He catches sight of Mista and Narancia sneaking in from the hallway, and is struck by the immediate impression that they are by all definitions, up to no good.

"What's the matter you two? You seem startled," he presses them patiently. He is met with two loud sounds of 'uhhhh'.

"Nothing Buccerati, we swear it!" Narancia promises.

"Yeah! In fact, we were just going to the shops and were arguing over what to get!" Mista backs him up. Buccerati rolls his eyes and smiles.

"Alright. Not too much sugar, Narancia? We don't want to find you being sick in the bathroom at two in the morning again, do we?"

"It's not me you have to worry about doing that now," Narancia mutters under his breath.

"Pardon?" Buccerati asks, confused.

"Nothing! We should go now!"

The boys immediately make their exit out the front and disappear down the street. Bruno tuts. Sometimes he thinks he'll never understand that lot. He smiles.

As he replays the encounter in his head, it occurs to him what that strange item poking out of Mista's pocket was. The leaflet from (y/n)'s room. Shit.

"Mista? Narancia? I think we should have a word please!" Buccerati shouts down the entry street. But it's two late, they've both disappeared out of earshot. Buccerati throws his hands up in despair, and returns to his room.

::::::::::::

Abbacchio knows what he sees. Mista and Narancia go running down the street and about 20 second later, Buccerati goes out shouting. As Abbacchio watches Buccerati return to the house in defeat, he makes a decision. He's had enough of those kids and their petty little antics. If Buccerati doesn't have it in him to set them straight, he will.

"You look pressed," Fugo remarks as Abbacchio pushes past him in the corridor.

"None of your business. Mista and Narancia are up to no good and now I've got to go and find them," Abbacchio grunts.

"Narancia?! But he promised me he'd work on his assignments tonight! Little bastard, I'll kill him!" Fugo fumes.

"Will you now? Better keep up then," Abbacchio says, throwing on his coat.

It doesn't take them long at all to find Mista and Narancia. Indeed, they're cowering in the very first alleyway left of the house.

"We can explain," Narancia promises.

"I bet you can," Abbacchio mutters half-heartedly.

"Take a look at this!" Narancia urges them. He pulls a pink leaflet from Mista's pocket and rereads it himself. "It says 'parenthood'. We found it in (y/n)'s room. Does that mean she's pregnant?"

"Why in god's name were you snooping around in (y/n)'s room?" Abbacchio interrogates them.

"Furthermore Narancia, you can't read," Fugo adds.

"Well, for a start, Buccerati did it first. We just went in after him to see what it was he was looking for. Second, Mista read it for me, and he swears it says 'parenthood'. Isn't that right Mista?"

"Sure is," Mista affirms. "Look."

He flicks the leaflet in front of them and, sure enough, they all read the same word. Abbacchio and Fugo curse simultaneously.

"What the hell is their game, thinking they can hide something like this from us?" Abbacchio fumes. "Does Bruno think he's protecting her or something? He's a fool."

"If I may, Abbacchio, it is most uncharacteristic of you to speak ill of Signor Buccerati," a voice from behind protests. Abbacchio turns with a jolt to see Giorno standing at the entrance of the alleyway along with a very bewildered looking Trish. They each have a couple of shopping bags in their hands.

"Are you spying on me?!" Abbacchio shrieks.

"Not at all. I simply thought that going after dark would be a much safer time for Trish to do her shopping, so I was taking her out," Giorno explains. "I overheard your voices and came to investigate, but I really haven't heard much."

"(Y/n)'s pregnant and Buccerati's hiding it from us," Mista fills him in.

"Wait, I'm lost. Did Buccerati get her pregnant? Because if so, what in the actual hell?" Trish comments.

"Fucking christ. Could you imagine?" Narancia remarks. The group soon devolves into a mess of interrupted shouting.

"All of you quiet!" Abbacchio yells. He holds up his hands in desperation. "We are going to get to the bottom of this and we're going to do it now! We are going right home, and we are getting (y/n) to explain herself, whether she likes it or not. Agreed?"

::::::::::::

You had an awful eery feeling getting out that shower would be a mistake. The last thing you expected tonight was being hounded by your dear teammates while you're half dressed and wet haired, particularly on such an outlandish concept as pregnancy.

"Slow down! What the hell are you accusing me of again?"

"You're having a baby and you aren't even telling us! Do you have any idea how much those cost?" Trish accuses. You don't even have an answer for that one, it's just so completely wrong there's no way to refute it.

"We aren't looking to judge, we just want to help," Giorno assures you, though his voice is drowned out by the rest of the rabble.

"I don't need help, I'm not having a baby!" you protest. Narancia opens his mouth.

"But the leaflet says-"

"What on god's earth are the lot of you doing?" Bruno calls from the hallway. "Why are you all hounding (y/n) all of a sudden."

"You think we don't know what you know, Buccerati?" Abbacchio confronts him. "You're complicit in this. You're helping to hide this- baby!"

Buccerati breathes deeply.

"Ah. I believe I know what this is about. Mista, I want you to take that leaflet you found and read the front page out to me. In full."

Mista complies.

"Parenthood... for the Parents of Hospitalised Children. Oh."

"You made the same mistake I did," Buccerati explains. "You saw the first word and immediately jumped to your own conclusions. But in regards to the full title I have carried out some follow up and have confirmed it is exactly what it sounds like. (Y/n) has a young daughter who is unfortunately quite sick at present, and she has understandably been taking time off to be with her."

"You know about her?" you exclaim in panic.

"Apologies (y/n), I was acting only in concern for your health. It was admittedly due to my poor caution that the others found out and, well, it went from there."

"Look," you protest, thoughts spiralling into panic. "I didn't mean for you to know. You said I could do what I wanted with my money so I did. There- there was no other way I could afford to treat her," you justify, tears starting to leak from your eyes. "Please don't kick me out. I swear this doesn't affect my work, all I need is a few hours a week to check on her!"

You collapse against the door in tears. The crowd goes into a shocked silence. Buccerati pushes to the front.

"Hey, hey, I'm not going to kick you out so don't worry," he promises. "I would never cut off a member of my squad like that, especially not when they have such a vulnerable dependent. We can talk about helping you with the money tomorrow, but now, let's get you calmed down okay?"

You nod through your tears. Buccerati guides you to your feet and leads you gently into the kitchen. The remaining group in the hall look at each other with pressed lips. Fugo takes the leaflet from Mista and reads through the front cover once more. He hits him.

[jaskierswolf]

Prompt: Geraskier modern au. Jaskier bringing Geralt home on holiday. They’re pretending to date so Jaskier’s parents won’t bombard him asking when he’ll find someone and when they’ll have grandkids. Maybe even a fake engagement? They’re both pining without even realizing and maybe a mistletoe kiss on Christmas Eve will open their eyes. (geraskier-trashh)

Dani <3 I always seem to vibe with your prompts! Once again this is 2.3k. I didn’t get the mistletoe in but... well. I’m pretty happy with it. Fake dating at Christmas!! 💖

Warnings: Some hurt/comfort feels, I’m pretty sure everyone cries at one point or another, lots of pining. ______________

Jaskier and Geralt stood in the doorway to Jaskier’s old childhood room. One single bed was pushed up against the wall, posters of Jaskier’s old favourite bands plastered around the room. Jaskier was gripping Geralt’s hand too tightly, having not let go from when he’d dragged Geralt upstairs to get away from the interrogation of his family. Geralt let out a long sigh and pulled them both into the room, dumping his rucksack on the ground in the corner.

“Ah, I. umm…. I seem to have miscalculated,” Jaskier stammered.

“No shit.”

“I thought, you know. Huge mansion!” He flung his arms out as if to make a point. “I didn’t expect that we’d have to… you know.”

“It didn’t occur to you that it might look strange if we don’t share?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier huffed and put his hands on his hips, tossing his fringe from his eyes. Geralt was moving around the tiny room, his banged up bass case finding space next to Jaskier’s violin, his black hoody thrown over the old desk chair in the corner. Jaskier felt a tug at his heartstrings as he watched Geralt carve out a space for himself in Jaskier’s old bedroom, just like he’d carved out a Geralt sized space in Jaskier’s hearts oh so many years ago. Jaskier flexed his fingers and pulled his necklace pendant into his mouth, this was such a bad idea. What had he been thinking?

It was own bloody fault for lying to his parents for years behind Geralt’s back. It had just been so hard with their constant pressure to find a partner whilst he was pining helplessly over his best friend, so he’d lied and for five years he’d managed to find excuses for avoiding the family Christmas meet up. This year his luck had run out and he’d had to come clean to his friend. He’d thought Geralt was going to murder him at first, his face had gone bright red with rage and he’d not said a bloody word, which was just Geralt all over. Over a tense dinner of instant noodles and boxed wine, Geralt had muttered that he’d do it… and so, here they were.

“Yeah, well, I forgot.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You forgot? That you’d told your parents that we’ve been dating for five years?”

“Six years… Our anniversary was two weeks ago,” Jaskier muttered, shuffling awkwardly on his feet and giving Geralt a sheepish smile.

“Our anniversary? For fuck’s sake, Jask.”

“I’m sorry! I meant to tell them we’d broken up but—”

“But what?”

“—but they always seemed so happy that I wasn’t alone, and to be honest it was nice.”

Geralt scoffed. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I. I didn’t feel so alone.”

Geralt sighed and pulled him into a hug. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s chest and whined. “You’re my best friend, Jask.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, grateful that Geralt couldn’t see his face. He could feel the lump in his throat, a dull never-ending ache in his chest. Best friend. That’s what they were, he should be thankful that Geralt allowed him that much, but fuck he loved him so damn much. No matter how much Jaskier flirted with Geralt, called him cute little nicknames, and practically admitted his love for his friend on a daily basis… Geralt never saw him as anything more than a friend, but god he drove Jaskier mad. He was always so damned thoughtful all the time, cooking dinner when Jaskier was at work even though Jaskier could never return the favour, hence the instant noodles for dinner, or letting Jaskier choose the film when he’d had a bad anxiety day, which happened more often than he liked to admit.

Geralt was his best friend, he was the bestest friend that anyone could ask for so really Jaskier couldn’t complain. He was just… hopelessly in love.

He laughed and pulled back from the hug. “Don’t you mean boyfriend?” He waggled his eyebrows and bopped Geralt’s nose.

“Hmm, fine, but we have got to break up by next year.”

Jaskier’s hand flew to his heart, gasping as he totally pretended to be completely heartbroken. There wasn’t an ounce of reality in the way his heart literally felt like it was shattering in a million pieces. He scoffed, covering up the way his hands were shaking by tugging at the edge of his jumper. “Fine, but I get to dump you.”

“Nope, it’s your mess. I’m breaking up with you,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and glared at Geralt. “As if you would break up with this arse!” He laughed and turned to wiggle his butt at Geralt.

“I’ve seen better.”

Jaskier gasped and turned to poke Geralt in the chest. “Take that back!”

“Not going to happen.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier flung himself dramatically into Geralt’s arms, Geralt caught him as he always did, and Jaskier pouted up at him. “You’re mean.”

“Are you boys fighting already?”

Jaskier squeaked as Geralt dropped him to the floor. His mother was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her chest, a smirk on her face. “No. No no no. Of course not, nope. Geralt?”

“No, Mrs Pankratz.” Geralt pulled him to his feet and Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“All good here, mother!”

“Dinner’s ready, hurry up.”

“We’ll be there in just a jiffy!” Jaskier sang as he leant into Geralt’s side. As his mother’s footsteps faded off down the hall he reached up to whisper in Geralt’s ear, “Showtime, darling.”

Geralt groaned. “Fuck.” ________________

Dinner wasn’t going too badly. Luckily Geralt and Jaskier had been best friends for most of their lives so there wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other. Honestly the only thing really missing from their friendship to make it more of a traditionally romantic one was the snogging. They went out of friend dates all the time, they lived together, and in all honesty they loved each other. Jaskier just made sure to double the use of pet names in front of his family, and he allowed himself to touch Geralt as much as he wanted, which was pretty much always. They held hands on top of the table, awkwardly eating one handed. Jaskier brought Geralt’s knuckles to his lips in between main and dessert, winking at his friend. It was so fucking easy to believe this was real. For two days he was getting everything he ever wanted. He was going to be heartbroken when this was over.

Geralt flushed and growled under his breath before kissing Jaskier’s cheek, much to delight of Jaskier’s parents.

“Julian, you know we won’t be offended if you want to kiss your boyfriend properly?”

Jaskier’s heart sank and he gripped Geralt’s hand tighter. They hadn’t discussed this. They really should have discussed this, but Jaskier had assumed two days without kissing in front of his parents would have been fine. Of course, his mother would decide to be cool. “Mother, really?” He groaned and hid his face in Geralt’s arm.

“You’ve been dating for six years, Julian. Your father had proposed by then when we were dating,” his mother sighed and smiled ever so sweetly at his father. “Don’t be shy, honey.”

“Mother!” Jaskier whined.

Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier gazed up at his friend. There was a mischievous glint in Geralt’s eyes that Jaskier did not like the look of. He shook his head slowly at Geralt but it was too late. “Actually, Mrs Pankratz. I umm… I did have something to ask Jaskier,”

“Geralt…”

“The umm… well I wrapped it, but I guess now is as good as ever,” Geralt stood up and pulled Jaskier into the living room, ignoring his protests. Geralt pulled a small wrapped box from the tree, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet as he hand him the box.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide… what the actual fuck was happening? Jaskier thought back to his Christmas list. It was mostly nerdy shit and stuff for his instruments… nerdy shit. “Oh bollocks!” He yelled as he remembered a very specific piece of costume jewellery he’d asked for.

Was Geralt about to fake propose using the ring… like… the ring…  from Lord of the Rings? Oh god, he was going to die from embarrassment. Jaskier’s hands shook as he tore at the wrapping paper. The velvety box fell into his hands, the familiar Elvish inscription was pressed into the black velvet. He hid a laugh behind his hand as Geralt gently took the box and opened it. Jaskier barely heard the shrieks from his mother as Geralt winked at him.

“Jask, the last,” Geralt paused and scowled “six years of my life have been the happiest of my life.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, his heart thumping in his chest despite the fact he knew it wasn’t real.

“I’m thankful that I finally stopped being afraid of what I felt, feel, for you, and umm, well asked you out,” Geralt licked his lips, he actually seemed nervous, which was utterly ridiculous. He was a better actor than Jaskier had anticipated. “Can’t imagine how different today would have been if I hadn’t made the choice that day, the choice to be brave instead of a coward.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but reach forward to cup Geralt’s cheek, his hand moving on its own accord. “You’re the bravest man I know.”

Geralt laughed bitterly. “Not always, but ah fuck, you distracted me.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier giggled. “Would it help if I said yes?”

“Yes,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier knelt down opposite Geralt. “Yes.”

And then they were kissing, because that was what you did when you got engaged, wasn’t it? Only they weren’t really engaged, they weren’t even dating. Tears streamed down Jaskier’s cheeks as he kissed his friend with all the feelings that he could never admit, holding Geralt’s face in his hands. They were both panting by the time they pulled apart. “I love you, dear heart.”

Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprise, was also crying. He smiled sadly back at Jaskier as he brushed the tears from Jaskier’s cheek. “I love you too, Jask.” And then he slipped the ring onto Jaskier’s finger.

Jaskier swallowed and bit back a sob. “Fuck.”

Geralt tilted his head and glanced towards the ceiling. Jaskier nodded, hugging his arms around his chest. “I think we need a moment alone,” Geralt muttered and scooped Jaskier up into his arms.

Jaskier mother, also crying because apparently Christmas Eve dinner was a disaster, nodded. “Take all the time you need, darlings."

Geralt nodded and Jaskier hummed pressing his face into Geralt’s neck, desperately trying not to lose his grip on reality. They weren’t engaged. The mantra ran through his head obsessively. One more day, they would exchange presents, maybe a standard kiss under the mistletoe and then by next year’s Christmas Geralt would have broken up with him, and Jaskier’s parents would be none the wiser that it had all been a ruse.

A ruse, an pretence, an act.

Only it wasn’t an act, not for him.

“Fucking shit balls,” He mumbled into Geralt’s shirt as his bedroom door was kicked open. Jaskier practically leapt from Geralt’s arms and into the mess of bedsheets, hiding from the love of his life and pseudo fiancé.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry. I took it too far.” Geralt mumbled, sitting down on the bed next to where Jaskier was curled into a ball.

“No,” Jaskier mumbled. “I just overreacted, I… ah fuck it. I wanted it to be real. I’m sorry!”

“You,” Geralt stammered. “You wanted it to be real?”

Jaskier laughed haughtily and threw off the covers, wiping his eyes and glaring at Geralt. “Of course I fucking did. I told my parents we were dating… for six fucking years!”

“And you never once mentioned any of this to me?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Because I couldn’t lose you!”

“I didn’t want to lose you either.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as he gaped at Geralt. “Hang on what? What does that mean? Geralt? Please do not tell me that means what I think it means!”

“I love you,” Geralt whispered “always have.”

“No, no no no!” Jaskier whined as his head hit the headboard. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.”

Jaskier laughed, the disbelief and sheer happiness in his heart overwhelming him. “Oh my fucking god, Geralt!” Geralt growled and stood up but Jaskier caught his hand. “Don’t you see?”

“No, care to let me into the joke?”

“We could have been dating for years!” Jaskier cried and then slapped a hand over his mouth, not wanting his parents to hear their argument. “This,” he waved his left hand at Geralt. “could have been real?”

Geralt frowned, his gaze flickering between Jaskier’s hand and his eyes. He sighed and a faint smiled graced his lips. “Maybe we should try dating first? Proposing on the first date is a bit much.”

Jaskier laughed and pulled Geralt into another kiss, his tears ones of happiness this time. He stroked Geralt’s cheek as they pulled apart. “What about the second date?”

“Jask,” Geralt groaned.

“Ok, the third date,” He laughed and Geralt shut him up with another quick kiss.”

“Your turn to propose,” Geralt mumbled against his lips as Jaskier slipped his hand up Geralt’s shirt.

“I don’t think I can beat proposing with the ring, dearest,” He giggled as Geralt pushed him back against the mattress, his nose running along Jaskier’s jaw.

“You’ll think of something.”

Jaskier grinned as Geralt’s lips crashed against his. He would think of something, something spectacular, but for now he was too busy kissing his boyfriend, grand marriage proposals would have to wait until next Christmas. They could make it a tradition. ________________ Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6

[acnelli]

First Time Falling

This is my entry for the @hpqueerfest 2021. Thanks to the mods who hosted this! And a big thank you to my great beta-readers @nagemeikenu and @static-abyss who put up with my phone-writery (writing time is hard to come by these days).

This story was inspired by Prelude and Fugue by shes_gone, and it’s set in a world where Harry didn’t go to Hogwarts, but had been prepared for his destiny.

Pairing: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley Rating: T TW: strong language, mentions of war time, mentions of drug and alcohol consume Prompt: Falling in love for the first time as an adult (late 20’s-early 30’s) Summary: Harry Potter –Head-Auror and Savior of the Wizarding World– spontaneously asked out a cute redhead and it turned to so much more than he could have ever hoped for. 

You can also read this on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** *** ***

Not bothering to knock, Ron Weasley marched into Hermione Granger’s office. The heavy mahogany door slammed against the wall, making Hermione jump up from her chair.

“Ron,” she shrieked as a bunch of paper fell off her desk. “What happened?”

Instead of providing his best friend with an explanation for his sudden intrusion, Ron paced back and forth. The panicked look in his eyes made Hermione assume the worst.

With one swift motion, Hermione stepped in front of the redhead, forcing him to stop his frantic pacing. “Ron, please talk to me,” she pleaded, taking his hand into hers. “What’s going on? Is someone hurt? Is your family okay?”

Hermione’s worried expression and the panic in her voice finally brought Ron to his senses. “No, don’t worry, Hermione,” he sighed as he closed her office door. “I’m sorry! But...do you have time for a quick cup of tea in the cafeteria?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. This report is giving me a headache and I need a break.”

Hermione grabbed her purse and gestured for Ron to lead the way.

“I swear, Ron, if you almost gave me a heart attack over something Quidditch related, I’ll hex you into next week and make your new Firebolt disappear forever,” Hermione added as they made their way down to the Ministry cafeteria.

Ron glanced over at the bushy-haired witch, suppressing a grin as he told her his distress was indeed about Quidditch. They grabbed their beverages and headed towards a free table. Gracing him with a dark look, Hermione gestured for Ron to finally tell her what’s going on.

“Harry Potter asked me out on a date!”

This statement caused Hermione’s drink to go down the wrong way, resulting in a violent coughing fit and her spitting out the tea.

“What?” she wheezed out between coughs, as Ron cleaned his face and shirt with his wand.

He waited patiently until Hermione recovered, both from the coughing fit and the shock. “See, even you don’t believe me,” Ron sighed, harshly rubbing his hands over his face, “I don’t blame you, though. I can’t believe it myself, after all.”

Finally being able to speak again, Hermione put her elbows on the small table and leaned forward, determined to not miss a single thing about this story. “Spill! How? When? Where? And don’t you dare to leave out even the smallest detail.”

Ron shook his head, still in disbelief about what had happened to him just twenty minutes ago. Not being able to wrap his head around it, he decided to tell Hermione today’s events from beginning to end.

“Today, Robertson sent me a memo to come to his office to discuss the ridiculous complaints about the Tornados/Harpies game last week,” Ron started and couldn’t help rolling his eyes about the things he had to put up with at work sometimes. “So, I went there, gave him my report about the match and a brief overview. Thank Merlin, he only asked his usual useless questions about referee bribery claims. I was ready to launch into a whole speech but he suddenly dismissed me and told me to write up a statement for the press.

“I was just on my way back to my office when I met Seamus. The fucking wanker had the nerve to claim the next Cannons match for himself. I know he did that just to spite me so, naturally, I gave him an ear full about it as we waited for the lift. We only noticed Harry Potter standing right behind us when we got inside the lift. I probably sounded like an idiot but Seamus and I kept the conversation up because I always get second-hand embarrassment when people stop talking if Potter walks by or joins the lift.”

Hermione patiently listened to his ramblings, restraining herself from telling him to get to the point already.

Ron sipped on his tea and shook his head. “You know what? I read too much into this. Just realised that I’m acting exactly as everyone else does. What’s the big deal? Just a bloke who wants to have a pint after work.”

Hermione stared at Ron, expecting him to go on with his story, but he just kept sipping his tea.

“Ron!”

“What?”

“How did he ask you out?” She accidentally raised her voice but Hermione was finally losing her patience with him.

“I told you, he most likely-”

“Just tell me the damn story, already!” Hermione snapped, blushing a little when she noticed the people on the other tables giving her funny looks.

“Alright,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Calm down, barmy woman.”

“You're the one marching into my office like a lunatic. Spill it! Now!”

With a heavy sigh, Ron continued with his story, curling his hands around the tea mug to keep from fidgeting.

“Seamus had already gotten off at another level, so it was just me and Potter in there. I tried to avoid the awkward silence, so I asked him if he followed Quidditch and was going to listen to or even watch the Tornados match tonight. He said that he does follow Quidditch and that he intended to listen to the match at home but if I'd be up to it, we could listen to it at this new pub that just opened in Diagon. He totally caught me by surprise, but I must've agreed because he told me he'll meet me at the fireplaces at 5. Then he left the lift. Then I freaked out and came to your office.”

Ron marked the end of his story by taking another sip of his tea before he defiantly crossed his arms in front of him.

“Jesus, Harry Potter actually asked you out! Oh my God!” Hermione almost squealed, grasping one of Ron's arms.

“Nah! I don't think so anymore. I bet he just wanted to have a pint and was only being polite when he asked me to come along,” Ron said. “Who'd ask someone out like that anyway?”

“Someone looking for a partner?”

“Yeah, but think about it, Hermione. Why would he ask me out? The guy is not only fucking famous, he's also devilishly handsome. He could have anyone he wanted.”

“So?”

Ron looked at Hermione as though she'd just declared the desire to live as a chicken.

“So? So, why would someone ask me out while on a random stroll through the Ministry? Who'd think ‘Oh, that freakishly tall ginger with more freckles than skin looks kinda awkwardly cute. Let's try to get a leg over?'"

“I dated you,” Hermione interjected.

“You don't count.”

“Well, thank you!” Her sarcasm was all but ignored by Ron.

“I just know I'll embarrass myself tonight,” Ron insisted, looking quite unhappy. “Let's go back to work. I still have to write that useless report.”

“Devilishly handsome, hm?”

“Shut up!”

**** **** **** ****

Harry didn't know what had possessed him to ask the cute ginger out for a pint.

Maybe it had been the Prophet article speculating for the umpteenth time about when the Savior of the Wizarding World would finally settle down and make some black-haired, green-eyed babies. Rita Skeeter had many ideas about what worthy witch could conquer the heart of Harry Potter. All things considered, the article had probably not been the worst thing written about him so far.

Sometimes he wondered if he should've taken Sirius’ advice to feed the press and public meaningless details of his life. It wouldn't stop the constant speculations and made-up affairs, but it probably would reduce the paparazzi following him around, the crazy fans sending him love letters and maybe, they would find something more newsworthy than where Harry Potter bought his toilet paper.

But he hated the fact that people demanded this from him. He was 29 now, and while the great hype about him was over, he still seemed to be interesting enough to write about, even over a decade after his defeat of Voldemort.

He knew the majority of the Wizarding World was sincerely grateful for what he'd done. There were so many parents thanking him for the simple fact that they're still alive and able to see their children grow up.

It reminded him that it was all worth it. The sacrifices, the nearly friendless childhood, his secret life away from the public, the growing up with the knowledge that he might not live long enough to celebrate his 17th birthday. All of that had resulted in ending Voldemort once and for all.

When he'd destroyed the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes though, Harry’s hope of finally living a normal life got crushed soon after. In the post-war world, it had been next to impossible to lead a life like everyone else. Because of his childhood and his training by Alastor ‘Mad Eye’ Moody himself, he learned not to trust easily. And since occasions to make friends or interact with strangers had been few and far between, he never really learned what to look for in a friend.

He was well aware that he was complaining about a comfortable life. His parents had left him a respectable amount of gold, and Sirius bought him a flat in London after he graduated from Auror Academy. Maybe he'd gotten this job because of his fame and reputation, but he knew he deserved the position as Head Auror. There was hardly anyone with the same amount of training and experience he brought to the table, and he was under the impression the people working for him did genuinely like him as a boss. Two of them he even considered friends after all these years.

Aside from the two friends at work he also had his family. He had Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, Tonks and his godson, Teddy. He wasn't alone by any means, but he'd never met someone he could possibly fall in love with. Hell, aside from one of Tonks’ old friends from school and her father's attempts to set him up with several of his countless nieces—and later nephews when Harry told his family girls didn't do it for him—he'd never even dated. Toby—a fellow student from elementary school and the only friend his age—dragged him to Muggle pubs and clubs, resulting in the occasional snog or even a shag with a stranger. Needless to say, his first time hadn't exactly been romance novel material and it sure wasn't something he liked to think about. Sometimes, Harry feared that he would never fall in love, that he wasn't capable of developing those feelings for another person.

Those unpleasant thoughts combined with the Rita Skeeter article may have been the result of his sudden impulse to just go for it and ask the redhead out. But it also could have been the brilliant blue eyes, the kind, shy smile and the lean shoulders. Harry was sure, though, that the main reason for it had been the fact that this man hadn't treated him like a Messiah. It had just been an easy conversation, even if it had been only two minutes.

Harry hoped it would remain that way when they watched the game later. In fact, he could just brush it off as a friendly meeting with a fellow Ministry worker if Cute Ginger wasn't interested in anything more.

But when he thought about the redhead’s lopsided grin, Harry felt a foreign flutter in his stomach and he couldn't help but hope for more, even if it was just another visit to the pub.

**** **** **** ****

In the 30 years of Ron Weasley’s existence, he'd never been on time for something not work-related. Today, though, he was almost ten minutes early as he waited by the fireplaces for Harry Potter.

Again, he felt rather pathetic. For a hot second, he considered waiting in a nearby bathroom to pass the time, pretending to get to their meeting place just in time. But then he reminded himself that he wasn’t a petty teenager anymore, and even if Potter found it pathetic, Ron didn’t expect a repeat of tonight, anyway.

He decided to just treat this like a meet-up with Dean and Seamus every other Thursday after work. Just two guys, enjoying a couple of pints together, talking about Quidditch. Nothing special. Nothing to freak out over.

The atrium was busy as ever but he spotted Potter right away when the Head-Auror stepped out of the lift and made his way towards the fireplaces. He still wore his magenta work robes and Ron couldn't help but notice how sexy they looked on him.

“Hi!” Potter greeted Ron, smiling somewhat shyly. “Ready for some beer and Quidditch?”

“Sure! But I forgot to introduce myself earlier, so I figured I'd do that now,” Ron said, giving the dark haired man a smile in return, as he offered his hand for a proper introduction. “I'm Ron. Ron Weasley.”

“I'm Harry.”

**** **** **** ****

“No way! How did he get out of there?”

Harry barked out a laugh at Ron's tale of a night out with Seamus and Dean. His outburst was loud enough for the other guests of the pub to look in their direction. Ron found it amusing how a simple change into Muggle clothes, different glasses, and a slightly lighter hair colour resulted in no one recognizing the Boy-Who-Lived.

“Since it was a Muggle police station, Seamus had to spend the night there. Statute of Secrecy, and all. We picked him up the next morning and filled him in on what he'd done the night before, including showing everyone his pale arse.” Ron grinned deviously at the memory. “I invented some things for good measure. Unfortunately, Dean is too good for this world and told him a few hours later that I was taking the mickey.”

Harry shook his head, chuckling. “That reminds me of Remus searching the whole of London for Sirius, only to find him several hours later in a hidden spot on the roof. He was gazing at the stars and totally stoned. Combined with Firewhiskey, he didn't remember a single thing from that night.”

“Sirius?” Ron looked quite interested at the mention of his Godfather’s name. “Sirius, as in Sirius Black?”

“Yes. He was my Dad’s best friend. And he's my Godfather.”

“I'm just asking because I'm related to the Blacks. My grandfather married Cedrella Black.”

“Yes, I recognize the name. Her face got blasted off the family tree,” Harry said, and at Ron's raised eyebrow quickly added, “Sirius’ mother blasted everyone off that tree who didn't uphold the Black family's motto ‘Toujours pur’. So, Cedrella must have gone against the high and mighty Black Pureblood tradition.”

“Well,” Ron said, taking a swig of his beer, “she married a Weasley. I'm sure that alone was reason enough to disown her. The Weasleys have been notorious blood traitors since forever.”

“Sounds like your grandmother had good taste in men if you ask me.”

Harry winked at Ron, and the redhead felt the burning blush creeping up his neck.

Ron was once again amazed at how little time it had taken him to lose his nervousness. But Harry Potter made it very easy for him. Harry was confident, yet humble and polite. His humor didn't have Ron's sarcastic edge, but the redhead found Harry delightfully witty with a good amount of sass.

Ron didn't know what he expected but it was undeniable how easy it was to talk to Harry. He could only hope the raven-haired man enjoyed this just as much as he did. Harry laughed at his jokes and seemed genuinely interested in Ron's more-than-mundane life.

As much as Ron tried to see this as a meeting with a good friend, he couldn't help the warm feeling in his chest every time Harry smiled at him or his leg accidentally bumped against Ron's. And if the alcohol hadn't gone to his head already, making him imagine things, Harry's eyes kept flitting down to Ron's lips.

When the woman behind the bar announced the final round, they decided to call it a night since it was one of Harry's work Saturdays tomorrow.

As they ventured out of the crowded pub and into the cool night air, Ron was disappointed about the evening coming to an end. Time had flown and he was sure they could've talked for several more hours.

“Would you mind if I walk you home?” Harry asked just as Ron wanted to wish him a good night.

Ron nodded, not being able to suppress his smile as Harry obviously remembered him mentioning that he only lived a few blocks away.

They kept their pace slow and walked a little closer to each other than necessary, their hands bumping against one another. Every touch sent a jolt through Ron's body and he wanted nothing more than to take Harry's hand.

Eventually, they reached their destination. During the entire walk home Ron had gathered all of his Gryffindor courage to ask Harry out, this time for an official date.

“I- um,” Ron started, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck to ease his nerves. “I really enjoyed this evening and I was wondering...Maybe I got this all wrong, but you seem interested, and well, I'm interested too. And if you're not, that's totally fine. But...caniseeyouagain?”

And before Ron's face had the time to go completely crimson, he got his answer as Harry took his hand to pull him close, leaned up and kissed him.

Harry pulled back from Ron's lips, his stunning, green eyes slightly darker than usual and holding a hopeful glint.

Ron didn't give himself the chance to overthink as he put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and kissed him again. A deep groan escaped him when Harry licked at Ron's bottom lip and Harry took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside.

Ron was positive that he'd never experienced something more incredible than kissing Harry Potter. The only things he was capable of paying attention to were Harry and the wild thumping of his heart. And while it was exhilarating and new and positively made him weak in the knees, it also felt a lot like coming home.

Having lost all sense of time, Ron couldn't tell if they'd kissed for a minute or several hours when they broke apart. Harry's hands still gripped his shirt and Ron let his own hands glide from Harry's dark hair down over strong, well-defined shoulders to finally rest at his hips.

Both of them tried to catch their breath and Harry, who finally let go of Ron's shirt to put his arms around him, smiled up at Ron almost shyly.

“Yes, you can see me again,” Harry said, grinning.”What are your plans for tomorrow night?”

“Well,” Ron pretended to think about it for a second, “I thought I'd do this.”

And with that, he leaned in to kiss Harry again.

“I think that's a brilliant idea.”

**** **** **** ****

Just as he turned off the radio and grabbed his coat from the rag beside the door, a loud knock sounded through Harry's now quiet flat.

“Ten minutes early. Eager, aren't we?” Harry said as he opened the door for a tall ginger with a picnic basket in one hand and a broom in the other.

“Says the one waiting right beside the door like a good dog.”

Ron shoved his way inside, putting down the basket and broom before pulling Harry into his arms.

“Happy Birthday,” Ron murmured against the other man's lips. “And I thought I was supposed to give you a present, not the other way around?”

Harry pulled back a little, apparently confused. Ron grinned at him and squeezed Harry's arse. “Thanks for wearing my favourite pants today.”

Chuckling, Harry pointed at the broom Ron had brought with him. “No way I'll fly on a broom in these. Good thing I also packed my joggers.”

Ron hadn't told him where they were going for Harry's Birthday. He'd just instructed Harry to be ready at 9 in the morning, so they'd be back in time for dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry's family.

Only two months had passed since their first kiss, but Harry already felt as though he'd known Ron for much longer. Every kiss, every touch, all the teasing and banter, and late night talks felt so completely natural, yet blissfully exciting.

“Come on, grab your broom. We're on a tight schedule.”

Ron winked at him and before Harry knew it, they were standing in the middle of a giant Quidditch pitch.

There wasn't a single soul besides them, but Harry immediately recognized the giant Hogwarts House banners from his family's keepsakes of their school years. Aside from that fateful day when he'd fought Voldemort on those grounds, he'd never visited the school. Not before, not after.

Harry tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. The surprise must be the result of one of their late night talks, when Harry confessed that his deepest desire while growing up had been to go to Hogwarts.

“Are we allowed to be here or do I need to arrest you for breaking into school grounds?”

Arms wrapped around him from behind and Harry could feel Ron smiling against the back of his head. “I wouldn't be opposed to playing the big bad Auror and the naughty Suspect later, but this is actually 100% legal. Having contacts with important Quidditch officials has its perks sometimes. And my annual chess game against McGonagall helped too, I suppose.”

“Okay then,” Harry said, lifting one of Ron's hands to his mouth to brush his lips against his knuckles. “Fill me in on that plan of yours.”

Ron let go of him and reached for their brooms, tossing one of them at Harry. “I thought we'd fly over the grounds first, so I can show you everything from above. The castle looks fucking amazing from up there and the Great Lake is a sight to die for when the water reflects the sun.”

Ron mounted his broom and flew in slow circles around Harry as he continued to talk. “I hope you don't mind that I invited your family for dinner. But I thought we could all show you the castle, introduce you to our favourite spots and secret places. Andromeda can show us the Slytherin common room. I've never been there myself. I'll show you the kitchen first. That's where I'll cook dinner later while the others show you around.”

Jumping down from his broom, Ron looked at Harry with a mixture of excitement and reluctance as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was a telltale sign of the redhead being nervous, Harry had learned in the last weeks.

“So, I thought this to be fitting for a 30th Birthday. I wasn't sure what to get you that you don't already have, and I reckoned this might be fun.”

Harry didn't know what to say and his silence only made Ron doubt his plan more. It always baffled Harry how Ron didn't realize how wonderful he was. He wished Ron could see himself through Harry's eyes.

Right at that moment, as Harry looked into Ron's blue eyes, it hit him. In fact, he knew he'd been harbouring these feelings inside him for weeks now, but only now he could see it with shining clarity.

He was falling in love.

The feeling was new, something he'd never experienced, but still he recognized it for what it was.

 Love.

***

[yikesharringrove]

Sweet Little Mango

Rewrite

Read on Ao3

Chapter 3

-

Billy groaned as he folded himself into the Camaro.

Steve hadn’t been at school that day.

Billy wasn’t totally worried, it was around time for his heat, anyway, but Steve had been feeling bad the past few days, throwing up nearly every morning this week before making his way to school, looking pale and clammy, and sleeping through nearly every class.

Billy smoked lazily out the window. The October chill was beginning to set in, and he was fucking dreading the cold weather. He was a California, golden sunshine, warm weather baby through and through, and if it fucking snows, well. Basically, he doesn’t have a coat and he’s pretty much fucked.

He pulled into the driveway in front of Steve’s house, letting himself in the front door with the key Steve had given him at the end of summer.

The house didn’t smell like it did when Steve was in heat, full of the honey lavender scent of his hormones, his slick.

The house was as cold as still as it usually was when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington couldn’t be assed to spend time with their only kid.

Something uneasy climbed down Billy’s spine.

“Stevie?” He yelled up the stairs. There was no answer. Billy didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before he bounded upstairs. “Stever!”

He found Steve in his bedroom, all snuggly and wrapped up in bed, nestled under a pile of blankets. Again, not really unusual behavior for Steve, especially if he was in one of his moods, but the entire situation just didn’t sit right with Billy.

Call it alpha intuition.

Billy sat on the other side of the bed, laying over Steve, melting his body weight onto him.

Steve didn’t react to him.

Something’s up.

“Baby, what’s up?” Steve just made a high sound in his throat in reply.

So, there’s a big something up.

Billy started shifting blankets, finding Steve’s face. “Talk to me.” One of Steve’s eyes opened, big and round and full of something Billy couldn’t place. “You okay?”

“I went to the doctor today. I was awake all night throwing up.”

Billy kissed his forehead. He was covered in cold sweat.

“What’s the verdict? You alright?” Steve shifted, sitting up, holding a pillow to his chest. “Flu? Strep? Hand-foot-and-mouth disease?” Steve didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.

Billy was fucking worried.

“I, um, I’m, I’m pregnant.”

Billy’s heart fucking stopped.

“She said I was probably eight weeks along.” Steve was nervously picking at something on the bedspread, beginning to ramble. “So I guess it was during one of my heats, that sometimes, sometimes omegas still have heats during the early pregnancy, which is why, why I still had the last one but didn’t have this one, and apparently it’s the size of a raspberry, a tiny little raspberry, Bill. And I, I know we’re so young, but I don’t, I don’t think I can bring myself to get rid of it, and this, I mean, it’s a fucking miracle I even got pregnant in the first place, and this could be my chance to have a pup of my own, and, god, it’s all just so fucking much, and I’m not, you don’t, I‘m not expecting anything from you but-” Billy pulled Steve into his chest, petting his hair, shushing him softly.

“It’s okay, Sweet Thing.” He kissed Steve’s head. “Whatever you wanna do. I’m gonna be right here for you.” Steve melted into him.

“Bill, I, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can, if we can actually, actually be fucking parents, but I, Billy I can not just, just-I already love them so fucking much. ”

“You don’t have to, Honey. You can decide. We’ll make this work, how ever we have to.” He hefted Steve further into his lap. “I’m gonna be here for you, for our pup. And we got, like, family that’ll help us.”

“Bill, I don’t think our parents are gonna-”

Billy was quick to cut him off.

“Are you gonna tell Joyce she can’t babysit, or should I get murdered for it?”

Steve laughed, an unexpected little thing.

“So you’re- you’re okay?”

“I mean, nothing’s really sunk in, and I’ve got a huge fucking breakdown on the horizon once I realize what all this actually means. But, you know. I’m fine.”

-

Billy’s breakdown came when he went home the next morning.

When his dad backhanded him across the face for staying out all night.

He was standing in his room, staring wide-eyed at the window.

How could he be so fucking stupid? Steve wasn’t on birth control. Billy fucking knew that , and still pumped him full of cum every fucking heat.

Steve had told him that it was near impossible for male omegas to get pregnant. It had to be a perfect storm of proper anatomy and a strong heat that allowed for their bodies to actually implant and grow a tiny clump of cells into a whole human person.

Steve had been working with the idea that he pretty much couldn’t get pregnant since he was a kid. And Billy had totally run with that.

And now Steve’s got a little tiny almost person inside of him.

He’s fucking stupid. He’s stupid, and dumb, and he’s a fucking teenager with a pup on the way.

The tears stung his eyes.

He sank to his knees, one hand fisted in his own hair.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s not gonna tell Steve what to do with his own body. If he wants to have the pup, then Billy’s gonna fucking support him.

Because he’s not a shitty deadbeat.

And he loves Steve. He really does.

But he doesn’t believe in himself, though. There’s no fucking way they make this work.

There’s no fucking way they raise this pup, and stay together, and not traumatize the little thing.

There’s not a way in this fucking world.

-

“Alright, Steven.”

Steve was perched nervously on the exam table, his fingers in knots in his lap.

Billy was sitting against the wall, bouncing his leg and itching for a cigarette.

He hadn’t had one since Steve told him about the pup.

Two weeks ago.

He quit when Steve did. Not that Steve kept up the same level as Billy. There was a big difference between one or two cigarettes at a party, and nearly two packs a day.

But it wasn’t good for Steve, or the pup, so Billy took the most stressful time in his whole life so far, to quit smoking.

They were at Steve’s ten-week appointment. At the clinic in Indianapolis. The one where the front desk staff only raised an eyebrow at the boys’ fake I.D.s and didn’t ask for their parents’ contact information.

The doctor ushered Steve to lay back, pulling up his t-shirt to spread the clear jelly on his stomach, turning on the machine.

She located the fetus easily.

“Well, it looks like you’re coming along nicely. You’re at the proper growth for this stage, and the heartbeat’s nice and strong.”

Billy was staring at the monitor.

He couldn’t really make anything out. The machine was making this wooshing sound, like it was a scope underwater, and not a digital look into Steve.

But there was a little tiny blob in there. Something that looked like a little white bean nestled in Steve’s abdomen.

Their pup.

The doctor highlighted the little bean, zooming in and taking a capture of the image.

“Little pup's first picture.”

Steve’s scent went absolutely sweet, filling the room with sugar. Billy just reached out, taking his hand.

-

At the beginning of his pregnancy, Steve had terrible insomnia.

Billy would sneak out of his house to come over most nights, curling up behind Steve with one hand splayed wide on his slightly chubby tummy. He was always solid behind Steve. Warm and soft, a constant comfort to remind Steve that he wasn’t alone with the pup. That he had Billy to love them. To protect them and take care of them.

And sometimes, his warmth and steady breathing would be enough to lull Steve into a nice doze, or even to coax him into sleep.

But most nights, he was wide awake.

Steve didn’t want to keep Billy awake on those long nights, so he would sneak out of Billy’s gentle embrace, and sit on the couch downstairs in the sitting room. He would usually hang out in the quiet, just him and the little pup growing inside of him.

But then Billy would wake up, cold and alone, and would trudge downstairs to find Steve, and manhandle Steve until he was laying on top of Billy on the couch.

That’s where they were when Billy first spotted the grand piano in the corner of the room. Never noticed where it stood, collecting dust. Partially hidden by a large potted fern. He slid out from under Steve and took a seat at the leather padded seat, brushing his fingers over the glossy blackness of the beautiful piano.

Many of the keys were out of tune, as the thing hadn’t been played in years, but he plonked out a few easy scales.

Billy’s mom used to play. He had vivid memories of sitting on her lap, his hands on hers as she played beautiful songs. She taught him a few, once upon a time.

He struggled through one of the songs he could kind of remember, occasionally hitting the wrong key before correcting himself and continuing with the melody. He stumbled through what he could of Hey Jude before turning back to Steve, expecting to see a soft smile, big tired eyes blinking slowly back at him.

But Steve was dead asleep on the couch, both hands resting over his tummy.

Billy carried him up to bed.

That became their ritual on nights Steve couldn’t sleep.

Steve even decided to scour the poorly stocked music store and bought Billy lots of sheet music. He had just grabbed random stuff, and ended up with the weirdest assortment of things. Rock ballads and classical pieces. Swing jazz and a few beginner piano books.

Billy sifted through to find the easier stuff. He could still read sheet music well enough to slowly decipher the notes, but had to remind himself which keys corresponded to which note.

The piano was still out of tune and sometimes made the songs sound dreadfully wrong and quite nearly frightening, but it was peaceful. Quiet except for the sounds of the piano.

Steve was just content to sit next to him as he did it, holding onto his stomach, his head leaned gently against Billy’s shoulder.

-

They didn’t really tell Joyce.

Not exactly, anyway.

Steve and Billy were at Melvald’s, looking through the health section, throwing vitamins Steve’s OBGYN had recommended into the basket.

The basket was heavy, the metal handles digging into the meat of Billy’s palm. Nearly overflowing with expensive supplements that were meant to help their little pup grow into something fully formed and functioning.

Steve was being picky about the supplements. Taking the specific brands the doctor had recommended, reading the labels diligently to see if they said anything along the lines of Warning: Do not take while pregnant. Will give your pup an extra head.

Joyce was the only person at the check-out stand, and she made small talk while she scanned vitamins, shea butter, and produce, not even looking at the rattling plastic bottles.

Until one container wouldn’t scan. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands.

She faltered, and it was like the world came to a halt.

Prenatal Vitamins, omega specialized formula

She stared at it. Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

But she moved in a flash, shifting around the counter, and pulling Steve into a tight hug.

It took him a second to return the hug, wrapping his arms around her.

“If you boys need anything, and I mean anything at all, you come get me.” Steve scrunched his eyes up, trying not to sob into her shoulder.

She pulled away, giving Billy a hug of his own.

He hooked his chin on her shoulder, and he kinda felt like he could cry too. She gave him a bone-crushing hug for someone so small.

She took Steve’s hand when she finally relinquished Billy.

“How far along are you?”

“Just about ten weeks.” She cooed, handing them their bags as Billy counted out bills.

“And you’re not even showing. With Jon, I must’ve put on thirty pounds.” Steve looked around.

He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, mostly wearing too-big clothes of Billy’s these days, trying to hide what he could for as long as possible. He was beginning to get insecure about the weight he was gaining, even though it showed off the growth of their pup.

But he’s vain. And Steve’s the first to admit that.

He lifted his sweatshirt to show the shirt underneath, the tighter fabric showing off his little bump. Joyce smiled at them, and it made Steve feel so warm.

“I want copies of the very first sonogram.”

[itsnotwierditsart13]

Holy Shit (ronance fanfic)

A small little fic about Robin and Nancy getting together:)

It was a thankfully slow day at Family Video as Robin and Steve worked their shift together. Robin was building a new cardboard display case for a shipment that was supposed to have arrived hours ago. Everything was always moving in slow motion at this job, though, and Robin enjoyed it thoroughly. Meanwhile, Steve couldn’t even bother to look busy as he slumped in the one old raggedy chair that Keith allowed them to have. It was pouring rain outside, the windows rattling from thunder every so often. There were probably going to be at least 2 more customers coming in before they closed in four hours. Mostly just older ladies who shouldn’t be driving a car, let alone in the poor weather conditions. Ms. Matheson, a store regular, never rewound her tapes fully, always halfway. It drove Steve crazy, even though he expected it.

“We should have Nancy come by, since it’s so dead,” Steve stated casually as if he didn’t have ulterior motives. He was slumped in his chair, eyeballing Robin for any type of reaction. It was clear that she had feelings for Nancy. After everything that had happened at Starcourt the four of them had formed a bond. Hanging out together most days, sometimes including the kids.

“Don’t start,” Robin replied while flinging a piece of cardboard at him. It narrowly missed his head and landed on the dirty carpet behind him. “She’s my friend and straight, if you’ve forgotten. I’m not gonna indulge in whatever you’ve cooked up in that head of yours.” There was another boom of thunder, drowning out Steve’s exasperated sigh. It was the same conversation they’ve had about twenty times since Steve had picked up on Robin’s feelings. 

“It’s just...sometimes when she’s looking at you. She’s looking at you. Ya know?” Steve explained. He was entirely convinced that Nancy felt at least something more than friendly for Robin. The two acted differently around each other. “And she knows you’re a lady lover. Maybe you’re like her gay awakening or something,” he finished, causing Robin to raise an eyebrow at him from across the counter. 

“Whatever you say, Dingus.” It was clear that Robin didn’t believe a word he said. “Now, can you make yourself useful and hand me the duct tape,” she gestured to the roll that was out of her reach. He rolled his eyes as he passed it over to her.

He didn’t have the heart to mention that she was building it upside down.

_______________________________________________________________

Robin was beginning to lose her mind at a rapid rate. It was clear Steve was going to be no help in the situation as he sat on the far end of the couch, minding his business. 

The three of them, minus Johnathan, had decided to have a casual Friday night movie marathon. That was nothing out of the ordinary, except the minute Steve flicked the lights off and started ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ Robin’s brain almost short circuited. Nancy, who was previously sitting a good distance away, curled into Robin’s side like it was the most casual thing in the world. She wiggled around enough that Robin had no choice but to wrap an arm around her small shoulders. They were now fifteen minutes into the film and Robin couldn’t process anything that was happening. She knew that her body was rigid and stiff, almost like a statue, but it was impossible to relax. What was Nancy doing? Sure, they had hugged before and the occasional times they’ve had to sit closely. Nothing like this had ever occurred, though.

Nancy seemed relaxed and engrossed in the movie. Robin had been side-eyeing her. Meanwhile, Steve continued to act like nothing strange was happening. Although Robin knew that he was fully aware of the situation at hand. The asshole was probably feeling pretty smug currently. Robin would’ve thrown popcorn at his stupid hair if her arm wasn’t already occupied. Despite the growing anxiety, it felt good to have Nancy against her. The girl was warm and small enough that she fit perfectly under her arm. Nancy’s arm that wasn’t wedged between them was laying gently across Robin’s stomach. It was all so...intimate. Robin had no idea what to think of it. This was the closest she had ever been to another girl before. On top of the fact that she had feelings for said girl. 

That thought alone filled her with guilt almost immediately. Nancy was probably used to cuddling up to her girl friends like this, why should Robin be any different. The fact that Robin was a lesbian probably wasn’t even a thought in Nancy’s mind. The girl had taken the news in stride when Robin had slipped up and came out accidentally a month ago. Here Robin was, though, catching feelings for an innocent straight girl. A straight girl who was currently happily tucked into her side. Shit.

Robin stood up abruptly, dislodging Nancy and causing Steve to startle slightly. “Um, I have to pee,” she mumbled out unconvincingly before taking off down the short hallway. When she was finally locked in Steve’s small bathroom she let out a sigh of frustration. It was times like these that she wished she could just be normal. It took another few minutes to calm herself down enough but she knew she had to return to the couch eventually. It would look suspicious if she hid in the bathroom all night. 

When she walked back out into the darkened room, Nancy glanced over at her with an unreadable expression. She quietly sat back down and did her best to avoid the two pairs of eyes that she could feel on her every so often.

Nancy kept her distance for the rest of the night.

________________________________________________________________

A week had passed since the ‘Movie Night incident’, as Steve had dubbed it, and things had only gotten stranger. To Robin’s horror, Nancy had been touchy feely with her every chance she got. Such as, entwining their hands while walking or resting her legs over Robin’s in the car. It was causing Robin to be in constant gay panic mode, which was exhausting to say the least. The more it occurred, the more Steve found it entirely amusing, though. Also, Nancy was always hanging around with them at the Video store. She’d stop in and bring them lunch, even if it was just for a few minutes. It was as if Nancy was doing everything in her power to give Robin a heart attack. 

Despite everything, Robin could only feel herself falling harder for the other girl. It pissed her off. She could barely focus when the other girl was around. Currently, she was trying not to stare as Nancy walked into the store with all the kids trailing behind her. Dustin immediately made a beeline for Steve, who was stocking shelves. The others all screamed over each other about which movie to rent. Will, with his sweetheart face, gave a small wave to Robin as he passed. He would always be her favorite of the bunch. 

“Hey Robin,” Nancy greeted casually, a small smirk on her face. She wore that expression a lot now and Robin couldn’t decipher it to save her life. “Sorry for the midday child tornado. I’m dropping them off at the Byers house but they wanted to stop for movies,” she joked. Robin had to swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat and waved her arm dismissively. 

“Please, it’s been bleak around here anyway. The only person I’ve had to talk to was Dingus,” Robin responded, gesturing over to Steve, who was now surrounded by all the kids. He was probably getting ready to hand them over a movie that they shouldn't be watching at their age. Nancy let out a laugh and stepped forward until she was standing directly in front of Robin.

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Especially when I’m stuck watching Mike while our parents are out,” she spoke and then paused, leaning in a bit more. “Although, I am pretty jealous that he gets to hangout with you all day. Even if you have to deal with customer service.” Robin held her breath as Nancy just kind of stared at her with that same unreadable smirk. Before anything else could transpire between them, Max sprinted through them towards the register. The others followed behind soon after, all yelling about her movie choice. Nancy just rolled her eyes while Robin finally let air into her lungs again. The spell was broken after that as they both made their way over to the, still arguing, group.

Robin didn’t miss Steve making kissy faces at her from behind Nancy’s back. He’d seen the whole exchange.

________________________________________________________________

Another week passed by in much the same fashion. It all came crashing to a sudden halt when Nancy had stopped by the store on a Sunday afternoon. Steve wasn’t scheduled and it was just Robin watching the counter by herself. Nancy had only been there an hour before flustering Robin to her breaking point. 

“Okay!” Robin shouted, causing Nancy to startle and take a step back. They had just finished their coffees that Nancy had gotten them while talking easily. When there was a moment of silence Nancy got that smirk on her face again. The one she’d been sporting constantly the last two weeks. Out of the blue, as if it wasn’t a huge deal, Nancy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You can’t do that! You’re gonna kill me!” Robin continued to rant. She could feel the heat rushing to her face as Nancy just stared at her with wide eyes.

“Do you…um? Do you not have feelings for me?” Nancy asked hesitantly with confusion in her voice.

Robin sucked in a breath of air so forcefully that it made her cough a little. “What!” she wheezed out, grabbing ahold of the counter. Nancy had the decency to look sheepish as she shrugged her shoulders gently.

“I sort of overheard you and Steve talking about me. More specifically that you...liked me. But now I’m realizing I’m an idiot and probably misinterpreted the conversation,” she finished, taking another hesitant step back from Robin. “Oh god, you probably think I’m a freak now.” Robin just continued to stare at the other girl in shock. “You were just trying to be my friend and I was touching you constantly. I am so sorry,” Nancy ranted while waving her hands around anxiously. It was clear she was working herself up into an all out panic attack.

“Wait,” Robin startled, holding her hand up suddenly. “You were flirting with me?” The statement caused Nancy to stop her pacing and look at Robin.

“Well...yeah. Obviously,” she gritted out aggressively and crossed her arms over herself.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Robin yelped back. Nancy just scoffed and let out a bitter laugh.

“Jesus Christ, Robin, you’re really gonna make me say it? Yes...I like you, a lot. You’re funny and caring and I just feel comfortable around you,” Nancy’s words were mumbled out but Robin caught the whole thing.

“Holy shit, Nance,” Robin breathed out in disbelief. The other girl just looked up and glared back at her. With that look, Robin realized what a dumbass she’d been and smiled widely. Before Nancy could comment on it, Robin gathered all her courage and leaned forward to connect their lips. It took a few seconds for Nancy, who was probably confused, to kiss back. They stood there kissing gently while everything else around them faded away. Robin wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, pulling them as close as possible. She could feel Nancy smiling into the kiss. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later the sound of the door chiming broke them apart. Luckily, they were behind a shelf so the visitor couldn’t have seen what they were doing. Robin just rolled her eyes as Steve came strolling around the corner, though. Of course he’d make an appearance even on his day off. When he spotted the two of them he stopped dead in his tracks. It only took a moment for him to take note of Nancy’s blush before he smiled widely. 

“You two look like you’re having fun,” he stated. In the next second he had to dodge Nancy’s swatting hands. Robin couldn’t keep the smile off her face even if she tried.

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Ask:

How would you expect society to differ if I have a modern world but superpowers exist normally? But they exist mostly in minority populations say 20% while 5% in majority population? Would it help with racial disparity and all sorts of stuff like that? How extra hostility due to being more different? Or would it really depend on where in the world? I mean I am writing from an American setting so it means people who are non white are minorities. But what does that mean for say Asian countries? Does it mean 20% Asians living in the US have superpowers while in their own country it's more like 5% for any minority populations there? This is a bit too confusing... anyway I'm Asian and I do want to explore things like racial issues worldwide.

Tex: Folklore and non-monotheistic religions would have much stronger traditions than they do in most of the world now, I believe. We’ve always had a prevalent culture of superpowered individuals, such as Gilgamesh, Heracles, Beowulf, Orpheus, Arjuna, Merlin, and the Pied Piper of Hamelin - the difference was mainly the terminology (i.e. demi-gods, heroes, spirits, etc).

We have answered similar questions before (1, 2, 3), though I can’t say we’ve covered superpowered individuals along ethnic or national lines. If superpowers are more common to one demographic as compared to another, how does that come about? What if the rate of superpowers is highly similar across demographics, but the powers that crop up are different by demographic?

How would laws be developed in response to such a constant of life? Would it be considered contentious, like reproduction and marriage rights? Would it be considered protected, like ethnic minorities in certain countries? How might it differ, culturally, across different countries in how they develop their own laws?

All of this doesn’t necessarily need to reflect current IRL, but it can complement it in unique ways that can bring out the nuances of the issues you’re wishing to write about.

Feral: I’m curious as to how the mechanism of people gaining superpowers works in this world. As soon as a group of a certain ethnicity is in a country in which they are the minority, do superpowers suddenly appear in previously unsuperpowered individuals? And where are we drawing the lines here? Is based on country, nation-state, per 100,000 individuals in a hundred square miles? What about distinct tribes that are settled nearby to each other? And how are we viewing ethnicities and races? In America, a white American girl is in the obvious majority, but what if she is a second generation Polish-American? Is all that matters that she is white and American, but what about her parents and the fact that she was raised in an immigrant household? Does that matter for her chances of being superpowered? What if you are in one of the 55 recognized ethnic minority groups in China? The Zhuang are only minority group consisting of more than 1% of the population - does that negate their minority status comparatively? Or are all 55 ethnicities part of the majority because only the unrecognized ethnic minorities would count? What about those in an unrecognized ethnic group who are classified in census data as Han Chinese making them technically members of the majority? And how does work when you have colonizers? They are physically in the minority even though the majority of power is in their hands.

Personally, I think a world like this would tend towards ethnic homogeneity in any given location. The 5% of the population in each area with superpowers would naturally take political control and would not want their power threatened by allowing other ethnicities to immigrate there or be brought in by means of slavery and others forms of an oppressed minority labor force. Of course, 20% of 0.7% of the population is probably not going to have much effect, which is why this would be a tendency and not strict segregation. There could be a history of warfare and colonization wherein an invading army would hope to gain advantage by being a minority in an area, but assuming superpowers do arise and dissipate instantaneously depending on simply the existence of ethnic groups and not the manifestation of the power they hold, 200 newly superpowered soldiers in 1,000 invading force are still unlikely to be a match for the 5,000 superpowered individuals in 100,000 person local population. So, while the boost in powered individuals would be great once a colonial government is in place, getting there would be difficult to achieve, and that doesn’t take into account whether the mechanism would recognize that a minority group holds majority power.

[kkusuka]

Introductions <3

i literally could not shake this from my mind, and i got ever so slighly carried away.

Fem. reader <3

Relationship:  Rumi Usagiyama (Miruko),  Keigo Takami (hawks) Kai Chisaki (Overhaul) Tomura Shigaraki, Touya Todoroki (Dabi), Kurono Hari x Reader

word count: 4.6k

CW: You and Rumi are dating, mommy kink, slight druging, shiggy calles you pet, breeding, double penn. squirting, FxF, soft miruko, too many creampies, Photography, cum eating, I think that’s it??

let me know what you want to see next <33

It was official, you and Rumi had been dating for a whole nine months! It was so amazing, Rumi seemed to really like you, something you had absolutely not expected when you confessed to her. 

You had known that she had some questionable friends but Rumi never kept you around them for too long, just some spared glances and tight smiles. But that brought you to now, where you were currently making sure everything was perfect to finally officially meet her friends!

You had baked brownies and checked your hair in the mirror at least 100 times, you were just so nervous, you knew first impressions were everything. You tried to cover all of the marks, you practiced your smile in the mirror, you made it as friendly as possible. You wore Rumi’s favorite skirt, it was baby pink and “totally adorable” according to your girlfriend, and a light pink cardigan with a white t-shirt underneath. But what you think made the outfit was the white thigh-highs that adorned your legs, and the little bows on the front. 

Everything was perfect, you were ready!

ఌ

“If any of you hurt her, I’ll kill you” Right now Rumi regretted ever being friends with these people. Well, she mostly regretted that they got her revved up enough to make that stupid bet with Keigo. She would have gladly just introduced them to you but this whole “initiation” bullshit was taking it too far. 

“I'm hurt you would even think I’d do anything to your precious Bunny!” Keigo mocked, he knew what he was doing, they all did. You had every single one of them wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know it. 

“Let’s just hurry up, don’t wanna leave lover girl waiting.” Dabi. “Jeez Tou, I didn't think you would be so excited to see ‘er” 

In character, Touya rolled his eyes and looked away, he wouldn't admit he had been wanting to “meet” for a while now. If the sock under his bed had anything to say about it. The rest of the walk to your house was filled with scattered comments about scenery, Shigaraki’s constant complaints and, Kai and Kurono’s mindless chatter. 

Entering a fairly nice neighborhood about 15 minutes from the school, Rumi declared they had arrived in front of a nice-looking traditional house. “I am going to say this one more time. You will not hurt her, do not say anything weird, and what’s about to happen will never happen again” 

“Yeah whatever, just knock on the door” rolling her eyes Rumi did just that. And within the second the door swung open and a puff of light pink jumped out at their friend. “Umi, you're here!” you were smiling like the sun at your girlfriend. 

“Yeah Bunny we’re here and don’t you look all dolled up” Gross, the two of you looked like you were about to eat each other's faces. 

“Oh! Yes! Um- Come in, we can go, um, to the family room and watch movies! O-only if you want to though, w-we can do other things too, i-if you want” you had managed to stutter out before Rumi guided you into the house before you could say anything more embarrassing, “that sounds great Baby, let's go” shooting the boys a pointed look, a warning, they followed the two of you through the house.

You were practically shaking and you didn't know if it was from excitement or nerves, but whatever it was, you would have to get over it somehow. Just like you expected, they were scary. Each of them practically towers over you, and even if they didn't, they all had the most intimidating aura you’ve ever felt. 

After getting settled, and answering Kai’s questions about cleanliness, you made the best attempt at an introduction you could; “Um, hello I’m (f/n) (l/n). It’s really really nice to meet you guys!” really really? Great now you sound like an idiot. And they probably think the chuckles around the room said anything. 

You were broken out of your hand by a hand grabbing yours, and a voice speaking up awfully close to your ear, “Aw baby bird you are just too cute! Keigo Takami at your service now and always” the voice purred, he was, so close. You could smell his cologne like it was straight from the bottle. To say that you were beet red was a true understatement. When you were about to try and stutter something out, two hands grabbed your waist and pulled you into another hard chest.

And before you knew it a head was in the crook of your neck, “Stop it bird brain you're probably scaring the poor little girl. No worries Little mouse, Touya’s got you now” with this new angle you could see Keigo better, and blonde hair and was he wearing eyeliner? But mostly, he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world. Which in turn made you even redder. But your staring contest with the man was cut short when you were pushed into someone's lap. 

“Tomura Shigaraki” was quickly muttered, “Shigaraki” not even looking at you before placing you next to him on the couch. You took the opportunity to look at Touya, dark spiked hair and piercing blue eyes, if he didn't have the scars you would have believed he walked straight out of a magazine. Tomura, still not looking at you, had curled into himself, immediately making you feel bad, for what? You had no clue. So, you placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke whatever came to mind, “Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you right?” 

This seemed to have the opposite effect on the teenage boy because he had curled further into himself but managed to stutter out a no. You were about to apologize, thinking you had injured the poor boy somehow when a gloved hand encased yours, lightly detaching it from the other boy. Following the gloved hand to an arm, with a rolled-up long-sleeve button-up shirt, to a neck with a tie neatly resting on his chest, to a masked face and golden eyes. 

“You're really pretty.” Oh god. You-you said that out loud to his face. You had to apologize-” I mean, your lower lashes are perfect.” That is not what you meant to say, he was going to kill you, Rumi was going to kill you. Instead of wiping you from existence, like you knew he probably could, he just raised a brow whilst everyone else in the room busted into laughter. 

“Thank you, Angel, But my name is Kai Chisaki.” He had a pretty voice too, god you needed to stop thinking like right now. And now a new round of laughter had begun, “I said that aloud didn’t I? God, I’m sorry, you probably rhino I’m weird, I’m really sorry” You were embarrassed if you could call it that, you were practically melting. 

You were panicking, they don't like you anymore, they were laughing at you, you were putting Umi to shame, and now you're going to break up and- “Bunny. Bunny it’s ok, you are just being too cute right now. All I need to know is that you still think I’m the cutest” Rumi still liked you, and you must have missed the transition into her lap, where you were now located. “Of course you’re still the cutest Umi, am I still the cutest?” 

“Always baby, now you’ve got one more person to meet, bee a good bunny for me now, ok?” Shifting you in her lap you faced the last of the group, a boy next to Chi (your new nickname for him). He was pretty too- you just didn't blurt it out this time, instead, you waved. He reacted with a light chuckle, it was pretty too, and telling you his name was Kurono Hari. 

“Alright, now that that’s over with,” Touya reached in his bag and pulled out two bottles of vodka, “let's get this initiation started” 

ఌ

The room was spinning. You could hear the boys and Rumi laughing but you were too buzzed to listen. More importantly, you felt hot, specifically down there. You had felt this before, you knew it. Oh! It was when you and Umi-Umi were alone in your bedroom! She made it go away then, that meant she could make it go away now! 

You managed to get yourself up from whoever's lap you were sitting on, Tomura if you were to guess from the whine when you moved his arm. Standing up was a slight challenge, your legs shaking and you almost let out a moan. Placing down your cup on the coffee table that was covered in beer cans and plastic cups, you didn't even realize that everyone in the room had shifted their focus to you. 

Stumbling over to your girlfriend you fell into her lap and nuzzled yourself into a straddle position so you were face to face. Within the second Rumi began to rub little circles into your hip, making you even hotter. “What’s the matter bunny? Is something wrong?” She was such a good girlfriend, always looking out for you, she would surely help you, you just knew it. 

“Umi-Umi I feel hot. Like the time in my room? Do you remember that? When my parents weren’t home and you made the ache go away? Places, please do it again! I feel so so hot.” You began to ramble continuing until Tomura, said something that sounded funny to you (well everything sounded funny right now) “I told you it would work, you just had to give it some time” 

What needed time to work? As quick as you could you look back to Rumi, she seemed to know exactly what you wanted to know, she shifted a bit under you and began, ‘Alright bunny listen to me, ok baby focus on me. God, you look so pretty, ok? Listen, they wanted to try something with you, you’ll like it I promise, Mommy will be with you all the way, but Mommy lost a bet to her stupid friends and she is very sorry, but they won’t do anything you don't like, Ok? Tell Mommy how you feel.” Lost a bet? What did they want? They seemed nice, it wouldn't be that bad, and you had to make Rumi proud, you were being so good and you had to keep that up!

“Yes” 

“Yes what, Bunny.” 

“Yes Mommy, I'll be oh so very good for everyone!” That made her happy! She was proud of you! But the two of you were snapped out of your little bubble when Keigo, you think it’s Keigo, began to chuckle, “Mommy, really?” Yes, that was Keigo. 

“Shut it chicken wing or you won't get to go.” well Mi-Mi sure knew how to shut him up, and Touya who was laughing along with him shit up too, which made you giggle. By pattern, it made all their attention turn back to you. 

“Well strip her now, we don't have the rest of eternity!” Tomura impatiently shouted out. Strip that seemed fun!

“Shut it crusty,” As soon as the bitter remark left her lips, Rumi turned to you, softening to ask if you needed her help to get out of your skirt. No! You would do it yourself like a big girl. Well, that was until you couldn't figure how to undo the buttons, yeah maybe you did need her help after all. And she knew that waving you over with her pointer finger, she giggled and pulled you into a spot where she could undo the button. 

You did manage to take your blouse, white shirt, and bra off by yourself, instinctively turning to Rumi, and she looked so proud of you! That means you were being good! But when you turned back to the boys, they looked like they wanted to eat you, but it didn't scare you like you thought it would, in fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect, sending jolts of heat down to your core. 

Next, you want to take off your thigh highs being almost immediately stopped by a voice “No little mouse, you're keeping those on.” 

“Yes sir” whoa, (y/n) where did that come from, but it didn't matter because Touya seemed to like it, and that made you happy. 

“Calm down, I’m still going first, you still have to wait your turn, Angel? Come here.” Kai’s beautiful voice called, shifting your attention to the other side of the room to the couch where he currently sat with Hair (he insisted you call him that, so you just began to call everyone by their first name). As much as you wanted to obey the command immediately, you had to ask Rumi for permission, as a good bunny does. But before you even opened your mouth, as she does, Umi read your mind. “Go bunny listen to him” and that you did. 

While walking to him, Kai unhooked the mask that sat on his face, placed it to his side, and eyed you, it felt like he was burning holes through you. You stopped right before him and he motioned for you to kneel before him, like a real king! Cutting you from your thought was Kai’s smooth voice asking if you’ve ever taken a cock in your little hole before. 

The answer was no. Rumi was your first girlfriend and well, she was a girl. As you let him know just that! He retired your statement with a small smirk and a hand on your cheek, which you leaned into. “Alright Angel, can you tell me how many fingers you've ever had in your little pussy? And call me Sir or Master, it's respectful” You were going to melt if he kept this up. 

“O-only four, Sir'' you couldn't look away from him, or how perfect his eyebrow looked when he raised it in question. “Oh? And how many up your ass?” while asking his thumb had reached your lips pulling on the bottom one, “No-no fingers sir, b-but sometimes I put a “plug” thingy that looks like a bunny tail in for Rumi, and don’t tell her I told you but sometimes a take it and do it without her knowing, but you can’t tell her I said that.” 

That seems to do the trick, before he spoke he reached down and grabbed you by the waist and lifted you onto his lap, then spoke “Your secret is safe with me angel, now can you do me a favor? I need you to unzip the zipper on my pants and pull my boxers down, ok?” You could do that, and so you did!

After pulling it down, you saw his...thing. It was standing tall, and the tip was oozing white liquid, were they all this big? “Is that going in me? I-i don't think it’ll fit.” that gained more than a few laughs, “Oh it’ll fit, Angel. Now-” he placed a gloved hand on your panties, and both the glove and your panties disappeared, but his glove returned a second later. 

All of them were looking at your lower lips, you could feel it, someone (Tomura, you think) had even let out a moan, “Well angel, it looks like you're already wet enough, so we’ll get right to it. can you please take my cock and line it up with your hole?” He sounded so soft and gentle, you just couldn't ignore it, you didn't think you could speak, deciding to just nod instead. But Kai didn't seem to like that. “Answer me, Angel, can you?” placing five fingers on your hip, just as a reminder to do as he asks. “Yes Master, I can.” That made it all better, but he did move his other hand onto your other hip, caging you in. 

Doing as he said you took his cock in your hand and tried to line up the tip with your hole as perfectly as you possibly could, following his next command seemed a bit more challenging, “I want you to sink all the way down ok? Your clit should touch my hip, Yes Angel?” After your respectful response, you tried to get it in, and it didn't work! No, no, no! You were doing so well and now this? 

At this point you were on the verge of tears, it just won't go in. “Bunny dear, let Mommy help you out, Ok? You’re doing so well ok?” Umi! She grasped Kais cock and moved under you to get a better view of your pink lips. She spread them out and began to press you down onto him. Just like magic, she made Kai’s cock go in! She let go when the tip was fully embraced by your gummy walls. “You gotta do all the rest honey.” and just like that, she moved back to her chair. 

Deciding you needed something to hold onto, you looked towards Hari, “Can I hold your hand please?” He just looked at you before offering his hand to you, you're sure you heard someone “awing” on the other side of the room but you were too focused on sinking down Kai’s dick. 

When you finally had all of him nestled in your insides, just how he commanded, you looked your head back and let the loudest moan, probably ever, out. Kai didn’t even seem to notice, he was busy being entranced by the images of where the two of you were connected. You did however pick up on the conversation that was happening between the two boys on the other couch. 

“Yo, Shig, you got that right, please tell me you have that” 

“I got to agree with Birdbrain here, please tell me you're still recording” 

“Jeez, yes yes, I got it I got it” 

“Eye’s back on me Angel. I’m going to move now.” and doing that he did, lifting you all the way to his tip, he let you drop onto him, extracting a tight gasp from you. It. was. Bliss! Over and over again he bounced you on his cock, until you were bouncing on your own like a madwoman, gaining whistles and praises from the other men in the room. 

“Say how good you feel Angel, tell me how much you like getting fucked so well in front of your Mommy and her friends like a street whore, tell your Master how good he’s making you feel, go on, say your a street whore beg to cum..” Kai all bit growled at you, you couldn't ignore the command if you tried. “S-so-so, good Master. I’m a good street whore, a-and I like being fucked, and I-i've been so good please let me cum-please, please” after that you began to blubber out whatever you possibly could. Plea’s for him to let you cum, begging for your Mommy to let you cum, and seconds later Kai gave you the go-ahead and you wasted no time, immediately seeing stars. 

Coming down from your high, you realized two things. One; Kai was still hard, ready, and in you. Two; Hari was now behind you on the couch spreading your ass and rubbing small circles around your tightest hole. “W-wait, it won't go in!” Soft chuckles were the only response you got to the exclamation. Ever so slowly Hari thrusts a finger into your hole, then another, and began to scissor them in an attempt to stretch you a bit. 

“Are you alright Angel? Be honest.” Kai commanded. 

“It-it hurts a bit.” 

“Ok, I’ll make you feel better.” With that he began rubbing small, calculated circles around your clit, which did ease the pain of Hari beginning to put his tip in. it took about two more minutes for you to be completely filled with both their cocks. You felt so amazingly stretched out, they filled you so well. 

It became even more overwhelming when they began to time their thrusts. When Kai pushed in you Hari pulled out, making sure one cock was always hitting one of your sweet spots, and they did it well. And they clearly knew it from the way you would moan with every thrust. 

“You sound so pretty Baby, do we really make you feel that good?” Hari cooed in your ear, reaching around to circle your nipples, when Kai added in a quick “You clench every time we got a sweet spot Angel, you're being so good for us.” 

As their orgasms approached the thrusts got slightly erratic, and they lost their perfect timing, which made you fall over the edge, entering your second orgasm of the night. 

As you spasmed on their cocks they began to fill you with spurts of white, filling you up with their cum. 

Basking in your post-orgasmic glow, you didn't even realize you had been moved to where Tomura was sitting. He already had you on your back, legs spread, displaying both of your holes to him. 

Not saying a word he took out his cock and slammed it into your used hole but because of your sensitivity, it had hurt just a bit. Making your discomfort known, you whined and tried to bend your legs away from his grasp. Pushing your legs back open he ignored Rumi's yelling about letting go because he was hurting you. 

“If you can do it for those assholes, you can be a good breeding cow for me too, understand?” he didn't even wait for you to answer, he just began to pound into you like a mad man. 

He was grunting and growling, pushing you into the mating press, only to stop and completely pull out, garnering a whine from you. He shut you up by pushing two fingers inside your weaving hole and scooping cum out and bringing them to your face. 

“Open” he commanded, following the order he shoved his cum-covered fingers wiping them over your tongue, “keep your mouth open and don’t swallow. Be a good pet and let me breed you.” 

You never thought Toumra would be so commanding during sex, but right now the only thing you could think of was his cock hitting your g-spot over and over bringing your orgasm rapidly closer. 

“To-Tomura, please so so close, let me cum, need it so badly please” is what you wanted to say, but considering the mouthful of cum you had and the fact that you couldn't even think past his cock, all that came out were blabs of pleases and cries of pleasure. 

He was close, you could feel it in his thrusts. Reacting to your desperate attempt begging to cum tomura laughed, “You can cum when I cum pet. Just a little longer and you’ll be filled again, just be patient.” 

You were crying at that point, you were so so close, and then finally! You felt his specks of cum in your womb! Finally, you could cum, but there was something different about this one, it felt bigger. You didn't know what it meant until your world turned black. 

Coming back everyone in the room was staring straight at you like you had grown a second head. You were confused until Touya yelled. 

“Usagiyama! You didn’t tell us she could fucking squirt! And the shithead of all people made her do it!” 

While he was speaking, he came over and grabbed you and impaled you on his aching cock. “You're gonna do that again, Ok? I don't care if I have to fuck you for hours.” 

“No, Touya, you're going to be nice to her” Rumi growled back at the Black haired boy. Earning a glare from him in response. 

At that point, you were too fucked out to do anything other than subconsciously bouncing on Touya’s cock earning a laugh from him. “Look! Look! She’s already bouncing and I haven't even done anything yet, damn Rumi you've been dating a cockwhore this entire time” the insult gave you the motivation you make this the best sex Touya will ever receive!

And you did, placing your hands on his shoulders you used them as leverage to bounce harder, at some point he had shoved his head into your breasts and began to shake his head in between them. Biting at some points to conceal his moans. 

Reaching down to your clit, he whispered permission to cum, which you gladly accepted, and in the process, you managed to milk him dry after biting the pressure point where his shoulder met his neck. 

As soon as Touya was done cumming, you were swooped up into soft feathers and were met with a smirking face. “Are you ready for the ride of your life Babybird?” Yes, God yes you were so so ready, but couldn't manage to mutter a word, but he understood what you wanted to say through your pleading eyes.  

Standing you on the floor Keigo kneeled you by the coffee table and bent you directly over it, leaning back to gain a better look at your dripping holes. Deciding he can't just look at it once he reached on the table to grab his phone to snap a quick picture, receiving multiple commands for him to send it to them in return. 

Setting his phone down, began to massage your ass, moving to your lower thighs, before asking if you were ready, to which you mustered up a quick nod. With your permission he slammed his entire length into your pussy, gaining a moan and a few more tears. Bending over he reached to hold your hand and continued like that for some time before pulling your upper body smashing it so your back was to his chest giving everyone else a view of your breasts bouncing. 

Throwing your head back onto his shoulder, Keigo leaned down and began to suck hickeys into your shoulder. Continuing like this until both of you came in a whirl of moans for each other and overstimulation. You leaned back into his warm embrace before Rumi came and picked you up onto her previous chair. She kneeled in front of you and spread open your legs.

“Before I do this, does anyone want a picture?” every single one of them scrambled to get their phones and snap a picture of your overstimulated cum stuffed holes. “You all done now,” you knew that tone Rumi wanted you to herself for a bit. Receiving nods from the boys, now back in their spots on the couches. 

She quickly grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around her head, latching her mouth onto your quivering hole, and began to suck as much cum out as he could before removing her head and kissing you. Making you eat all of the men's cum batch after batch. When she was finally finished getting every last drop of semen out of you, she grabbed a soft, damp towel and gently wiped you down. Kissing you all over earning giggles and soft moans from you. 

After she was all down, Rumi picked you up and wrapped you around her body, placing small kisses on the side of your jaw and lips. 

“Rumi. I’m tired” 

“Ok, Bunny, That’s ok, you can sleep now” she gentle mumbled back gaining obnoxious “aw’s” from your audience. 

ఌ

“I don't know about you guys, but we have to do that again” 

All the head’s nod, including your lovely girlfriends. 

[theredsuzuran]

Muzan x reader ~ Lily [pt 2]

Took me forever to complete this song fanfiction, wouldn't have been possible if my friend didn't help, thanks to him. Please check out the first part to understand it better. Here.

Warning : abusive themes, mention of blood and gore.

Enjoy

She knew she was hypnotized.

The sound of a loud slap echoed throughout the room, your father who was furious about your escape have just hit you hard on your face infront of everyone, including the servants. On other hand your mother holding your father's arm tightly to prevent him from hitting you any further.

"Get away, you callous women, it is for you that she tried to run away, you should be ashamed of yourself", he shouted, shoving off your mother roughly onto the tatami floor.

"This is wrong, the Gods will punish us", she murmured under her breath making muffle sounds, your father dissatisfied by her futile attempts of protests turns his attention away from you to hit her right in the stomach with his bare fist in pure fury, making her scream in agony coughing out mucus. Your mother being a fragile women of timid personality, rarely talked to anyone let alone protest or stand up against vile play, always seen behind the shoji doors praying to the gods and chanting prayers, constantly intimidated. Witnessing your father abusing her inhumanely infront of her children, family members as well as the servants, evoked a sense of rebellion inside of you.

"Don't hit my mother, you are angry because of me hit me instead, as much as you like, but not her", you growled furiously at your father, making your mother jolt towards your direction as she shook her head violently.

"Stay away from this brat", he said apatheticly, disappointment hinted in his voice turning his head away from you once again in utter disgust. Receiving such cold treatments from your father made your heart shattered in pieces. Then, your uncle step up.

"Take her to the room and increase the guards, this shall not happen again", your father ordered the servants which was immediately followed without any hesitation or delay before you could protest you were taken away. However you wonder why did your mother reacted that way?

__

As the time passed by, you grew up to be an elegant lady mostly within the confinement of four walls, while pushing down all the jovial moments deep into the unconsciousness... your mind engulfed with the thoughts of your demise. It was getting harder and harder each day for you to keep your sanity intact. A constant state of melancholy always prevailed within your aura, even your own shadow seem deceitful.

Walking on cold thin nights

Then the night of that cursed full moon occurred. You glanced at the starry night from the now open window of your cell with your souless (e/c) eyes. Succumbing towards the void of eternal darkness. Heaven knows what grave sin you might have committed to receive such heavy punishments. As you were busy getting drowned in your own thoughts the shoji door slightly opened and the maids rushed inside your room one by one with cloths and accessories in their arm.

"It's time m'lady" the head maid bowed respectfully infront of you, then motioned the other maids to help you get ready. You could feel them pitying you, sympathizing the miserable state you're in. You simply nodded and get up to dress for your deathbed. At this point you didn't care much you just want it to get over soon, trailing off in the sea of your own distorted thoughts.

You approached your family to bid farewell before heading towards the palanquin. Everyone wishpering behind your back something that they are not allowed to speak infront of you. That didn't bother you anways but you wish you could atleast see your mother for the last time. Is it that hard for a mother to witness her daughter's departure that she needs to constantly hide indoors avoiding her like plague?

A herd of maids accompany you as your bridesmaid to mount Akakura. The norimono stopped infront of a shrine. The bitter cold outside and the solemn atmosphere made it difficult for you to enter through the main gates. All of them left at once after escorting you inside the shrine. While you sat there facing the kami observing the interior, The light of the lamp beside you flickering slowly. The shrine was enormous filled with shofisticated designs, paintings and detail descriptions of the great folklore of Japan. Gods like susanoo killing Yamamoto no orochi in order to restore peace, you were completely lost admiring the aesthetics of the shrine.

But then it broke,

Did she awoke again?

"This is not what we were expecting", you felt a strong gust of wind behind your back as if something was breathing behind your back, you could feel saliva dripping over your expensive uchikake and to your exact horror was standing your living nightmare, a disfigured seven headed monster signifying those of a dragon and a serpent hovering on top of you covering almost the entire shrine glancing directly at your fragile figure with pure malice and hunger.

"Nay, certainly not, she's not one of them, fufu", another head cooed grinning creepily. You looked at them with utter confusion, raising your head slightly to look over that hideous thing above you.

"What do you mean?", Asking almost frustrated, your voice still shaking.

"Oh", the head at the centre replied, his voice calm and steady, facing you with it's long wide neck, his eyes glowing dangerously, inches away from your face, breath stinking of something you'd probably not keen to know as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I fear mortal, but you are not blood-related to any of the seven maidens we have devoured so far", you were taken aback. Not related? You were bewildered, unable to process the new set of information displayed before you, fresh stream of tear forming in the corner of your eyes.

"No, you are lying", You snapped at them angrily.

"What a clueless human, what do we gain by that?", The head in the left hissed irritatedly.

The ground beneath you seem to slide open whereas the sky above began to crumble. For eighteen years you have been raised by people who are not even blood related to you but most importantly they were using you to save themselves, you stood their perplexed, overwhelmed with the new reality. How cruel can people become? An urge to confront your parents came in demanding for an explanation, about their selfish lies, for hiding your true identity, stealing your childhood and a chance to live a normal life. Now that perfectly made sense why your mother always prayed to the Gods for forgiveness, barely talking to you or look in your eyes and why your father is so detached towards you and not your siblings. They were never your own and you were never there's.

"Those human thought they could deceive us, we will kill them", head to the left spoke.

"No, not so soon, they might have deceived us but the girl lying below us is a marechi, no no no we cannot let her go" the main head chuckled darkly, showing its true nature all of them at once looked at you with their protruding eyes, as you shut your eyelids for the worse accepting your misfortune, a heated argument broke among the seven heads.

"You have eaten all the seven women previously, I will have this one" the right head hissed, accompanied by other heads, all of them screaming and cursing at each other. You notice the unlocked gate it must have been open since the demon arrived. It was your golden chance to escape, as they were busy fighting, you took advantage of the situation, slowly crawling your way towards the entrance of the shrine . They seem to not notice you trailing off their sight.

"Stop fighting with one another, we all are literally the same, anyone of us eating her would be enough to make us stronger and please that man", the head at the center erupted fuming with anger.

"She's gone, she's gone", one of the head shouted. Indeed you were missing the only thing left was the wataboshi you wore on top.

Then she ran faster than-

You ran through the dense forest lifting your kimono, the smell of fresh air hitting your nostrils, the feeling of nostalgia came back as you can finally taste that long lost freedom you constantly craved for since forever but unfortunately that didn't last long. As you were running blindly you could feel something gigantic chasing from behind. Being too frantic you stumble and fell onto the ground your leg getting caught in the fabric of your kimono in the process.

Start screaming, "Is there someone out there?"

Please help me

Come get me

"You thought you can ran away from us? What a foolish human", the sound of loud laughter resonated through out the woods. The demon wrapped its tale around your waist squeezing you tightly in attempt to crush your defenseless body lifting you up opening its mouth to shove you inside.

Behind her she can hear it say-

"Let go of me!" You screamed on top of your lungs, a last desperate attempt to exist. When out of the blue a large mascular tentacles flew towards your direction cutting the tail swiftly in a blink of an eye, releasing you from its bone breaking grip but instead of crashing against the ground, you were caught by a pair of strong masculine arm. You looked up in disbelief. A familiar fair male in texudo emerged, his flawless features shining underneath the moonlight coming through the branches.

"Muzan..."

"We met again (y/n), I hope am not too late", he smiled at you gazing softly. Tears came rolling down your cheeks as you cannot believe was it real or just a dream.

History always seem to find it's way of repeating itself.

His previous soft look instantly changed to that of a menacing one as he trailed his glance towards the disfigured monster.

"Crouch down and lower your heads", all the seven heads bow down infront of the demon lord, Cowering with fear at once as if they were struck by lightning.

"Pardon my lord, we didn't realize you have arrived before us or else-", the demon yelped immediately like a lost puppy.

"Who gave you the permission to speak?" Muzan replied indignantly, his eyes glowing threateningly at the petrified creature. You knew he was a demon but you were unaware that he held such authority making a powerful demon like Akai that supposedly haunts the mountain for centuries to lower his head in terror on his command. What was unknown to you that he infact was the progenitor of these morbid creatures.

How ironic being saved by none other but a demon.. being first of his kind.

"Have mercy, my lord" the demon begged, while one of his head thought why's he saving that human girl?

"Why am I saving that human girl? Go ahead, continue", muzan narrowed his eyes making the demon quivered with shock. He can read my mind?

"What makes you answer my authority?" The demon lord demanded furiously, veins popping out from his head.

"Beings like you should not be allowed to exist" with that said, his one arm stretched, injecting a sharp blade into the creature allowing his blood to overflow, creating chaos in the demonic cells of that creature eventually turing it into a pile of molten flesh.

It's over, the nightmares. Fresh tears rolled down your face, mixed with all sorts of emotions, the tables have turned, the heavens seems to have listen to your prayers. A pair of large hands cupped your face breaking you from the chain of thoughts

Follow everywhere I go

"Why are you still crying, dear?" Muzan replied with his smooth, monotonous voice, removing his hand as he placed you gently on the surface. His mood changed in a matter of seconds, you wonder how much more he was capable of doing beside that but brushing aside those feelings of negativity you moved closer.

"Took you long enough" engulfing him in a tight hug, startling him in the process. The idea of being intimate with a lowly creature was good enough to make him puke in disgust. How can a mortal like you have the audacity to touch the all mighty kibutsuji Muzan? He believed himself to be above everything even viewing his own subordinates as puppets of his play. His twisted sense of morality speaks that affection holds a person from attaining superiority and is a sign of weakness, the more ruthless and cold hearted the more close you are to perfection. He shows no value to people who possess such emotions which he is foreign to. Your vulnerability makes him want to ripped you to shreds, torment you and break your mind, yet he finds himself at ease. It was hard for him to admit that his pride was hurted against someone so delicate and somehow he felt those feelings of warmth to be tolerable with you, even to the extent of craving it.

After a while, a sudden realization hit your senses as you parted from the tight embrace, your (s/c) countenance painted with dark shades of red, averting your gaze from the demon. The moon shone brightly above you exhibiting your breathtaking beauty just like a piece of art. The way your shiny (h/c) locks fell over your smooth skin, the way your pulm lips parted to speak and the way your eyes sparked with adoration, was enough to drive him insane. From the very moment he laid his eyes upon you, he knew a masterpiece like you belonged only to the epitome of perfection. He will do anything to keep you to himself.

Top over the mountains or valley low.

"(Y/n), you have a very rare blood, a marechi" said muzan, as you recall the conversation you had with the demon in the shrine saying something similar on this note.

Give you everything you been dreaming of

"What's with that muzan?" You asked curiously, to which muzan's tone changed into that of a viscous one.

"Its a great meal for demons", silence broke out as you were too shock to say anything. Muzan knew he can take advantage of that situation and mould you the way he desires.

"(Y/n) are you scared of me?"

"No", you replied almost immediately with no hesitation.

"Do you trust me?" He questioned again looking at you directly with his glowing ruby orbs. Beginning his sick games of manipulation.

"Yes I do, with all my life, you are the only one who saved my life not once but twice, you cared so much for me when no one did" you paused.

"Beside my mother"

Just let me in, ooh

"Your family abandoned you, when you needed them the most" he replied creating doubts about inside of you, making you back off a little towards a tree.

"My mother was helpless" you answered.

"They used you for their own benefit", pinning you against the tree, he whispered venom into your ears. The proximity between you two, send shivers down your spine. Seeing you helpless excited him, making him determined to claim you even more.

Everything you want in gold, I'll be the magic story you have been told.

"How do you k-know?" You trembled, gasping your mouth and before you could lift your hands to cover your face muzan held your hands into his bigger ones looking directly in your eyes.

"Tell me (y/n) am I wrong?", you knew he wasn't although it didn't make sense.

"No.." is all you replied, satisfied with your answers muzan proceeded into the next step.

And you will safe under my control.

"I want to keep you safe, (y/n)", he moved closer to your face.

"You and I shall rule the world"

"I don't know muzan"

"No one can harm you ever again"

"But-"

"Don't you want to be free?"

Free? That's what you have been wanting for so long, freedom. He made you believe that you can be a boundless bird stretching its wings in the infinite magnitude. All of your doubts stopped growing from then and there, muzan knew he has struck the right cord, creating a ray of false hope about your vision of a perfect free world, thereby controlling your perception just like a predator luring his victims with lies. Seems as if you were destined to be deceived.

"Yes" you replied hypnotized by his convincing.

"Then become a demon"

Just let me in, ohh

Muzan moved his hand across your face caressing it gently, his face inches apart from yours, as his lips crashed against yours. For someone who recoiled from physical touch, to be felt loved by something that isn't supposed to be God's creation. A warm feeling crept inside of your chest as it was pressed against his. Feeling your joint heartbeats.

I never bothered to feel my chest for a heart beat, now I do. As I looked down to see my hand moving towards my face, the slimy red droplet broke away, disconnecting our lips. Demon? This man who gave me this new life? His eyes, so calm and fiery, How can I feel such duality? I lifted my other hand, without knowing it went to his chest, On his chiseled chest, there. You thought.

"A demon?" You replied with your now quivering lips turning your face away with embarrassment, realizing your lips connected with burning passion. Your eyes teared up you know not why, to be embraced by one who was supposed to be cold, to be embraced by someone who stood against armies through out time, you wanted to be with him.

"you will be", said muzan, as you felt your consciousness fading away, you know now why... Why all of them follow him, despite the abuse..Despite the sacrifices... you know now why your body moved craving for his touch although you could feel your throat burning yet it didn't matter, the warm embrace is all that you wanted.

That night you abandoned your humanity.

[let-it-raines]

What a Lie We’re In (3/3)

Summary: All Emma was doing was trying to be nice. Her roommate didn’t have anywhere to go, so she invited him home for the holidays. She thought it would be fine and Killian would be a good buffer for a week at home with her parents. That is until her ex-boyfriend showed up, and while she was freaking out, Killian told him they were dating.

That would have been fine except her parents overheard it.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I had such a fun time writing this trope-filled, ridiculous story, and you all have made it better with your excitement over it! I was not expecting that at all, and it’s been a fun ride! I hope you enjoy this last chapter! 🎄❤️

Ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: One | Two | Three

-/-

Oh my God.

Like, oh my freaking God.

Emma groans. Or at least she thinks she does. She can’t hear much of anything over the pounding of her heart and the hissing steam coming out of her ears like an angry animated character.

Seriously, Mom. Seriously. What the hell?

“No,” Emma manages to say, pulling back from Killian. She snatches her hands away from his chest and moves her lips from his mouth, but the bastard still has his hand planted on her ass, keeping her pressed against him on the kitchen table.

Oh shit. She was just about to sleep with Killian on the kitchen table where she did her homework growing up, where she has breakfast with her family.

She was just about to sleep with Killian.

What the hell is wrong with her? Did she take medication she’s not aware of because this is...this is definitely not her.

(Or it is, but she doesn’t want to admit it.)

“Yes,” Killian mutters seconds after her. “Yes, you were.”

She gapes at him and then slaps his chest, and he glances away from her mom to look at her, eyebrows raised and slightly swollen lips smirking at him. It makes her realize her face is sensitive from the scratch of his beard, and she reaches up to touch her mouth.

What is she doing? What has she done?

Emma shakes her head. “What are you doing down here? You and Dad went to bed.”

“Um,” her mom hums, switching her feet, “I was going to get some water, but I don’t need it now. I’ll go back to bed and see you two in the morning. Happy Christmas Eve, Emma. Killian. Goodnight.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, ma’am,” Killian says back. Emma doesn’t think she can speak anymore, especially when Killian’s hand is still on her ass.

Emma was buzzing earlier tonight. That is long gone.

She watches as her mom walks away, the old stairs giving away her movements, and even when all the noise begins to disappear, Emma finds her feet planted in the same place they were. That has to stop.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, pulling back from Killian enough that they’re separated. “Oh my God. What the hell?”

Emma starts pacing, her hands tugging on her hair, and she really, really wants to scream at the top of her lungs right now despite knowing that would be a bad idea. The last thing she needs is her dad waking up and coming downstairs to find her in the state she’s in. The state Killian’s in too. His pants are ridiculously tight, and they don’t hide much.

Holy crap, she did that.

“Emma, love,” Killian begins, and she does a horrible job at ignoring how destroyed his voice sounds, “that was – ”

Emma spins around to look at him. “A one-time thing,” she finishes. “We can’t do that again. We’re tipsy, we’re not thinking straight. We just need…what we need is to get ready for bed and sleep it off. Tomorrow is Christmas, and then we’ll be going home early the next day. They’ll be no more of this idiotic putting on a show for my parents, and we’ll get back to thinking like rational people. Agreed?”

He looks down before looking at her. “Aye, agreed.” Killian stands from the table and brushes past her. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a cold and bracing shower. Feel free to finish making your hot cocoa.”

He walks out of the room, and Emma is left in the kitchen staring at everything spread out across the counter and the now-cooled milk sitting in the pan on the stove. Her body is still on edge, desire a permanent fixture deep in her belly, but she refuses to think about any of that. She had her little moment of fun, and now it’s gone. She’s back to just trying to survive this time at home before she gets to go back to Boston and try to survive her time there as well.

What an awesome recurring theme for her life.

Emma puts away all the hot chocolate ingredients, pouring the milk down the drain and rinsing off the pan before she turns off all the lights downstairs and walks upstairs. Killian is in the bathroom, so she strips out of her dress in her room and quickly changes into some pajamas she bought today on their way to the play. That dress was freezing last night, and she needed something that covered a lot more of her skin since she still hasn’t managed to get around to washing her clothes.

She’s so glad she did that now.

She makes do with makeup remover wipes, hoping her skin forgives her for one night of not washing her face, and she does the same with her toothpaste, rubbing it on her teeth with her finger. She could wait until Killian gets out of the shower, but since she knows exactly what he’s doing in there, she’d rather just deal with the cards she’s been dealt and go to bed. That way she doesn’t have to see him or talk to him for the rest of the night. It’ll be better that way. There will be fewer opportunities for her to mess everything up.

Emma turns her ceiling fan off, hating the way it creaks when it spins, and gets under the covers, pulling them up and basking in how warm her bed is. She needs to invest in one of these mattress heaters back in Boston because damn, this is great.

She’s comfortable, tired, still a little tipsy despite her mom’s interruption sobering her, and on any other night, she’d easily be able to fall asleep. Tonight, her mind has decided to run a marathon in record-setting time.

Seriously. What’s wrong with her? Why would she do this? Why is she always making dumb decisions like this? It’s got to be a medical condition at this point, and whatever pills she needs to go on to make it stop, Emma is willing to sign up.

Why would she kiss Killian?

He was the one who started it, sure. She was going to make them hot chocolate even if it was her third mug of the day, and they were probably just going to chill on the couch and find a movie to watch like they’d been doing most of the day. Then Killian came up to her and pressed up against her. He was so warm and smelled fantastic, and when he ran his nose against her ear, Emma could have melted.

She doesn’t melt over guys. Nope. She is not that type of girl. She is not freaking Frosty the Snowman.

It’s a physical attraction. That must be it. She knows he’s hot, she knows he thinks she’s hot, and it’s not something they’ve necessarily denied all this time. There are always jokes and little looks and a hell of a lot of teasing moments, but it’s never been anything deeper than that.

More importantly, they’ve never acted on any of it.

Tonight was just a blip on the radar, the one-time thing like she said, and when they get home, everything will be normal. This week and all of its weirdness will be forgotten. If not, she’s going to have to go sleep on Ruby and Dorothy’s couch.

The bedroom door slides open, a sliver of light from the hallway coming in with Killian, and Emma closes her eyes. She tries not to move, to fall asleep, but she’s aware of every one of Killian’s steps as he closes the door behind him and gets into the bed. He shifts a little, but other than that, he stays far enough away that she can barely feel the heat of his body.

Good. He can stay far away, and Emma can get a peaceful night’s sleep.

-/-

Emma doesn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep.

Not even close.

She never really drifts off. Instead, it’s this constant almost. She almost falls asleep all night long, but instead of blacking out into darkness, she lives in this state of dark gray. So close but so far away from what she wants.

They made a mistake. That’s all that happened, and Emma has to live with that. It won’t be nearly this awkward when she and Killian go back home. Then they’ll have their own rooms, and more importantly, their own beds. This will all be some distant, funky little memory. Emma can act like it’s all fine and normal for the next twenty-four hours.

She’s been acting like things are normal with her parents for years. She can do the same thing with Killian Jones.

Emma sighs and flips over. Killian is still on his back, his chest rising and falling slowly, and she’s jealous he can sleep so peacefully. She’s jealous that his mind isn’t running and freaking out over everything. He probably got everything he wanted out of her and is moving on fine.

That’s the attitude she should have.

Emma flips again, grabbing her phone off the nightstand. It’s five in the morning, and usually, she’s not allowed downstairs this early on Christmas morning. But she’s twenty-eight. It’s not like she believes a magical old man is climbing down the chimney leaving presents anymore.

Quietly, Emma gets out of bed and takes her phone with her. She walks downstairs and makes a beeline for the coffee maker. It takes far longer than it should to be ready, but eventually it’s ready. Her dad will make them a big breakfast this morning like he has most mornings she’s been here, so Emma doesn’t bother fixing herself food. She shivers at the thought of having to eat at the table and be able to keep a normal conversation with her parents. Ignoring that awful thought, she moves to the living room with her coffee and turns on the TV.

Emma is unsure of what exactly she’s watching for the next several hours but in the darkness of the morning with the Christmas tree glowing next to her, it’s enough to make her forget everything until her parents come walking down the stairs and the dark thoughts rear their ugly heads.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” David greets at the same time Mary Margaret says, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Emma returns with a smile.

“Where’s Killian?”

“Still asleep.”

“Why don’t you go wake him?” her dad asks. “I could use a hand cooking breakfast.”

“I think I’ll let him sleep for a little bit more, but I’ll get him before you start cooking the eggs, okay?”

David leans down over her and kisses the crown of her head. “Sounds perfect.”’

The movie on the television ends, the credits quickly rolling before another one starts. She doesn’t recognize it and knows it’s probably not any good, but she watches it anyway. When she was a kid, Christmas morning was so different. She’d wait at the top of the stairs and then rush down them when she was allowed to see what Santa left under the tree. It was like real-world magic.

When did Emma lose that sense of wonder?

The stairs groan behind her, and Emma turns to see Killian walking down them, hair and t-shirt rumpled. He got the memo on not bothering to do anything with his appearance, apparently.

Suddenly, she’s thankful to have her mother here as a buffer. He won’t try to talk to her about last night when they’re still faking it in front of her parents. For the first time this entire trip, she hopes her mom never leaves to go sit in another room and talk on the phone with one of her friends.

“Morning, darling,” Killian whispers when he walks up to her. Emma cranes her neck back, putting on the show for her mom, but she nearly jumps when he leans down and lightly presses his lips over hers. They haven’t been doing that. It’s strictly been cheek or forehead. Bastard. “Happy Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you. I think Dad wanted you to help him cook breakfast. Are you up for that?”

He smiles. “I knew I’d grow on Dave. I’d love to help. You just stay on your ass and watch TV, being the most unhelpful person in this house.”

“Watch it, Jones.”

Killian’s brows dance across his forehead, and he teasingly grabs onto her earlobe before walking into the kitchen. Emma shakes her head and smiles as she brings her coffee mug to her lips.

“I’m so glad you’ve found Killian,” her mom sighs from her spot on the other end of the couch. “It’s good to see you happy now that you’ve found him. You’ve been so miserable lately.”

You have got to be kidding me, Emma thinks, her knuckles going white around her mug. She tries to take a few deep breaths, to calm herself down, but it’s been year after year of this same damn conversation without her mom listening.

Sometimes Emma thinks she’s shouting from the rooftop of an abandoned building with only empty rooms around to hear her.

If a woman yells in a forest and no one is around to hear her, does she really make a sound?

“I’m so sick of this, Mom,” Emma sighs, placing her mug down on the coffee table and bringing her knees to her chest. “I love you. I do. And most of the time I can understand where you’re coming from, but I was happy before I found Killian. Not totally, but I was happy. And you never seem to get that. You think I have to be in a relationship to have self-worth. God, is that why you’re still so friendly with Neal? I can’t think of any other reason other than you feel like I need to be with someone.”

“He’s a good man, sweetie. He was your first love. He’s – ”

“He’s not a good man!” Emma slaps her hands against her shin. “He broke my heart and ruined my life! He made me not pursue a stable future because he convinced me he knew what was best for me and then left me with nothing in the middle of the night. That isn’t a good man. That’s the opposite of a good man. If you had ever bothered to ask me why we broke up instead of immediately assuming I did something wrong, maybe you’d know that instead of inviting him into our house and acting like everything is fine.”

It feels damn to get all of that out even if Emma knows she’s about to send her mother into a tailspin.

That’s years of pent-up resentment and anger, or at least the beginning of it, and it’s…it’s, well, cathartic, even if it’s only the beginning.

“But he was - ”

“Oh my God, Mom,” Emma laughs, and she hopes the fan in the kitchen is loud enough that her dad and Killian don’t hear, “if you say he was my first love, I will leave this house right now and never come back. I get that you and Dad worked out, but that’s because you’re good for each other. I can guarantee Dad never abandoned you in the middle of the night, and I can especially guarantee that he didn’t pretty much emotionally abuse you for years of your relationship. Do you know what it’s like to have the one person in the world you love most basically tell you that you’re nothing? I’m not nothing. I was never nothing, but Neal could never see that.”

Emma hasn’t thought about her relationship with Neal in years. It’s something she pushes back and hopes to never have to deal with, and yet, here she is digging it all up because her mom made a comment Emma couldn’t let go.

Merry Christmas to us all.

“Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Emma shrugs and looks into the living room where Killian and her dad are standing side by side cooking. She’s pretty sure her dad is about to try to poison Killian or stab him with a kitchen knife, but that’s a problem for another time. “But you should have. You should have when I called you crying, you should have when I told you I wanted to change my name because I felt like it could be a fresh start as my own person with no one holding me back. Instead you demonized me and put Neal up on a pedestal that you’re still putting him on. He’s engaged, Mom. I’m with - well, like you said, I’m with Killian. And even if neither of those things were true, you should be able to listen to me enough to know that being with him has never been good for me. So, please, God, just let me live with my life. I’m never going to be you. I’m never going to be perfect.”

Her mom wipes underneath her eyes, and Emma now feels like the shittiest person in the world for making her mom cry before eight on Christmas morning. How can she be so pissed off and sympathetic all at once?

“I am obviously not perfect,” Mary Margaret sniffles. “You’re my only daughter, and I apparently haven’t known you at all despite trying. I just can’t believe you changed your name. Was that really necessary? I - ”

“Nope.” Emma holds her hand up and stands from her chair. “I’m not having this conversation again. Maybe at another time we can hash all of our shit out, but I really don’t feel like doing it right now. I can’t get into that with you again.”

Emma picks her mug up from the coffee table and walks into the kitchen where Killian is moving a plate of her dad’s pancakes to the table.

“Mmm,” Emma sighs, “something smells delicious.”

Killian nearly drops the plate to the floor, but he saves it at the last minute. It’s not until he looks at Emma with raised brows and a million forehead lines that she realizes what she’s said.

Yeah, nearly having sex on her parents’ kitchen table goes high up on the list of Emma’s worst ideas.

“Everything alright with you, love?” Killian asks. He brushes his hands on his pants and then walks toward her, dipping his head down until he’s eyelevel. It’s unfair how blue his eyes are.

It’s unfair how much she notices stuff like that now.

“Yeah,” Emma lies while her heart races, “everything is just fine.”

-/-

Nothing about any of this is fine.

She shared too much with her mom, and even with it all out in the open, Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever be understood here. They were so blind to so much. One conversation can’t open the floodgates to knowing it all because they’ll never really understand the hell she went through, and now instead of being at peace with it, all Emma wants to do is pick fights with her parents

Like a totally rational adult woman.

So that’s not fine. What’s also not fine is the way Killian is sitting pressed up against her on the loveseat as they open presents. It’s too close, and it’s too much to watch him open presents from her parents that are genuinely thoughtful despite them only knowing each other for three days.

It’s all too much, and she is ready to get home, sleep in her own bed, and go back to the monotony of her life.

Because there she doesn’t have to think about any of this. It’s out of sight and out of mind, just the way she likes it.

They eat breakfast leftovers for lunch and dinner, and slowly but surely, the day fades away, the lights on the tree dimming a bit the closer to midnight it gets. Her parents leave to meet some of their friends for a drink, and she and Killian stay in the house, still lounging on the couch in their pajamas barely saying a word to each other. All day they’ve been having to play up their relationship, more than they have been, and she’s exhausted from it. At one point she wanted to let the truth fly, but she’s not evil enough to hurt her parents more than she already has.

She also doesn’t have the energy to get into another fight.

“You okay, Swan? You’ve seemed a little down today.”

Or maybe she does.

“Fine,” she mutters, pulling her blanket higher up her chest.

“Are you sure?” Killian prods. “Because we haven’t talked about last night, and I heard a bit of your conversation with your mom this morning. It’s perfectly alright not to always get along with family. It’s complicated. I understand that.”

Emma blows air out of her nose and turns away from Killian to watch the TV. “Please. You’ve got peanuts compared to the full-blown circus I have.”

It takes Emma approximately two seconds to realize that she has, to put it gently, fucked up.

Killian rises from his side of the couch and brushes his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until they fall in his face. He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, defeated. “I am never going to dismiss how you struggle with your parents because it obviously affects you, but you do not get to sit there and say shit like that to me when I am only here with you because my family is all dead. I would give anything to have my loved ones here to fight with because at least then there would be the possibility of repair.”

He shakes her head and clicks his tongue before running it over his bottom lip. “Happy Christmas, Swan. I’m going to bed. We still set to leave at nine tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. Killian, I’m - ”

“Don’t bother. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

He walks up the stairs, and Emma falls back onto the couch. The new year is a week away, but she’s already asshole of the year.

Way to go, Emma.

How the hell is she supposed to fix this?

Emma pours herself another glass of wine and falls asleep on the couch after an hour of beating herself up about her general shittiness as a person. She only wakes when her parents come in and there’s a gentle push at her shoulder.

“Emma,” her mom whispers, “Emma, come on. You’ll hurt your neck if you sleep down here.”

Emma opens her eyes and groggily stands as her mom hovers over her. She’s still half-asleep as she hobbles out of the room, her mom following behind her up the stairs, and before Emma closes her bedroom door, she pokes her head out to look at her mom.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah, hon?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Mary Margaret smiles, but it’s a little sad. Emma’s got no clue how to fix what’s between them, and she knows it’s not all on her to fix. At one point they were so close, and for so long this distance has been because Emma has refused to extend the olive branch and refused to be honest.

But also because her mom refused to see a lot of reality.

At least they’re both still here and have the opportunity to heal what’s been broken.

“I love you, too, Emma,” Mary Margaret whispers. “It’s been so nice having you home.”

She doesn’t say it, but despite all of the crazy things that have happened in the past few days, it’s nice to be home and to have someone care about her by making sure her neck doesn’t hurt from sleeping on the couch or by fixing her breakfast in the morning.

By pretending to be her boyfriend so she didn’t have to deal with an ex.

Emma nods and steps into her room. She’s as quiet as possible when getting into bed, and she doesn’t even say anything when she notices Killian is more on her side of the bed than his. Instead, she slips into that small space and hopes she can be forgiven too.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers before closing her eyes.

-/-

She’s half asleep in the morning when she first feels Killian move. They’ve done a pretty good job in staying in their own space while sleeping, but considering where he was when Emma got into bed last night, Emma wasn’t holding high expectations for this morning.

Not that she really thought about it.

But there’s definitely a hand on her boob and a half-erect dick pressed into the crevice of her ass, and as much as she doesn’t mind the feeling, she’s thankful when Killian moves, leaving her to the chill of an empty bed as he leaves the room to do who knows what outside.

-/-

What he does is shovel snow with her dad, help her mom with some last-minute tips on the renovation of their barn out back, and pack up their bags for the drive home. He’s cordial and affectionate as she says goodbye to her parents, promising to video chat with them more often so they can talk more, which Emma is simultaneously dreading and looking forward to, kind of like this ride home.

-/-

The drive back to Boston happens in almost complete silence, and if Emma didn’t have the radio to keep her company, she’d scream because the silence is so damn loud.

-/-

It’s the new year now.

Has been for about a week or so, and Emma spent the holiday out with Ruby and Dorothy and all of their friends. She wore a sparkly, slightly slutty dress that had her freezing all night long, but everything about it felt wrong.

Everything about everything feels wrong.

Well, that’s not true. For the first time in a long time, when she talks to her parents, it feels like they actually listen instead of projecting their own hopes and dreams to her. They see her as a person with feelings and failure instead of an idealized daughter who fits into their little, perfect box. She has to talk about shit she doesn’t want to talk about more often than not, but Killian’s words keep ringing in her head.

At least she has family around to fight with and to have those hard conversations with.

Killian isn’t around the apartment much. He comes in and out to eat and sleep, but ever since the car ride from hell, he’s been scarce. She’s tried to find time to see him, to apologize for being a dick and for all of Christmas as a whole, but that’s hard to do when she lives with the invisible man.

That’s hard to do when she has trouble admitting she was in the wrong.

It’s even harder when she has trouble admitting to herself that she has feelings for Killian Jones that far surpass just roommate feelings. Emma doesn’t know when the hell that happened or what to do with it, but it makes every night that she can’t talk to him torture.

How is it that she always screws everything up? And how does she go about fixing broken things when she’s still holding the hammer that broke the glass?

Maybe all she needs is an opportunity to talk to Killian where she can’t run away.

Yeah, all she needs is to just see him.

-/-

Why is he at this bar right now?

Okay, the real question is why is she at this bar right now? She had a hellish day at work, and all she wanted was to sleep. That’s all she wants to do lately, mostly because it means she doesn’t have to share the common area with Killian. If she’s sleeping, she doesn’t have to see anything, and everything is much, much better.

Or much, much worse, but Emma is trying not to think about that.

She’s trying not to think about Killian at all, which is decidedly not working out well when she thinks about him at least thirty-seven times a day. Thirty-eight now that he’s standing at the other side of cozying up to the most gorgeous woman Emma has ever seen. She’s tall and tan and has legs that go on for days. She looks like Ruby, and while Emma doesn’t know her, she seriously does not like her.

Because she’s lost her mind and has developed fucking feelings when she hasn’t wanted to do that, especially with someone she can’t get away from.

“Hey.” Ruby nudges her shoulder into Emma’s. “Why do you look like you want to punch someone? Am I that someone? Please don’t mess up my face. My makeup looks fantastic today.”

“Is that the only thing you’re concerned about?”

“Look at me. Doesn’t it look great?”

Emma rolls her eyes and sips on her wine. “You look great. Is that why you dragged me out here?”

“No, it was because you’ve been moping ever since you came home from Storybrooke. I know your relationship with your parents isn’t the best, but it’s not bad enough to have you grouchy for two weeks.”

How much would it be for Emma to drink the entire bottle of wine?

“I mean, it sucked, but I feel much better about my parents than I have in a long time. It’s more...I don’t - it’s - ”

“Killian Jones.”

“How did you know that?” Emma looks at Ruby, but she’s looking over Emma’s shoulder and toward where Killian was standing.

Ruby shakes her head. “Huh, no, I didn’t. That’s Killian standing over there. Wait.” Her red lips part. “What happened with you and Killian? Oh my God, did you fuck Killian when he went home with you?”

“Quiet,” Emma hisses, as if Killian could hear her over the music and the yards of distance between them. “No, I didn’t fuck him. I mean, I almost did, but my mom walked in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ruby gets in Emma’s face, and Emma really wishes Dorothy would show up and distract Ruby. “I need details.”

“That’s all there is to know.” Emma tips her glass to her lips, but there’s nothing left. Dammit. “We’d had a little to drink, and it...happened. Nothing else to tell.”

Ruby arches her brow. “So that’s why you’re not talking to him but staring him down and wishing you could pull that girl’s hair out?”

“I’m not doing either of those things.”

“Emma Swan is a li-aaaaar.” Ruby raises her hands and yells across the bar. “Hey, Jones!”

“Ruby Lucas is de-aaad,” Emma sing-songs back before straightening her back and sitting as tall as she can. To get the best leverage to kill Ruby, of course, not to make her boobs look good in this sweater.

“Hello, Ruby, Swan,” Killian greets. The woman who was hanging onto his arm is gone now, but Emma is sure she’ll see her back at their apartment later. “You both look lovely tonight.”

“Same to you, handsome.” Emma rolls her eyes as Ruby drags her finger down Killian’s button-down. It, of course, despite the cold temperature, is half-buttoned. “So, Emma hasn’t said it, but you two need to talk and get over whatever tiff you’re in. Whatever Emma did, she’s sorry, and she really wants to make out with you again.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Emma mouths to Ruby as she slides her forefinger across her throat. “Seriously.”

“Love you,” Ruby says, blowing Emma a kiss and walking across the bar to where Dorothy just walked in. Now the woman decides to show up. Of course. Why couldn’t she have been here two minutes earlier?

In a perfect world, Killian would laugh Ruby off and walk away, but this is not and has never been a perfect world. Hard conversations aren’t avoidable. Instead, they come at you like a freight train with no breaks. You either crash or jump on. Emma is wondering if she can simply jump off the tracks.

“Swan,” Killian starts, but Emma decides she’s going to jump off the tracks. She doesn’t want to do this. She grabs her coat and heads out the door, pushing past Ruby and Dorothy on her way out. This will cause ripples in her relationship with Killian no matter what. She can’t imagine he’ll want to stay living with the woman who was an ass to him and dismissed his brother’s death because she was so caught up in her own issues.

Seriously. Asshole of the Year. It’s officially official now.

It’s stopped snowing in the hour since she entered the bar, and instead of a fresh white coat, the ground is covered in slush that’s been walked over hundreds of times, footprints burying down to show the sidewalk. It’s wet and disgusting, and Emma tugs on her coat as she flees to keep her from getting hypothermia or some other awful disease.

There’s a tug on her hands, and suddenly she’s being pulled backward. She braces herself for a fight, but when she sees it’s Killian, she braces for another kind of fight.

He arches his brow. “What? You going to make a man drink alone in there?”

“I’m not in the mood for a drink. Or a man. Besides, it seems like you already had company with that freakishly long-legged woman who was desperate to make out with you.”

Emma knows that’s mean. She wishes she had legs like that woman, and she wishes she were the one who could hang out at a bar and flirt with Killian like that.

She really messed up there before things could begin.

“Why, Swan? You jealous?”

Emma scoffs and turns away from him. “Like I’ve said, in your dreams.”

Killian drops her hand and moves into her space. He’s always doing that. Personal boundaries are nothing to him. “Aye, quite often.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you dream of the girl who was rude to you and can’t seem to apologize and makes you chase her out of bars even though you live together and could just talk at home. But I imagine you’ll have what’s-her-name there, so I don’t think that’ll be a great time for me to tell you I’m sorry.”

“Love,” he teases, moving his brows and absolutely smirking, “I’m not angry with you over what happened on Christmas, not anymore, and while I’d like to talk about that later, I’d really rather talk about how jealous you are thinking of the possibility of me kissing Victoria in there.”

What a cocky jerk.

Seriously. Who thinks that highly of themselves just to say something so arrogant?

“You can kiss or not kiss whoever you damn well - ”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Killian surges forward and presses his mouth against hers, not letting her speak or think or breathe as he kisses her.

And kisses her well, she might add.

Okay, well, that was unexpected.

Like, seriously unexpected. She thought he was about to tell her to go screw herself and find a new roommate because honestly, that’s what Emma would do if she had to live with someone who is as messy as she is.

It’s a lot to deal with, and her heart is still racing from their argument and her being on the verge of a meltdown, but much like the slippery, gross snow underneath her feet, she melts into the kiss (okay, so maybe she is one of those girls who melts like Frosty-the-freaking-Snowman), wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands come to rest just above her ass, tugging her further into him. This feels different than that first kiss, softer, slower, and maybe something else she just can’t place.

Right now, she doesn’t care to search for that word when for the first time in a long time, her life feels right.

“Did you just kiss me to shut me up?” Emma laughs against his lips.

“Did it work?”

Emma quickly glides her lips over his. “Maybe.”

“Good.” Killian presses his forehead against hers, and not to be Hallmark-level cheesy, but she has that thought again about something just feeling right. Terrifying but right. “And Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s fucking freezing out here. Do you want to go back to our place and have what I can only hope is some amazing make-up sex?”

“Can you have make-up sex if you’ve never slept together before?”

Killian pulls back and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in until he kisses her temple. “We could find out. Or we could go home and see what’s on Netflix, eat some of your leftover Halloween candy.”

“Oh, bud,” Emma laughs, patting his chest and tilting her head to look up at him, “I stress ate that the day we got home from my parents’. But don’t worry, I bought some more last week.”

“I know,” Killian whispers, “I ate some of it when I was still pissed at you.”

Fair. she deserves that. She deserves much more than that, and she expects at some point, she and Killian will have it out like they deserve. She doesn’t get to just skip over the bad and into the field of lush flowers no matter how much it seems like that right now.

But at least there are flowers on the horizon.

“Was it the milk chocolate that made it all better?”

“Aye, it was.”

Emma drops her shoulders, and if she weren’t so sure she was awake, she would swear this was all a dream or part of her imagination from the emotional whiplash she’s experiencing.

“I guess I’ll have to find a new place to hide the candy then.”

“Oh, love, I’ll always find it.”

-/-

(PS: You can have make-up sex even if you’ve never had sex with that person before.)

(Emma and Killian were quick to test that theory out.)

(And eat the chocolate.)

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @lu123sworld​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @marrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @elizabeethan​ @jrob64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @inth-trees​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @mariakov81​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @captain-emmajones​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @capthamm​ @donteattheappleshook​ @eleveneitherway​

[wonderlustlucas]

jack pot ; part 1 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, seo changbin x female reader for like 2 minutes ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), slight smut ⇢ warnings drug use!!! & lots of it (marijuana), grinding, implied smut ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n yo!!! disclaimer: this initially was going to just be a long one shot but i decided to split it up into 3 parts, so just to let u all know part 1 & 2 does not have a ton of hyunjin interaction, they’re more character/plot building. part 3 is when things will get spicy ♥︎ i hope u enjoy! if u rb make sure to let me know what u thought in the tags mwah also i finally switched from ___ to yn are u guys proud of me :)

prelude.

Sometimes you really, truly, honestly think you could go right ahead and kill Han Jisung.

You say it all the time. Sometimes it’s a simple, “I will literally kill you,” or when you are feeling extra spicy, “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” He, of course, laughs it off like you aren’t vibrating with the urge to kick his kneecaps in. You seriously have lost count of all the times he has brought you to the brink of insanity.

And honestly, you have watched enough murder documentaries on Netflix that you probably could do it, but, you know, spending the rest of your life in prison does not sound that appealing. Plus, there’s the ever-troubling detail that Han Jisung is the closest thing you have to a best friend. So, it sort of goes against your basic human morals to backstab—literally—the most important human in your life.

But he really makes you crazy. Why you agreed to share an apartment with him in the first place is a mystery, but the fact that you leased it again for junior year is what really makes you lose sleep at night. Because, while he may be your best friend, Jisung is the epitome of a little shit. If such a compound word was in the dictionary, it simply would say ‘Han Jisung.’ Somehow, though, it makes you love him even more. Maybe it’s true that ‘opposites attract,’ or, perhaps, maybe it’s because no matter how much embarrassment and general self-loathing he may have caused you in the past, it has benefitted you in the end.

For example, his constant teasing about your lack of friends eventually led to you befriending a group of girls you always admired from afar. His snarky comments concerning your nonexistent social life finally got to you and now you can proudly wear the title of one of the best beer pong players in your class. His presence in general has taught you to stand up for yourself and what you believe in, whether it’s against him, your parents, a toxic friend, hell, even a professor. Proving people wrong, especially Jisung, is your favorite pastime.

Sometimes, though, it’s not that easy.

There’s one area in your life where you have accepted defeat. One area in your life where Jisung has his most fun. One area, or, perhaps one person, where you simply cannot step beyond your comfort zone.

Hwang Hyunjin is your Achilles tendon and Jisung is the arrow. There are times, along with all the times you’ve considered strangling Jisung in his sleep, where you have sat and actually prayed to the gods to send someone else. Someone not nearly as perfect as Hyunjin and someone not nearly as unattainable. Alas, these prayers, hook-ups, Tinder dates, anything to get him off your mind has proved futile; because here you are three years later, stuck with this stupid, absolutely infuriating crush on the only boy who has ever owned your heart because you outright gave it to him.

one.

You are beginning to think the two bubbly junior girls who led the campus tour you attended last year lied about the dining hall.

Correction: they one hundred percent lied.

Because even though the newly renovated food court looks nice—unscratched linoleum floors, shiny marble countertops and all sorts of seating to choose from—there must be something fishy going on with the cooks. Literally. Just last week, an upperclassman had a breakdown when she forked into her tuna (why anyone would want college seafood is another story) to find a worm right there in the middle of it. You have found little shards of glass in the yogurt and bugs even at You-Cook, but that’s all a part of the college experience, right?

“Are you sure there’s no spiders or anything? Did you check?” Beside you, Maddie watches with furrowed brows as you spoon a hefty serving of scrambled eggs onto your plate. Chuckling, you move down to grab a few sausages and a chocolate chip muffin before they are gone for the rest of the day; Lord knows, you are only a month in and carbohydrates have quickly become your emotional support, just like everyone else. “Yes, I checked,” you assure her, hiding a laugh with your hand as she leans over to further scrutinize the eggs, “I didn’t see any arachnids.”

“Good,” she hums, satisfied with your answer, “can you grab a banana muffin for me? They’re usually at the bottom.”

Nodding, you turn back to the blessed muffin basket, pushing away blueberry, corn, double chocolate, all because Maddie has to be different and go for the macadamia nut banana.

“Are those the dinosaur socks they were selling on move-in day?” In front of you, someone asks, and your first instinct is to look down at your feet just to confirm. 8:30 calculus simply turns your brain to mush and remembering how you dressed for the day is near impossible. “Yes!” Laughing, you lift your leg to get a closer look at the cute green t-rexes on skates. “I was sold once I heard they were a dollar.”

Tearing your gaze away from said socks, you look up and suddenly feel as if you have bumped into an angel. Maybe there were spiders in the eggs, deadly poisonous spiders that crawled up the spoon while you weren’t paying attention and bit your hand and now you are dead and this is the angel leading you to the heavens. That, or this simply is the most beautiful human you have ever seen up close and your brain does not know how to process it. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you definitely have never been so starstruck in your life.

The boy in front of you says something but you don’t hear it, senses and thoughts momentarily Off™ as you gawk at him. Aside from the deep undereye bags you all have claimed the past few weeks, this stranger is as close to perfect as you can get. Sure, Seungmin and his roommates are pretty cute—but what the fuck?

Something tells you that you have been silently staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open for far too long when his brows raise in a mix of confusion and expectation. Shit. What did he say? Synapses suddenly shooting like fireworks in your brain, you desperately try to remember his reply but instead, all you had focused on was the plumpness of his lips as he spoke and not the words themselves.

Clearing your throat, you blink once, twice, hoping you were hallucinating the whole time and the boy in front of you is not Hercules incarnate.

Lucky for you or him, you can’t tell, but he is still as attractive as he was two seconds ago. “Sorry, what?” You blurt, loud, too loud, flinching at the sound of your own voice. Instead of recognizing that you are totally off your rocker, he smiles, a soft, toothy smile that has your muscles turning to goo.

“I said I bought them, too,” cutest-boy-in-the-universe repeats, looking down and you follow his gaze, “my roommates were making fun of me, so I’m glad I finally found someone who bought them.” Alas, as he tugs at the fabric of his jeans to slightly lift the cuff you see that he, too, wears the same socks. You think you’re in love.

“Well, your roommates clearly have no taste,” you deadpan, shakily meeting his eyes once he looks back up. He laughs softly, eyes scrunching at the action and you positively swoon until silence settles over you and he takes the opportunity to regard you, gaze sweeping down your frame and up again. You hold your breath because, 1) holy shit, you would get on your knees for him right now and 2) you suddenly wish you were wearing more than the ‘just-woke-up-to-get-pegged-by-calc’ fit.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he finally says and you release all the air trapped in your lungs. “YN,” you return, grasping his outreached hand and thanking the heavens it is as sweaty as yours. “Well, it was nice to meet you, YN,” Hyunjin proceeds, releasing your hand and offering a gentle smile.

“You too, Mr. Sock Man,” you grin, rocking on your heels and realizing with a pang of disappointment that your breakfast has probably gone cold. Well, that’s okay, because right now you are totally content standing here in the middle of the dining hall, silently staring at this Hyunjin with a stupid smile plastered on your face. And the best part? He apparently is just fine doing that, too.

“YN!” Somewhere behind you, Maddie calls your name and it thrusts you head-first back into reality. “Did you find a banana muffin? I can’t find— oh. Who’s this?” Appearing beside you, visibly shocked having found you in a staring contest with a very tall, very cute boy. “Oh, uh,” you huff out a laugh, scrambling to get yourself together, “Hyunjin, this is Maddie, my roommate. Maddie, this is Hyunjin. We have the same socks.”

Brows shooting up at the puzzling introduction, Maddie bites back a laugh and looks back and forth between you and Hyunjin. “Well, you don’t hear that every day,” smiling to hide her confusion, she offers him a small wave with her hand full of muffin packs, “nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin smiles in return, gaze quickly returning to you. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta get the waffles while they’re still warm. I’ll see you around.”

And before you know it, he’s off toward the other end of the breakfast counter.

“Um, what the fuck?” Maddie whispers excitedly as you make your way toward your usual table, elbow repeatedly jabbing into your side. “I have no idea what just happened. I think I’m dreaming,” you sigh blissfully, relieved to find that Jisung and Seungmin were able to claim your favorite booth. “No, definitely not dreaming. He’s totally into you. You have to hang out.”

“What?” You sputter, nearly tripping over your own two feet. Then, lowering your voice as you near the two boys, “I – no, he isn’t. How can you tell? That was like, the cutest guy I’ve ever talked to, and you think he’s into me?”

“Who’s the cutest guy ever?” Jisung pipes up, eyes lighting up and you curse him and his fucking bat hearing.

“No one,” you grumble, smiling softly at Seungmin when he gets up so you don’t have to sit on the end, leaving Maddie to sit next to the other one. “Is it me?” Jisung grins with a flutter of his eyelashes. He’s convinced the only reason you dislike him is because you’ve actually fallen in love with him, but that’s far from the truth. You don’t even dislike him—he’s just one of the first guys you’ve met who meets your sarcasm with as much ferocity, and that is a hard pill to swallow.

“In your dreams, Han,” you sneer, gracing him with a dramatic eye roll before tearing open the bag of your muffin. Comfortable conversation quickly falls into place as you eat, complaints about your classes, Seungmin trying to convince you to join them at the first party they will be attending while Jisung mocks you for wanting to stay home, Maddie asking where Felix is and Seungmin explaining that he got so high last night he ended up staying up past four playing Overwatch and is currently sleeping past all his classes.

Then, in the midst of guzzling your apple juice, Jisung leans out of his seat to call down the aisle. “Hwang! Come pull a chair over!”

Curiosity peaked, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crane your neck to see over Seungmin’s fat head for who this ‘Hwang’ could be until, like the universe is really trying to kill you, the Hyunjin you met not even ten minutes ago has reached your table. “Hey,” he grins brightly, dabbing up the two boys before he glances to you, mouth promptly falling open. Certain you mirror the same expression, you struggle to find your words as Jisung and Seungmin look between you in shared confusion. “First we share socks, now it’s these dumpheads?”

Ignoring the way they scowl, Hyunjin giggles shamelessly and grabs a chair from an adjacent table to sit at the head of your booth. “It would seem that way.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. You guys know each other?” Jisung scoffs in disbelief, pointedly looking at you as if you’ve gone and disproved everything he pegged of you. “We just met,” Hyunjin replies with a shy smile, sparing you a quick glance before cutting into his waffle. Jisung looks to you and you offer an affirmative nod.

“And how are you guys friends?” Maddie asks, sensing your panic. “He’s Changbin and Minho’s roommate,” Seungmin answers.

You choke on a mouthful of juice.

“Christ, you good?” Seungmin snickers, offering a few slaps to your back. With a muffled yes, you look to Hyunjin with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell them I said they have no taste.”

He laughs, arching a brow at you. “No way. They’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Oh, Christ,” faking a cry, you bury your face into your palms, “so much for making friends.”

“It’s okay, YN,” Jisung soothes with faux sympathy, “no one wants to be your friend anyway.”

Scoffing, the table quickly falls silent when you look up with rage in your eyes. “I bet when someone asks your parents about you, they change the subject,” you spit, shooting daggers at him before stabbing your fork into an innocent chunk of egg. To your utmost surprise but total delight, the other three burst into a fit of laughter, leaving you smirking smugly and Jisung sulking.

“Anyway,” Maddie promptly changes the subject back to her chemistry professor who has started every class playing Britney Spears. Tucked away in your corner finishing the last of your sausage and stifling the urge to get up for more, it isn’t until Hyunjin begins to speak do you realize that you have been quietly watching him the entire time. You would blame the soft morning sunshine shining through the windows and illuminating the right side of his face for making him look so ethereal, but you know that isn’t the case; from short, messy black hair, silver hoop earrings, thick, defined brows, the soft curves of his nose and the pouty fullness of his lips, you are totally, completely mesmerized.

And then, the sole of a sneaker is slammed right into your shin. “OW!” You yelp, loud, and for a moment you forget the pain in favor of the embarrassment that comes with the number of heads that turn to look at you. “Sorry. Bit my tongue,” you lie, earning an unconvinced look from Maddie. “Go on,” you nod toward Hyunjin to continue whatever he was saying before directing a furious glare to Jisung, who fails to hide his triumphant smirk as he enthusiastically types on his phone.

Just as you have bent down to rub at your throbbing leg, your phone vibrates twice against the table.

han jisung [now] stop staring, ur lucky hwang is as dense as a rock or he would have left a long time ago bc of you

han jisung [now] so THAT’S the ‘cutest guy ever’ huh? so ur straight after all

Squeezing your hands into fists, you prepare to fire back a reply that will have him crying. But he has different plans.

“Oh, Hyunjin, did YN tell you she’s a dancer, too?” He exaggerates your previous mention of dancing and has the audacity to wink at you. Thanks, Mr. Match Maker.

“Really?” Hyunjin gasps excitedly, eyes lighting up and totally missing the flabbergasted what? that sputters from your lips.

“I – well, no,” you hiss, scowling at Jisung, “I used to do ballet when I was younger but that’s it. Why, though? Do you dance?”

“He’s here on a scholarship,” Seungmin explains, “and minors in creative writing.”

“Oh,” you squeak, glancing to Hyunjin who is all but smiling like a cherub, completely oblivious, “that’s amazing. You must have a crazy schedule.” Chewing the last of his waffle, he hums in agreement. “Yeah, it gets really stressful at times. But it’s worth it,” Hyunjin chuckles. Then fucking winks.

Unable to hold his gaze, you whip your head back around in a panic and reach for the mere sip left of your juice. “Speaking of crazy schedules,” he hums, slapping both Jisung and Seungmin on the shoulders, “I must head out. This was fun. I may start crashing the party more now.” Rising from his seat, Hyunjin swings his bag over a shoulder and grins brightly. Realizing it would be rude to not say goodbye, you force yourself to look back to him and offer a feeble wave.

“And YN, don’t bite your tongue when you eat, yeah?”

You’re going to pass out.

two.

Felix likes to think of you as his corrupted child when it comes to smoking weed.

A few weeks before you would all be returning home for winter break, he came knocking on your door with a proposition. “No one wants to smoke with me. Do you want to?”

This, for sure, was not what you were expecting on a cold Tuesday night in December. Despite the general curiosity and always wanting to ‘try it’ simply to feel like a teenager breaking the rules, you told him you never smoked before. “I know,” he said with a smile, “that’s why I’m asking.”

So, you agreed. Reaching for your hand, Felix snuck you out the window and led you halfway across campus to the junior parking lot, giving you ample opportunities to back out when he felt how badly you were shaking. “Whose car is this?” You laughed in disbelief when he unlocked a beaten-up Nissan near the outskirts of the lot.

“Kim Woojin. The junior?” He replied once you settled in the passenger seat next to him. “Oh.” You blinked, confused. “He lets you smoke in his car?”

“He gets me weed, too,” Felix giggled, reaching into the pockets of his sweatshirt and coming out with two tightly wrapped blunts, each about two inches long, “I’ll turn the heat on a little so we don’t freeze but we have to keep the windows open. I’m not going to have you hotbox for your first time.” You had no idea what that meant, but you agreed nonetheless.

With a brief lesson on what to do that truly made no sense until you tried it for yourself, Felix lit the blunt, took a few small hits to get it started, and then passed it to you. Holding it gingerly between your thumb and index finger, you brought the unlit end to your lips and sucked as he instructed ‘like a straw,’ breathing it into your lungs and ignoring the faint taste of smoke. Unsure of when to stop, it wasn’t until your throat felt as if it was on fire did you realize just how much you had inhaled.

“Shit,” you wheezed, coughing and choking and watching with wide eyes at the amount of cloudy white smoke that left your mouth and nostrils. Passing it back to Felix, you scrambled for the cold water bottle he brought along, downing half of it in one go to soothe the burn. “Good?” He asked, blowing out the window and turning back to you with eyes full of concern.

“Yeah,” you huffed, “give me a few, though.”

Humming in agreement, Felix connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and began playing what he calls his ‘getting high playlist,’ and before long, you fell in love with the feeling.

When break was over, you were dying to try it again. Felix was more than happy to be of service.

For all of March, it turned into a daily thing.

Now, you try to smoke only once a week for the sake of not dying, or something.

australian felix kjellberg❤️ [now] come hang at 201?

When the text notification pops up in the corner of your laptop screen amid your YouTube binge, your bones jitter with a mix of dread and excitement.

Dread, because that’s Hyunjin’s room. Excitement, because that’s Hyunjin’s room.

Maddie must hear your sigh. “What’s wrong?” She asks from her cozied position in bed, hand deep in a bag of popcorn.

“It’s Felix,” you start, “but he said to go to Hyunjin’s room.”

She blinks, unfazed. “And? I don’t see the problem here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” you count on your fingers, “first, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin sober. Second, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin high. Third, I am very touchy when high. Fourth, Hyunjin is always touchy.”

Maddie scoffs. “That’s a pretty lame argument, YN,” she laughs, “isn’t that what you want to happen?”

“Well,” she’s got a point, “yes, but it still makes me nervous. He makes me nervous.” Closing your laptop, you shimmy out of bed and debate changing out of your cotton shorts and tee shirt. Nah. You’ll probably end up going back to Felix’s and sleeping there. You put a sports bra and deodorant on and call it a day.

Maddie finds this hilarious. “You know what should make you nervous? The fact that you’re usually the only girl getting high with, what? Six guys? You know they all want to fuck you.”

“I try not to think about that, actually,” cringing, you try to erase Felix’s voice when he’s high as a kite or Changbin’s arms from your mind, “and you don’t know that. Sometimes Ryujin and Lia are there. Or, you know, you could always come. You don’t have to smoke, just come hang out. I know you want to give Minho a fat smooch.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I love you, and I appreciate the invite, but I don’t feel like babysitting a bunch of stoners, even if Minho is there.”

Laughing, all you can offer her is a shrug. “I don’t blame you,” grabbing your phone, wallet, and charger, you make your way over to her and bend over to press a goodnight kiss to her forehead, “if you need me, don’t. I’ll probably be dead.”

“Oh Lord,” Maddie cackles, watching you struggle to open the window, “don’t die. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’ll try,” you grin, military saluting once you’ve managed to flop over the ledge. With one last wave, you close the window behind you and thank admissions for giving you a room on the first floor.

[9:34 PM] YN: omw now, gather your forces to help me in :)

Nights in 201 are always interesting. First, their room is on the second floor, so climbing through the window is an experience. Things would be a hell of a lot easier if you could just walk in and out of residence halls as you please, but with the officer at the front desk documenting who comes in and who goes out, there would be a knock at the door at midnight asking you to leave. Second: as Maddie said, 201 means the whole squad is showing up. And when the whole squad shows up, you’re bound to feel a mix of anxiety and desire deep within your bones no matter how hard set you are on Mr. Hwang. And third: you know you’re in for one fucked up night.

[9:42 PM] YN: hereee

Standing awkwardly behind their building, you try and calm the nerves that always come when you know you will be with Hyunjin. Considering how close the two of you have become over the past few months, one would think you would have gotten a grip on those pesky feelings.

Yet again, it’s kind of hard to do that when he looks and acts like that all the time.

When the window slides open, you are expecting Changbin to hang halfway out for you to grab on to with the rest of them holding onto his legs. Instead, a tall, metal ladder of sorts is pushed out until it lands with a thud! at your feet, granting you a perfect staircase into the room.

Well, you certainly don’t see that every day.

Blinking in confusion, you do not know whether to focus on the crowd of boys waving at you from above or this abomination of a stepstool that was practically thrown out a window for you. Accepting the chain of events as just another fever dream of an experience in 201, you shake your head and begin to ascend on shaky legs, graciously taking Jisung’s hand and clinging to both him and Seungmin as they help you into the room. “Thanks,” you huff, giving them both a hug in return to their chivalry. And they dare say it’s dead!

Behind you, Changbin and Hyunjin lift the ladder-stepstool mutation back into the room and it isn’t until they have folded it into a more compact piece and set it against the wall do you speak up.

“Did you… buy a ladder?”

“Yes!” Minho bellows, thrilled by your successful entrance. “Isn’t it great?” After pulling back from a hug, he keeps his hands on your shoulders just to shake you like a bobble-head.

“Yes,” you grunt once he’s released you, head swimming, “a lot easier than hauling both me and Changbin through the window, right?” Looking to said boy, you can’t help but melt into his side when he pulls you close. “No worries,” Changbin beams, rubbing your arm, “at least we have some funny memories now.” When he moves to flop onto his bed, you realize with a shudder that you are alone with Hyunjin.

Well, technically not alone since they are all right there, but alone in the sense that they are not paying attention to you nor him.

“Hey, YN. I missed you,” he singsongs, engulfing you in one of his monster bear hugs. Disregarding the heart palpitations they may cause, Hyunjin’s hugs are truly the best and you wish you would initiate them more if it didn’t seem like such a big deal in that smooth brain of yours. “I missed you, too,” you mutter into his chest, squeezing your arms around him as if to engrave this feeling into your mind forever. “We saw each other, like, five hours ago,” he reminds you, finally pulling back and taking your will to live with him. God, he has no idea.

“And? You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me suicidal,” you lie because, in reality, he actually does. Just in a different way. “Aw,” he coos, large hand squeezing your side and you think you could orgasm on command, “good thing we have tonight, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, finally remembering to breathe when he steps away to sit beside Seungmin on his bed. Suddenly, you are feeling incredibly grateful no one is next to Changbin because, well, 1) he is closer to Felix and 2), you need a distraction.

“Hello, Felix,” you greet the boy sunk deep in a bean bag chair, busy grinding leaves and packing them into the bowl of a bong. “How are you this fine evening, YN?” He asks once you have settled beside Changbin, brows knitting together when the older boy drapes his arm around your waist.

“Good. Tired, though. How ‘bout you?”

“You didn’t have to come if you’re tired! We all know you work your ass off, no one’s gonna judge if you chose to stay home and sleep,” Felix expresses, giving you a look that screams ‘mom.’

“No! I’m not that tired,” you assure him, reaching for his hand and squeezing for extra effect, “you know I wouldn’t miss this. You’ve made me a pothead.”

With a proud smile, he returns to his designated job and begins working on the second, smaller bong. “So,” stretching to set your things on the desk beside Changbin’s bed, you turn to him with a knowing smile, “how’s the album coming?”

“Great!” He beams, eyes lighting up at the topic. “Jisung is a great addition. Did I tell you we started meeting with someone else, too?”

“No, who?”

“He’s a sophomore, Bang Chan?” Somewhere behind you, Felix passes a bong to Jisung for the first hit. “Bang Chan? Holy shit, Binnie,” repeatedly punching his arm to express your excitement, “that’s amazing! I didn’t know he was into music production. Not that I’ve ever talked to him, but.”

“No, I get you,” he hums, giving your side a firm squeeze, “he’s really awesome making beats. I hope we’re successful.” Then, reaching past you, he takes the second bong and a lighter from Felix. When he resituates himself, he’s considerably closer than before. You don’t mind.

“Ladies first?” Changbin offers with a crooked grin, handing them to you. Then, on second thought, he holds onto the lighter to do the honors. “Sure. Thanks,” you laugh, glancing across the room to find everyone arguing over which color to set the lights to as they wait for their high. Bringing the tube to your lips, you offer a miniscule nod to him and then he is setting flame to the bowl. Sucking strong enough to generate bubbles, you unplug the bowl once he stops and breathe in as much as your lungs can handle in one go. Then, once you have exhaled, you quickly finish what’s left in the tube before passing it to Changbin with a pleased smile.

“That was a lot,” he points out once you have handed the bong back to him. “Hey, you’re the one who kept lighting it for thirty seconds. Mother would be proud,” you joke, reciprocating the same service and lighting the bowl until he glares at you beneath his bangs.

The best part about being high is the fact that you are constantly laughing. Things won’t even be that funny, but once someone starts laughing—you’re done for. You laugh so hard it hurts, and then once it’s all over, you realize it wasn’t funny at all. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a squirrel?” Minho asks Jisung at some point. You absolutely loose it. It quite possibly is the funniest thing you have ever heard.

Pouting, Squirrel Boy leaves Minho alone on his bed to come crash beside you. “How are you, my tender oozing blossom?”

Squinting at him past the way your eyes burn, you make grabby hands and pull him close to wrap your arms around his teeny waist. Changbin grumbles in protest, but he’s too transfixed on the light’s soft in and out fade of different colors to say anything else. “Please, don’t ever call me that again,” you mumble into Jisung’s mop of brown hair.

“What?” He gasps, tilting to look up at you with puppy eyes. “You didn’t like it?”

“Nope,” smiling lazily, you rest your head atop his, “I love you, but I’m not ready for pet names yet.” His face morphs from a frown to one lit with excitement. “Holy shit, did you just say you love me? Do my eyes deceive me?”

“That would be your ‘ears,’ but yes,” you hum, brain simply not capable of denying it the way your sober self would. “More than Changbin?” Jisung whispers.

“Yes, but don’t tell him,” you return quietly, biting back a laugh.

“More than Hyunjin?” He counters. At this, you look up to find said boy sat with his legs to his chest across the room. Next to Seungmin, he looks like a giant; but a happy, pouty giant that keeps talking about how much he could go for a winter melon tea right now.

“Never.”

One and a half (half because it was just the rest of Minho’s terribly big hit that left tears streaming down his cheeks) and an unfinished game of Cards Against Humanity later, you find yourself in a blissful headspace. The song playing quietly through Felix’s speaker makes it feel like you are bouncing down stairs and then going up again, and the lights are oh so pretty, pink fading to red, yellow to green, blue to purple and so on. Things are fuzzy but crystal clear at the same time, the popcorn you’ve been shoveling into your mouth tastes heavenly, and your body feels like it is engulfed in a warm, comforting hug.

Or, that could just be Changbin.

Somewhere in between trying to get more comfortable and him yanking you to stay next to him when you attempted to get up and hug Seungmin for something sweet he said, you now find yourself on your back with a clinging Changbin on your side. You are so comfortable, but also insanely hot, and as you begin to slowly come down from your high as the hours tick by, you begin to realize it’s for another reason.

What started as an innocent hand on your side turned into his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns against your shirt, which then turned into his hand slipping beneath to splay against the warmth of your skin. Growing increasingly needy as the minutes go by, you turn to look at everyone around you. Jisung, who found himself returning to Minho, appears to be passed out with him on the far end of the room. Seungmin, curled up on the floor with a pillow and a heap of blankets. Felix, who finished off the rest of his weed, scrolls aimlessly on his phone still at the peak of his high.

And Hyunjin, who you assume has been fast asleep on his bed for a while now if the arm flung over his face tells you anything. For a moment, you feel sick with sadness. So close, but so far he lies, always a step out of reach. But you can’t deny how Changbin makes you feel—for right now, at least. And it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity with someone else because the one you want is unattainable.

Right?

Changbin must sense the way your breathing increases, must feel the way your body reacts to the slightest of touches, yet he takes his time. He is soft in the way his hand travels up your arm, rough fingertips grazing over your collarbones before smoothing down over your chest and abdomen. It isn’t until you are about to burst at the seams does he give your ass a strong squeeze and urge your leg over his hips.

“Changbin,” you sigh, biting your lip to keep from whimpering when he begins pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat. “Please touch me.”

He only makes a sound of agreement, savoring the way you squirm and grip onto his arm for dear life. When he offers an experimental roll of his hips to grind against you, you practically go feral. The last time you were touched in such a way was at a party in the beginning of the semester Jisung and co. physically forced you to go to, and Changbin has barely even touched you and it’s already better than the rushed sex you had that night.

“Wait,” he huffs, pausing his ministrations no matter how difficult it is to do so, “we can’t.”

“What?” You hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, “why?”

“Because you’re high, and I’m high, and I’m not going to do anything unless you really want me to,” Changbin explains, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips when you frown in response. “But I do want you to,” you huff, chasing his mouth for another, “I trust you one hundred percent.”

“Are you sure, YN?” What about Hyunjin? is what he really means and you know he’s right. You should have never told Felix.

Trying to ignore the wetness of your underwear, you turn to lie on your back. “Whatever. Never mind,” you mumble, and when you glance back to him, you can’t help the way your heart soars with him still pressed closely to your side, blinking tiredly at you. But like he said, it’s not Hyunjin. “Just get some sleep, Binnie. Forget it happened,” smiling past the tears that threaten to spill, you ruffle his hair and press a softer kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin whispers, returning the affection with a kiss to your shoulder. In minutes, he is snoring softly beside you.

You can’t fall asleep to save your life.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you grit your teeth once you realize it’s almost four and you definitely have been staring at the ceiling for more than an hour. For starters, you are freezing now; unlike these passed out hooligans, you are showing a lot more skin and not being under the blankets is not doing you well. And secondly, it’s hard to fall asleep when your thoughts are flying miles a minute.

Is this how it’s going to be, then? Whenever you see someone, will the little guy on your shoulder whisper in your ear that it’s not Hyunjin? Or will people deem you off limits because they know of your infatuation? People who know, at least—Changbin is the first, apparently.

Just need to get comfy, you decide, trying to ignore such thoughts and turning to lie on your stomach. Bless Felix for leaving the lights on, too—you may be coming down from your high, but the vibe is simply immaculate. Tucking a hand under your cheek and following the ropes of light on the ceiling and up the walls, you find this to be enough to calm your nerves. Enough to make your eyelids heavy. Finally.

Someone lets out a monster train snore. Seungmin, you think, biting your lip to keep from laughing. Or, it could be Hyunjin. The thought is so amusing you can’t help but squint at the boy across from you to better see his outline, hoping he will do it again just to confirm.

No, not Hyunjin.

Because he’s facing you, eyes open, a soft smile plastered on his face. Well, fuck.

No reason to panic, you console yourself, returning a gentle smile in the assumption he can even see you. And you stay like that for a while, simply watching one another for an infinite amount of time. It’s not much, but it means something, you think, lost in the way the contours and highlights of his face change with each color the lights fade to. Just as you remember the whole point of getting on your stomach was to fall asleep, Hyunjin moves. Reaching for his phone, you watch in confusion as he brings it close to his face and starts typing.

hwang hyunjin👁👄👁 [now] Come sleep w me?

You almost throw up in your mouth. You must be dreaming. Surely.

Blinking against the harsh light of your phone, you cannot help your smile as you reread the text.

[4:02 am] YN: wont that b a little sus for bin

[4:02 am] hwang hyunjin👁👄👁: If anyone asks just say he kept kicking u or something

You don’t need to be told twice. Now that he has turned onto his side facing the other direction, Changbin does not stir once you slowly move to sit up and stand, nor when you reach for the quilt crumbled at the foot of the bed to pull over him. It’s not much, but hopefully it will keep him from waking in a few hours freezing to death. Then, as you tiptoe your way over to Hyunjin’s bed, avoiding Felix now that he’s sprawled half way off the bean bag, you cannot tell if you are still shivering from the cold or if the fact you are going to be sleepingwith Hyunjin in one, tiny single bed is finally clicking in your brain. Like Maddie said, this is something you want, right?

As you draw closer, Hyunjin shifts to make room and lifts the covers for you to quietly slip beneath. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up to your chin and trying to ignore the feeling of being so close to him. “Of course. You looked real cold over there,” he smiles tiredly. Then, his arm cautiously curls around you to rest by your head, fingers swiping stray hairs away from your face.

“I was,” you admit. Eyes level to his lips, you strain to look him in the eyes to resist the temptation now that he’s pulled you so close. “Changbin fell asleep and I felt bad waking him.”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply. He seems momentarily lost in thought, brows slightly furrowed as he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Do you like him?” He finally asks, voice shaky with hesitation.

“What?” You sputter, shocked at such a presumption. Yet again…

“No, no I don’t. I mean—as a friend, yes, but, you know,” you trail off, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately wish you were not having this conversation right now. “He was touching you, though. And it looked like you liked it,” Hyunjin whispers, thumb swiping against your cheekbone.

“I mean, well yeah, I did. But I’m not close enough to like him like that. It’s just a physical attraction,” realizing you are discussing what went down with Changbin to Hyunjin, you suddenly pull back and lean up on an elbow to get a better look at him, heat now spreading up your limbs like fire. “Were you watching us, Hwang?”

“Yes,” he admits, “it’s kind of hard not to.” Your heart stops beating.

“I – what?” You manage once you have remembered how to breathe. “I didn’t know you were awake, we wouldn’t have… what do you mean, ‘it’s kind of hard not to?’”

“You know what I mean, YN,” Hyunjin mutters, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you to lie down with him again, this time, your chest pressed to his. “I like looking at you. You’re very pretty.”

You definitely must still be high, because you are seriously having a hard time wrapping your mind around Hyunjin calling you pretty, as well as being so close, and somewhere deep in your mind wonders if he knows. If he knows how your heart is on the line here. Knows that with him moving closer, you are taking a huge risk.

When Hyunjin kisses you, you forget that this could be the worst mistake you’ve made in a long time. Wrapped around his fingers, you pray this is his way of saying he feels the same.

“YN!” You wake to Seungmin gently shaking your shoulder. “YN, wake up. Your phone has been vibrating for twenty minutes now. It’s Maddie.”

The wave of panic washing over you dispels the grogginess you feel from suddenly being yanked from sleep, as well as the recognition of where you are and who you’re with. Frantic, you sit up and nod in thanks to him before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God you answered,” Maddie cries, voice choked, “I’m sorry, I know you’re still out, but I just threw up and I feel so terrible and when I get up I feel so nauseous. Can you come home?”

“Shit, Maddie, don’t apologize,” you whisper, rushing to grab your things as Seungmin unfolds The Ladder as quietly as possible, “I’m leaving now. Don’t move, you don’t want it to get worse. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpers before hanging up.

“Thank you, Minnie,” pressing a kiss to his cheek, you begin to climb down. “Is everything okay?” He asks, watching as you go with a worried frown. “Yes, it’s fine. Just a little emergency, don’t worry,” praying no one is out and about watching as you climb from the back of their building, you rush back to help Maddie as fast as you can.

You stay back in your dorm with Maddie for the rest of the weekend, fetching her water and ginger ale and food she can handle, helping her to the restroom, and binging all sorts of shows and movies with her. Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho visit Sunday evening, joining you for a few hours to watch Pokémon. You think it’s just because Minho knew it would be a good opportunity to snuggle with Maddie.

You can’t help but feel disappointed when Hyunjin isn’t with them. You refrained from telling Maddie what happened in 201, too caught up wanting to make sure she was alright, and by now you are starting to feel as if it wasn’t even real. Maybe you made the whole night up in your marijuana-infused brain. And snuggled up with Jisung, you can’t help but wish it was this annoying shit you were falling in love with.

On Monday morning, Hyunjin doesn’t show up for breakfast. On Tuesday, you find out he has been hanging out with a girl he met at his favorite boba joint and apparently won’t shut up about. First, you run back to your dorm to cry to Maddie, having to explain all of Friday night to her. When she leaves for her lab, you call Felix for an emergency smoke session. When Maddie texts that she is going to be out late working on a project, you call Changbin to tell him that you really do want him to.

Like you said, it’s just a physical attraction, right?

⇢ part 2

[vinylhazza]

okay but how would gray be if ur just being a bitch to him when he’s trying to snuggle w u at night... 😳

“off.”

the third time you’ve said the damn word and his arm is still hooked around your waist securely. but you, God you just wanted to sleep on your respected side of the bed and be mad at him for the night. that’s all. you just wanted to wallow in your scorn and then maybe have a conversation with him tomorrow about your troubles. but apparently that wasn’t enough. not one moment of blissfully hot anger. 

“grayson i said get the fuck off of me.” harsher now, hoping he knows that you mean what you say this time. this isn’t pull me closer i don’t really mean it i want you to work for it this time. this is get the fuck off or i’ll punch you square in the jaw, “i’m not in the mood.”

if he wanted to cuddle so damn bad maybe he should have thought about how it would feel on your end to be ignored while some skanky waitress in a tiny black dress flaunted herself right in front of him and you. 

did he turn her down? yes. did you see his eyes flicker down her lengthy fishnet covered legs for just a second? also yes. did it piss you the fuck off that he cleared his throat the moment she walked away as if to compose himself? fuck yeah it did. did it make you feel like a potato in a sack in the dress you spent days picking out for the date? also yes. did he hear a word you said while you explained in detail that your parents would finally be moving to LA after a year of begging and convincing them to? no. he didn’t hear a damn word. which then resulted in you running over the same story that once excited you, but then felt cold and stale leaving your lips.

it was the disrespect and complete lack of regard for your feelings and trust in your relationship right in front of you that bothered you most. how could he honestly not know the issue by this point? how could he think you wanted him to tug you to his chest when he’d made eyes at another woman in front of you? made it a point to make you feel second best? for someone that had said countless times you were the prettiest girl in the room, he sure made it feel like bullshit. sure you might be being difficult and not outright telling him that him running his eyes over a waitresses long sexy legs hurt you but...common sense plays no part here?

but then, a kiss on your shoulder blade, then another just below there, then across the expanse of your upper back and to the furthest spot he could reach before he hit the pillow. he just wanted to sweeten you up so it would be easier to forgive him. that had to be it right? 

“please don’t be upset with me baby,” he’s whispering all soft. the special way he does when he knows deep down he hurt you in a horrible type of way, “just tell me what i can do.”

why do men even have ears if they don’t listen? did he even hear himself? please don’t be upset with me? after making you feel like a piece of garbage in a dress? after ignoring every single piece of exciting news you had stacked up just for date night? it felt like you’d been slapped in the face with the reality of the situation. whether it was you going into a full fledged panic attack or not, you wanted his hands off of you and to be as far away from his soft honey eyes as possible. 

“you can get off of me like i’ve said five times now. i just want you to stop and leave me alone for tonight.”

that sounded more convincing in your head. damn it. 

maybe it was the way you whispered the last part instead of spitting it out with fire on your tongue that shocked him the most, enough to lean back like you’d been asking to all along and turn you onto your back. he really thought you’d been joking, just being a brat and playing hard to get. but with the way your shoulders are curled in, your arms pressed close to you, your knees raised up...he’d finally starting to realize the joke is over. now that you’re facing him face to face, he can see the pain and agony swirling in those pretty eyes he fell for on a Wednesday afternoon in spring. 

a kiss to your cheek, then your nose, “tell me please.”

“grayson-“

“i hurt you and i want to know how,” he explains, fully aware of the hurt expression contorting your face. you wore that same expression when he forgot about the reservation for your mothers birthday dinner - she flew in all the way from West Virginia, away from her simply happy life, just to see you for a weekend in celebration of growing one year older in a city that never stops. The least he could have done is remembers to put his plans on hold for just one night for a woman that always made sure to include him in her own plans. he had apologized for days to both you and your mother, he couldn’t believe he had been so thoughtless. you’ve grown tired of making excuses for the ways that he hurts you. you let it slide for long enough. 

when his mouth opens once again to talk - you’ve beat him to the chase, pushing against his chest so you can sit up and stare at him hard and stern. he needs to hear how serious you are. if he wanted the reason, he could deal with the truth and take it for what it was. if you wanted him to hear you - really hear you, you knew the best way was to put it in the simplest way. 

“I don’t like the way you looked at the waitress tonight right in front of me. I don’t like the way it made me feel, and I don't like that you were so comfortable in disrespecting  me that you’re choosing to pull the clueless card right now. I don’t like that I'm once again making an excuse for your actions like I always seem to be doing and I don't-” you stop to raise a finger when he attempts to cut you off, probably with more excuses, “let me talk-” you snap, the fire stoking somewhere deep in your stomach. 

you swore you’d never be the girl that got walked on like a rug, and you intended to keep that promise. you owed it to yourself. 

“-I don’t like the feeling that you’re looking for a better option even if it’s a waitress in a restaurant. it doesn’t matter to me that you were just looking. it's the message you send to me and to everyone around you. it’s the way you have shown over these past couple of months that you don’t care as much as you claim you do. and I'm tired Grayson,” you stop abruptly to choke on the tears, already feeling your throat closing with the anticipation of a sob, “I'm so fucking tired.” 

his shocked face tells you everything you need to know. that he was blind to what he’d done and he truly hadn’t seen anything wrong with his eyes scaling down the length of her legs right in front of you.

“y/n...it wasn’t like tha-”

holding your hand up flat was enough to stop him.  

no, you didn't wait for some half-assed apology. no you wouldn’t lay in bed when you’re so sickeningly hurt by the innocent gleam in his eyes and the way he’s touching you lovingly when he’d done something so careless. you wouldn’t stay in this bed tonight with your heart feeling like it could break any moment. you would hold your ground and wait to fight this battle tomorrow, when you’re not so emotionally torn apart and scared to lose someone you’ve dreamt of marrying many many nights. you wanted to call your mom first, have her tell you to take some deep breaths...that he loves you...that he has some sort of reason...just help you understand how you got here and how to forward. you needed the night to yourself. 

so with your head held high, your hoodie bunched around your small frame, you push yourself out from underneath him - your feet hitting the cold wooden floor with the shudder up your spine. you made your way out of that bedroom and hadn’t looked back to see his face that always softened you right up. grabbing a blanket from the hallway closet, you made your way to the couch you’d picked out together, another memory that would surely make you cry just that much harder later when you’re over analyzing the entire relationship on a constant loop. 

you had the right to be mad, and you wouldn’t let him weasel his way out it this time. he wouldn't cuddle it away. it was time to stop making excuses and show him that you demand respect and loyalty. even if laying on that couch feels like more of a punishment than a lesson for him, and even if you appreciated him knowing not to come out and invade your space like you almost expected him to. you had to stand your ground and stick up for your heart that had been tampered with enough to last you a lifetime.

-

a/n: wtf? am I okay? this is random and I'm very sure it’s not the direction you were thinking but here we are.