#and I slide into his DMs one day and ask how he’s ALWAYS awake when I am??? like to say it back so quick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sparetimeimagines · 3 years

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Habits

Tsukishima Kei x Reader

tags; exlovers, hate sex, dwi, smut, degrading, fluff, ok they fuck

Part 2

Masterlist

It’s becoming a habit.

You shoot your shot at the most basic ass man you can find. A man at the club who found your Instagram on the club’s tag. You figure, hell, he’s boring.

He can’t possibly be the one who’s going to screw you over at the end of the night.

He can’t possibly be the one who’s going to later get your Snapchat and spend those hours of getting to know you, just to get your nudes and ghost you after you tell him you’re not down to fuck.

Of course not.

He’s going to be the shame you in front of his friends when he asks to chill and you stupidly agree.

He’s going to call you a whore because you sent him the pictures he asked for not like he has four other girls in his DMs.

Because it’s your fault he’s a shitty person.

Because it’s your fault you fell for his tricks.

“Can I come over?” Your voice cracks as you wipe a tear, acting like you totally weren’t crying over some jerk.

“It’s 2AM.”

“That never stopped you before.”

The line is silent, and you could have sworn he hung up.

“Tsuki... please.” You beg, knowing the sound of your voice being manipulated that way makes him hard.

He sighs and you know he’s going to let you have your way.

“How long?” He clears his throat and you stumble to your car.

“One point five.” Your vision his hazy, the alcohol having less of a toll on your vision than your emotional state. “I’ll be there before sunrise.”

“You better not be driving.” He growls.

“Fuck you, Tsukki, you’re not the boss of me.” You turn the keys in the ignition. “I’m not drunk.”

“Hmmph.” You know he’s rolling his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

The smirk on his lips is contagious, infecting yours that are smeared with the dark lipstick.

“Let me know when you’re close.”

“Always.”

There was nothing new about you driving to the dorms in the middle of the night. College life was something you embraced when you never fully cut the ties to your doting ex boyfriend who is always down to fuck.

He lived in an apartment off campus, not being able to live under the RA’s rules, but everyone neighboring was also enrolled in the school.

Early morning or late night, whatever you want to call it, you show up. His apartment, the one with the glowing window, indicates he’s awake.

You slam the door shut harder than you anticipate, stomping up the stairs to his apartment.

“2C.” You try the door knob but it’s locked. “Tsukishima. Open up!” You bang on the door and he quickly opens. He nearly rips your limb from your body in order to get you inside his home.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” He has one hand around your throat and the other grasping your arm, pinning you to the wall.

You smirk at the thought of him pinning you against the wall and begin biting your lower lip.

“Split me apart, Tsuki. I’m begging you.”

He rolls his eyes, gripping your neck tighter.

“What is wrong with you, Stupid Girl? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I don’t care what time it is. I want you to tear me apart.” Your dazed eyes roll back to his honey colored one with a dare he’s not willing to turn down.

His large fingers tear at the thin fabric of your dress and tugs it down your arm.

“You always wear the sluttiest things.” He stares at you, your body slowly being exposed with each piece he tears off. “You reek. Did they reject you again?” He leans into your neck, teeth sinking into the arch of your bones. “Tell me. What’s his name?” He bites into your skin as you attempt to reply, your gasp ruining you. “Hm? Who did you try to replace me with this time?” His hot breath coats the lobe of your ear, his fingers gripping the messy strands of your hair to the opposite side exposing you completely.

The other hand you were concerned with reappears between your legs, fingers dipping against the damp fabric clinging to your heat.

“Hmm doesn’t matter. Because he didn’t want you. Did he not?”

You ignore his question, focusing on the two fingers that tease you from below, light touches caressing you until you’re suffering with that welcoming ache.

You feel yourself tighten, the kegel trying to hold in the wetness between your folds.

“Mmm what is it? You’re so tense.” He stops petting you. “He didn’t want you, did he?”

He steps back, the hand that had you mesmerized leaves your heat throbbing -begging for attention- and relocates to your bottom lip.

“Answer me.” He demands, the finger dragging your taste against your plump lip.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No he didn-” Tsukishima cuts you off with his finger burrowing back through your lips and inside your mouth.

“I’ve heard enough.” He smirks, him adding another finger to your mouth. “You’ve always talked too much anyway.” His eyes roll, his head shaking with a devilish smirk across his face.

No glasses, no shirt, messy hair, this is the Tsuki no one else knew. This is the Tsuki you knew who would fuck you aggressively until sunrise.

He presses himself against your lower half, his hard cock rubbing against your naked body through his tight briefs.

He scoffs, taking the fingers from your mouth, so wet glistening with your saliva and runs it across the only part still clothed between your legs.

“What’s going to stop me fucking you right now? No one knows where you are. I could fuck you...” He returns to your neck with open mouth kisses sucking on your skin. “For hours. Days if I wanted to. No one is going to stop me from fucking your tight, slutty cunt.”

His fingers graze the fabric once more, pushing it to the side.

His eyes meet yours, his fingers returning to his mouth for wetness, then back to your sensitive, sobbing hole.

His finger to slowly stretch into your body, his eyes never leaving you. He watches your moan, how your lips part, your eyes rolling, your chest rises as he has one hundred percent control of your body.

“Mmm you like that. Look how tight she clings to me.” His free hand caresses your neck, slowly moving to your breast. Goosebumps follow his touch, the warmth of his fingers resting on the bar between your nipple. “I think she missed me.”

He slides his fingers upward, pumping your famished hole for your juice.

“You dirty whore.” He smirks feeling you drip to his knuckle.

Tsuki brings his lips to your ring, lips tongue flicking against your silver barbell.

“I remember when you got these done. Prancing around like some fucking slut with your tits out.” He brings it in with his mouth, sucking the bar for your new found sensitive tips. “Mmm so sexy.” He looks up to you, panting with your head thrown back. “My girl is enjoying herself.” He comes back up, still twisting your ring as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His thumb caresses your clit briefly for the sake of reaction.

Your body jolts and he smirks, bringing you into him.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Baby Girl?” He whispers and you nod unable to catch your breath.

He pulls out from you, his fingers soggy from your wetness.

“Then clean it.” He holds his fingers to your mouth, watching you lick from his knuckle to the tip. “You’re so pretty when you’re wet.” He moans watching you lick his fingers, he grabbing his cock through his tight briefs, it filling perfectly where it should.

Hard, he releases it to his hands, reflexing in your direction.

“If you want me to fuck you, show me how bad you want it.”

He pumps his cock a few times before you smack his hands away, pinning them in between your fingers.

“Shut the fuck up, Tsuki. You’re so annoying.” You scoff taking his shaft between your free hand and your tongue. He moans letting his head roll back, he looking at the ceiling.

Up and down you run your lips along him, his hands tangling with your hair.

“Stop playing with it.” He warns grabbing your face by the jaw. “Do it right.”

It was your time it smirk, taking him whole, him bucking his hips.

You gag against him making Tsuki jolt his cock against your throat again.

“Yes Baby, gag on me. Fuck you feel so good.” He pulls your hair back out from your face.

You watch him, doe eyes watching him relax with pleasure.

“Fuck Baby.” He pulls out from your mouth. “You’re going to waste me like that.” He pulls you to your feet. “Get your ass on my bed.” He points to his bedroom, watching you obediently oblige, his palm smacking your ass on the way in.

“Ow, fuck Tsuki. That hurt!” You rub your enflamed cheek and he meets you in the edge.

“Shut the fuck up.” He smirks. “All fours. Now.”

“Fine fine. Shut up.” You position yourself ready for him when he pushes you forward, your stomach against the sheet.

“You think you’re just gonna get whatever you want.” His hand collides with your cheek again. “Hell no. Shut your bratty mouth and take my cock like a good girl.”

He inserts a finger into your swollen hole, taking it out to his lips. “Fuck Baby.” He grips your hips, bending over to line up. He presses his lips against your cheek then the other, letting his tongue reappear at your clit, letting your body buckle with your moan.

“Mmm just how I remember you.” He leaves a long strip to your entrance, with his index fucking your hole. “You fucking slut. I own you.” He slurps. “I’m going to tear you up.”

He bites your ass, realigning his cock with your core.

Painfully slow, he lets himself into you, bottoming his cock into your body. You both groan as he stays completely still.

“Fuck Tsukki. Move.” You gasp trying to adjust your hips however he has you pinned. “Fuck, you’re big. Move.” You’re breathless as he begins to adjust himself along your tight walls.

“Being nice now isn’t going to make me go easy on your tight pussy.” He slides out, barely leaving the tip in. “Beg for me. Tell me how badly you want me to use you.” He leans forward, his breath on your skin. “Tell me. Who’s gonna touch you like me?”

“N-no one.”

“Hmm? Tell me, Y/n, tell me who’s gonna fuck you like me?”

“No one Tsu- fuck.” He smashes his hips into yours, thrusting harder than he had ever before.

“That’s right. You slut.” He’s thrusting, both hands on your hips keeping him, steady. “You crave me. No one can satisfy you like me.” He bottoms into you, catching your breath with his cock.

“Too deep.” He smirks at your complaint.

“No those boys can’t fill your tight cunt like I can.”

“This is the- the last time Tsuki.”

“You damn liar. You depend on me. You need me.”

He shoves your head into the pillow muffling your moans while he pounds into you. His hand grazes across your ass restlessly, until he pulls out flipping you. His hands pin you down against the bed, his forehead resting against yours.

“I want to watch you cum on my cock.” He grunts, reinserting himself. “You’re so damn gorgeous, you maniac.”

You press your lips against his, your legs pulling him in deep. “Fuck you, Tsuki.”

He smirks into your lips, feeling your walls grip around his cock. Your moans grow louder and he’s pounding harder than ever, wanting you to finish on him.

“Who’s making you cum?” He pants, close himself.

“Fuck. Tsukishima.” You grip the back of his head, feeling yourself release on him, he cumming short after with the throbs of his cock twitching inside of you. His body, wet and covered in sweat, collapses on top of you his breathing matching yours as he lessens in size.

“Fuck.” He says pulling out. “Fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You roll over to your side, feeling him sit up in the bed against the wall.

Moments pass and things begin to calm down, the post nut clarity. The downfall.

“It doesn’t get better than this, does it Tsuki?” Your sad reality hits you as you adjust yourself with a hand under his pillow, still not facing the blond but the wall instead. His covers hide your sweat glazed body and insecurities.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s an endless cycle. I get my heart broken and come crying back to my ex to fuck me because at least I know he’s not going to break me again because he’s already done that.”

You stare at the wall, feeling him shift beside you.

Then you feel his hand graze your hips, resting on the highest point.

“Well. Is that what you want? Do you want the endless cycle of me fucking you until you hate yourself?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know.”

“Would you rather just want to fuck me?”

“Like friends with benefits?” You turn on your side catching him rolling his eyes.

“We will never be friends.” He bluntly says searching for his glasses. You nod and he sighs. “It’s obvious you still have feelings for me, Y/n.”

You rest on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Whatever, Tsuki.”

“Don’t deny it. You wouldn’t keep coming back to me unless you wanted something.”

“I wanted to get laid.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.” He runs hand through his drenched curls.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No normal person would drive two hours in the middle of the night to fuck someone, Y/n. It’s not worth it.”

You sit up grabbing the sheet to cover yourself.

“I’m not here for you to shove your opinions at me, Tsuki.”

“You’re right, Y/n.” He grabs your hand pulling you into him. “You’re here because you still have feelings. You’re here because you can’t accept that you’re not over our relationship. You’re here because you keep throwing yourself at random losers to substitute the feelings you have for me because you can’t admit it to yourself that you never wanted our relationship to end.”

He calls you out leaving you stunned. Not one word can come to your lips because deep down, you know he’s right.

Deep down, you keep going back to Tsuki because you know he won’t let you down. You know, that deep deep down in your chest, the beating organ is still beating for Tsuki but like him, you’re too stubborn to admit it.

“I just want to hear you say it.”

“Say what, Tsukishima?”

“Say that you miss me. Say that you still want me.” His lips brush against yours, his whisper barely audible. Those hands he cuffed around your wrists flip you on your back and he’s hovering over you. “Say you still want me. Say that us breaking up was a mistake and say you still want me. Just admit it.”

“Tsu-“ before you could say another word, his lips silence you, the pressure of his naked body atop of yours, but inches away from joining with each other. “I’m a terrible liar.”

“Then tell me the truth.” He whispers his lips closing in on yours.

“I love you, Kei.”

#tsukishima fluff #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsuki #tsukishima hcs #tsukishima smut #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima haikyuu

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starrybethany · 3 years

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I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 5

Word count: 4.0K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Adam: You followed me

I stare at the three words, blinking with tired eyes. All I want to do is sleep, especially after the day I’ve had with Holden, but the baby decided kicking me was more important. So here I am at four o’clock in the morning checking my social media when I should be getting another three hours of sleep.

I rub my eyes, unsure of how to even respond to the message.

It’s just a statement. I feel flabbergasted by it- really, we haven’t talked in years- well, technically months, but the last time we saw each other we just fucked, and our child went to see him without my knowledge or consent. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to those three words?

Y/N: I think we need to talk.

I sigh, setting my phone down. Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I tell him about the second baby and ask why he would see Holden without at least running it past me the better. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Hopefully I can sleep at least a little bit longer. I’m going to need it to deal with the moody adolescent I’ll be seeing in the morning.

“I made some toast and bacon. Just let me just finish cutting up these strawberries and then breakfast will be ready,” I inform Holden as he hops down the stairs.

He picks up the filled plate waiting for him on the table, throwing the food into the trashcan and setting the plate on the counter, giving me an expectant look.

I stare blankly back at him. I know he’s waiting for a reaction. He wants me to blow up so then he feels okay yelling at me instead of starting the confrontation himself. Instead, I just say, “That’s wasteful.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the door and making his way outside, letting it slam shut behind him. I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, popping a strawberry into my mouth.

I open my Instagram app to catch up on the posts that I’ve missed, freezing when I see that I’ve received a DM. I forgot that I sent a message to Adam last night. Well, technically this morning. After I sent the message, I passed out hard, and I thought the whole thing was a fever dream.

Adam: What about?

Adam: Here’s my number

My fingers tap the screen quietly as I add his phone number into my contacts, saving it and staring at it blankly.

Well. No time like the present.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, before I can even think things through and decide what to say or whether this is a good idea or not, or hell, even what time it is in Chicago right now, I click on the phone icon.

I curse to myself, raising the phone to my ear. Absentmindedly, my hand raises to my mouth so I can chew on my fingernail. Nail-biting is a nervous habit that I gave up years ago, but I guess old habits die hard.

“Hello?” His groggy voice comes through the phone.

I can’t breathe.

The oxygen gets stuck in my lungs. All I can think about are his hands on my body, sliding down to grip my hips. The twinkle in his eyes as I would pull my shirt over my head.

And not to mention the last time I saw him. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, but it suits him. It looks good on him. And he bulked up since the last time I saw him, too- his abs definitely looked and felt like it, anyways.

“Hello?” He repeats, sounding more awake and borderline annoyed now.

“Adam,” I respond softly, suddenly feeling shy. Come on, where did my confidence go? I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“Y/N,” he says, all sounds of annoyance out of his voice. “You actually called, I didn’t think that you would-“”Sorry for waking you up,” I blurt out, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s seven in the morning here. Chicago is an hour behind Philadelphia- it’s what kept me from calling the boys on the team late at night for several years.

“Oh, no, no, don’t you ever worry about that,” he reassures me. It’s quiet. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, to let him know what I want to talk to him about, but I just can’t get the words out. I feel them stuck in my throat, clawing to escape. “So, how’s Holden?”

And there it is.

That question is what spurs me to speak, to dig into the man who hid a huge secret like that from me. But I guess I’m doing the same thing to him now.

“I don’t know, how is he, Adam?” I spit out.

He sighs. He sighs. I want to punch his perfect fucking face.

“If I had realized that you had such a problem with it-“”Such a problem with it?” I repeat, not believing my own ears. Suddenly I’m reminded of why I decided not to tell Adam about this baby and why he wasn’t ready to be in Holden’s life for thirteen years. Hell, it sounds like he’s still not ready.

“My son lied to me about his intentions of going to Chicago, traveled halfway across the country by himself, and saw someone who he’s never met before. Yes, I have a fucking problem with it,” I growl.

“Our son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son. You said my son.”

All I want to do right now is to reach through this tiny screen and hit him upside the head. Really, after I lay out all of my concerns, this is all he has to say to me?

“Whatever. When are you coming to Philadelphia next?” I question. I don’t want to air all of grievances and talk about the new baby over the phone. I’ve had enough communication classes to know that you need to see someone’s nonverbal behaviors instead just hearing what they have to say.

“Why? You want to see me?” Suggestion laces his tone.

No, asshole, you already got me pregnant again.

“Yes. We need to talk about Holden… and some other things,” my voice trails off at the end, not sure how to warn him about such big news.

“Some other things, eh? Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” he responds, clearly thinking that it’s something regarding us and our relationship, well, our dislike or lust for one another or something, instead of picking up what I’m trying to hint at.

“Cool. So, can you take a trip to Philly sometime soon or are you going to wait until hockey season?” I inquire.

“I can take a trip there, just for you. And Holden, of course.”

I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my face. That sentence shows me that he’d be a good dad if he just put in the effort. It infuriates me that he’s kept that from Holden for years just because he hasn’t felt like working towards a relationship with his son.

“Good. Let me know when you’re in town so we can meet up.”

“What? You’re not going to invite me to stay with you?”

“Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up before he can respond. All I can imagine the rest of the day is his reaction after that phone call. He would have that small, knowing smile on his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket every five minutes to check and see if he got a new text from me or to send the fifth one in a row to me- one that I still would not respond to.

And my heart skips a beat at the thought of that.

It’s been a week since the phone call and since Adam sent me a screenshot of his booked ticket to Philadelphia two weeks from then. For some reason, maybe it’s the stupid, hopeless romantic part in me, I had hoped that he would book his plane ticket and hotel room for that night or even the next day. But he told me he had some ‘lose ends’ to tie up in Chicago before leaving.

And it’s also been a week since Holden has said a word to me. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked him about his day, his friends, cooked him his favorite meals all week, I even offered to take him to Target to get a new video game.

None of that has worked. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that after everything I’ve done for him and everything I’ve sacrificed for him, and how Adam has done none of that, he looks at Adam like a God and me like the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

I know it’s what I’m supposed to do as a mother, care for my son and make sure he’s happy, but it’s just- it’s just- ugh.

I start to feel my blood boil as my mom’s voice echoes in the back of my head. Life’s not fair.

It’s then that I realize that I’ve given him enough space and time to figure out his feelings and how he wants to proceed. I don’t want to give him too much space that he begins to resent me and feel like I don’t care about him.

I know that feeling all too well.

I knock on his bedroom door softly, waiting for him to open it before I just walk in. It creeks open slightly, and just as I expected, eyes matching my mom’s peek out to glare at me.

“Can I talk to you, Holden?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.

“Please, you don’t even have to talk, just listen,” I beg.

Fortunately, he opens the door the rest of the way, watching as I walk into his room and sit gently on the edge of the bed. He sits down on his worn computer chair, laptop open to some video game I don’t recognize on his desk.

“I want to start by apologizing for yelling at you last week,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Apologizing isn’t something that comes easy to me- I grew up in a family where the words ‘I’m sorry’ were unheard of. My parents were always right, and I was always wrong.

“I realize it probably wasn’t easy for you to go to Chicago by yourself to meet your dad. Holden, I just want you to realize that I would do anything to protect you, and I love you with my whole heart so realizing that you were in such an emotionally taxing situation without talking to me about it first-“I pause to sniffle, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes. “I felt helpless. And I couldn’t stop wondering why you didn’t feel like you could share that with me and then I realized that it’s because I don’t share stuff with you either.”

He watches as I lift my sleeve, wiping the tears from under my eyes. His face is still blank, but his eyes look like they’ve softened. He’s understanding my words so far.

“So, yes, this baby is also Adam’s baby. And he did ask about you when I saw him back in February, but I let my pride get the best of me and I told him that he didn’t deserve to see you. I’m sorry for robbing you of meeting your father earlier,” I genuinely apologize, maintaining eye contact with my son.

He shifts in his seat, his hard exterior softening with every word. “Well, I’m sorry for calling you a shitty mother. And saying all of that other stuff. And, if it makes you feel better, I did go to the computer programming camp. I just saw Adam when we had a night off.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“What did he tell you? About not being involved in your life?” I ask carefully, curious as to what Adam told Holden to turn him against me like that.

“He just told me that he was working through some stuff,” he shrugs, acting like he doesn’t care but I know my son well enough to tell that he does. “And he wasn’t ready until recently to meet me.”

I bite my tongue to keep it from releasing an insult towards Adam. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly?” I nod, probing him to go on. “Pretty awful. I don’t think I want a relationship with him, mom.”

A mix of emotions run through my body at his word. I feel anxious, because now I have to tell him that Adam’s coming next week and will want to see him, sadness, because my son now recognizes how his father did not want be involved in his life, and anger toward Adam for making him feel like this in the first place.

“Well,” I cough awkwardly. “He’s coming to Philadelphia next week. I’m going to meet him to tell him about the baby. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s all up to you, bud.”

I stand up slowly, rubbing my belly as the baby begins to kick. He always seems to do that whenever I move even just a little bit- he’s an active little guy.

“Oh,” I turn back around just as I’m about to close the door. “How did you even find out who your father is?”

“Please mom, I’m not stupid,” he grins slyly at me, sliding his headphones onto his neck. “You lived in Chicago when you got pregnant with me and worked for the Blackhawks. I figured, since you said you worked a lot, the only guys you really had a chance to be with were on the team. And when I asked you about my dad for that project for school you said he was Swedish, so I just went to the Blackhawks roster in 2020 and found the Swedish players, messaging them some really uncomfortable and intrusive messages on Instagram.”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. It will never not blow my mind how clever and smart he is. As I close the door to his bedroom, I hear him say, “On the plus side, Alex Nylander is a really nice guy.”

The day is finally here. Being eighteen weeks pregnant makes it really hard to hide my baby bump, but I somehow manage to find a baggy sweatshirt that I’ve stolen from one of my ex-boyfriends to cover it up. I don’t want to walk into the restaurant we’re meeting at and have him immediately know.

Somehow my jeans still fit on my legs, but I have a feeling by the end of this lunch they’ll be unbuttoned. It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

I get to the restaurant before Adam, just like how I planned it. I wanted time to scope out my exits in case I need to bail halfway through this meal- knowing Adam, it’s a possibility. I haven’t thought through what I was going to say too much.

I know I need to talk to him about why he would keep Holden going to Chicago to see him a secret from me, and we need to talk about the baby.

But mostly I just want to hear him grovel. The secret, sadistic part of me wants to hear him beg for forgiveness for making me raise my child by myself for the past thirteen years. I want to hear him admit that he fucked up- I’ve never heard Adam Boqvist admit that he fucked up before.

He shows up two minutes late.

I know because my phone is sitting face up on the table and I click on it every five seconds to see what time it is. I tell myself that if it gets ten minutes past noon and he’s still not here, I’m going home and giving up on dealing with Adam ever again.

But then he’s standing in front of me, familiar toothy grin on his face, black beanie on his shaggy hair, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“You’re late,” I state sternly, not letting any sign of emotion onto my face. I need to let him know I mean business. I need to let him know that I’m never getting into bed with him ever again.

“Yeah, sorry, there was a line at the grocery store,” his grin begins to slip, but as he holds the bouquet out towards me, it takes over his face once again. “I got you these.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t make any movement towards them. His smile falls once again and I begin to feel guilty- he did buy these flowers for me, but he also impregnated me and left me twice.

He slides into the chair across the table from me, setting the flowers on the table and coughing awkwardly. “So, have you ordered yet?”

“Just water,” I respond shortly.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?”

“I’m not really a day drinker,” I eye him over the top of my menu, then go back to skimming through the items. It’s a charade, though. I already know what I want.

“Are you two ready to order?” The peppy waitress appears at our side, notepad open in her hand.

“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I announce, folding my menu.

“I’ll take that too. And a bottle of your sweetest wine, please,” the blonde orders, passing his menu to the waitress. When she leaves, he turns back to me. “I know you like the sweet stuff.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to cut to the chase. I’d rather get through this meal as soon as possible. The sooner we get done talking about this stuff, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

He chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken from his glass, water dripping down his chin and landing on the table in front of him. I can’t help but watch with a content smile as he coughs, trying to catch his breath.

“Excuse me?” He utters through coughs, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “I’m due in November.”

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he says unsurely.

I roll my eyes, muttering, “You clearly haven’t gotten smarter since last time.”

He seems to catch on to the hidden meaning behind my comment, his eyes widening. “Oh is it- since we-“”It’s your baby,” I conclude bluntly.

A smirk begins to spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He’s smirking just after I told him that he got me pregnant accidentally for the second time.

“Why do you have that look?” I snap.

“My little swimmers work pretty well, don’t they?” He inquires confidently, sipping from his water and succeeding this time.

I lean across the table, turning it on him. “I don’t know, do they? Are there any half-siblings that I need to worry about?”

The smirk is replaced by a look of genuineness now. It startles me, the sudden change of emotions. “No, it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

I lean back in my seat, the sudden seriousness too much for me to bear. I fiddle with the napkin sitting next to my glass, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yeah, so it’s a boy.”

“Another boy,” he echoes my very thoughts the moment I found out the sex.

I grin at the thought of my second child. When he’s been kicking me at night and keeping me awake, I think about what he’s going to be like. Is he going to cry a lot or is he going to be a quiet baby like Holden was? Will I have to keep an eye on him every minute or will I be able to get some breaks?

And what about when he’s older. Will he like hockey like his dad? Would he like the Flyers because we live in Philadelphia, or would he like the Blackhawks because his dad plays for them?

“Speaking of boys, how is Holden doing? He hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.” Adam means for the question to sound casual, but I can hear the undertone of worry in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as much of a shitty father as I think he is.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” I confess.

He doesn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face. I don’t expect him to. I know how it feels to feel unwanted and unloved by your child- I felt it when Holden told me that I’m a shitty mother. And although Adam deserves the consequences to his actions, I can’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him.

“I deserve that,” he sighs.

“You do,” I agree, knowing that I’m shoving the knife deeper into his heart. “But just give him time to decide what he wants to do. It’s all so fresh to him.”

He gives me a small, vulnerable smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was going to see you while he was in Chicago, Adam?” I ask him the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I found out about the situation.

He shrugs, not saying a word.

“Yes, you do know,” I persist. “So just fucking tell me. Enough of the bullshit, we’re in our thirties now. It’s time to focus on the children, not your fucking pride.”

He looks baffled by my sudden outburst, but it inspires him to answer. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would stop him. Then I’d never get to meet my son.”

“I would have stopped him,” I agreed, causing him to open his mouth to begin arguing with me. I start to speak again before he can begin. “And reschedule the trip to a time that works better with my work schedule so that I could go with him. Yes, you’re his father, but you’ve never been in his life. You’re essentially a stranger to him.”

He narrows his eyes at me like my words are a challenge. “Not anymore.”

I narrow my eyes at him now. “Really? What’s his middle name? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color?”

He doesn’t respond and I scoff, taking a sip of my water again. “That’s what I thought.”

We’re quiet as the waitress returns with our meals. I cut my noodles, taking a bite of my food.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby,” he says, quickly adding, “And Holden anymore. I want to be there for this baby from the start. Or from now, I guess. And I want to be there for Holden, if he ever wants me.”

Mixed feelings begin to flush through my body. This is what I wanted for my kids from the beginning, an active father figure. And Adam’s offering it now, but why am I still feeling so hesitant?

After years of expecting him to step up as a parent and him never doing it, I have reasonable doubts when it comes to Adam’s parenting ability.

“Well, you know it’s up to Holden. You can’t force him to like you,” I begin slowly, trying to phrase my words in the best way possible. “But with this second baby… we can try it. I have a doctor’s appointment in two days. I’ll text you the address and time.”

“But my flight leaves tomorrow,” he whines. “Can’t you just reschedule for today?”

“You have so much to learn, Adam,” I shake my head. “I just hope you realize that being a parent means that you’re selfless more than selfish. Tell you what, go back to Chicago if you want to. But if you go back to Chicago, the only time you’ll communicate with the boys is when they want to talk to you.”

#Adam Boqvist imagine #NHL imagines #hockey imagines #Adam boqvist #Adam Boqvist x reader #bimsure

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therealvalkyrie · 3 years

Text

Fenario

Pairing/setting: Reiner Braun x Reader, in Liberio just before Reiner goes to fight in one of the wars.

Prompt: Fenario by Richard Shindell (give it a listen while you read!)

Word Count: 738

Warnings: angst

AN: Hello, my loves! This is a speedy little one shot, but I hope you’ll enjoy. Special thanks to my lovely friends @anlian-aishang @cant-spell-slay-without-lay and @bluebellhairpin for the feedback and encouragement! As always, PLEASE don’t be shy about coming to chat with me in my dms/ask box/reblogs with a squeal, comment, or piece of constructive criticism! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

Easy breathing and restless whistling wind are all that keep you company in the night. The shuddering light of the coals in the fireplace burns your eyes as you stare, unsmiling, into their shifting depths. Your love’s silky hair between your fingers grounds you to the world as you gently scratch and plait and soothe.

He’s so peaceful in sleep, worried forehead lines relaxed and lips slightly parted. He gets this night of rest, of uninterrupted dreams, and you get this night to protect him from the world.

You’re sitting up in bed, his head rested in your lap and arms around your waist, thin blankets tucked around him. It’s heartbreaking, how soft this scene in your little corner of hell is. A lump of coal falls from the fireplace onto the stone hearth, and your eyes follow it, watching for a while as it renders down to ash.

There’s nothing else you can think to do as the night slides by, deceivingly protective in its velvet darkness. You think you finally understand why Ymir made a deal with the Devil; if you could do the same to make this night last forever, you would.

When the last of the glow blinks from the coal, you turn to the window. It’s still only waning moonlight which filters in through rippling glass, but you know there’s not much time left. You take a shuddering breath and trace the curve of your love’s jaw with your thumb, memorizing the feel of scratchy stubble and the dip of a scar. He shifts, nuzzling his face into the pudge of your stomach and your heart flips.

“Shhh,” you soothe and return your hand to his blond hair.

In the morning, he’ll be leaving you, and you’ll be damned if you can’t spend every second until then with him in your arms.

In the morning, you’ll have to wake him, and he’ll leave you cold and aching in your bed.

In the morning, he’ll rub the sleep from his eyes, kiss you desperately, and be brave.

In the morning, he’ll go to war.

It’s always the same when he leaves you: cruel and heartbreaking and hopeless. For the hundredth time since becoming involved with Reiner, you curse the callousness of his circumstances. A child warrior trusted with the weight of an entire war, witness to the capture and death of his friends, doomed to die young. It’s no longer the chest-sucking anguish it had been when you first fell in love, instead settling into your bones as an aching sorrow. You wish, desperately, you could take the burden for him, reach into his soul and pull every last bit of hurt from him, get up in the morning and put on his red armband and march off to war.

Instead, you’re resigned to this soft hell. This quiet waiting.

Words come to you like a prayer, pushing from your throat and into the relentless night.

“Darkness, darkness, bind him to me, hide him in your velvet cloak. Come the dawn, he’ll rise and go a-marching to Fenario.” The familiar lullaby feels reedy and thin in your quivering notes, desperate and irrational. It’s taken on a different meaning since your mother sang it to you in her husky alto. Back then, it lulled you into dreams of everlasting love and romantic sacrifice. Now, you see it for what it is: a woman’s invocation, a plea, a bargain, meant for the witching hour and only the sickle moon to hear.

The next line is whispered into his skin, your head bent low to brush lips against his temple. “Brave my love, but false the King. False his wars, and false his dawn. Damn the grey that gains the sky, damn the sun, the King’s cold eye.”

As though summoned to spite you, the first grey light of dawn breaks through the window. You squeeze your eyes tight against it and curl further into your love, pressing trembling lips to his hairline. You should wake him now - a military man’s day starts at sunrise - but you selfishly hold him several minutes more.

When the glow of the fireplace is no longer brighter than the sunlight, diffuse through clouds, you take a shaky breath, smooth a hand down his broad back, and kiss him awake.

“My love,” you murmur into the shell of his ear over the sound of your splintering heart. “It’s time to wake up.”

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun fanfic #reiner x reader #aot fanfic #aot x reader #snk fanfic #snk x reader #angst #short fic #fenario #therealvalkyrie #valkyrie writes

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Sleepless (LoV x Reader)

Pairing: League of Villains x Reader, platonic relationship

Shigaraki, Toga, Twice, Kurogiri, Dabi x reader

@riarora messaged me with the request: "So I was thinking platonic LOV x child reader (You can make them 18 if you're more comfortable, but I was thinking more like 14-15)The reader (I'll refer to them as she/her, but you can make it gender neutral) has really bad insomnia so every night, she would be pacing around, doing anything and everything to make sure no dark thoughts take over. Usually, none of the LOV would bat an eye, but considering the fact that she's a child, they feel sympathy, so they indirectly try to get her to fall asleep. Like, sending her on extra missions (always with protection of course) or changing her normal tea with sleeping tea, or maybe just straight up telling her to sleep."

Genre: Comfort

Word Count: 2,291

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: Thanks for the request sweetie! I hope you like it~

Wrote this while listening to a Shinsou playlist on Spotify and it was pretty chill to listen to, if y’all want the link you can comment or dm me and I’ll send it. Something different, but I like how it turned out. It's twice as long as I thought it would end up being, but I think it fits. It's a comfort story that I hope you guys will read even if you don't normally read stuff for the villains. I really like it, I hope you guys read it if you need some comforting. Enjoy~

Like a lot of people, I don't have the nicest thoughts. Most nights, I'm trying everything to block them out and find the sweet release of sleep, whether it's trying to consciously think of other things to block them out, escaping out of my sheets to pace or run in place inside this small room I was given, or getting up to get a snack. Unsurprisingly, none of it works. The rest of the League constantly tease me about my dark circles making me look more villainous all I do is smile, because at least it means I'm part of something now. I would ask them to get me something to busy myself, like a sketch book or a notebook to keep me busy at night, but they aren't my parents; they have no obligation to take care of me and they've already give me a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in.

Little by little, the perceived barrier between us broke down before I realized it.

It started when I took one of my late night trips to the kitchen only to see the light on already. Toga's crooked but innocent smile beams up at me as she twirls a knife in her hand, leaning against the counter. "You're up too, hmm~? Wanna take a trip with me?"

We ended up shrugging on our jackets and masks, walking into the dark, brisk night to the nearest grocery store. "You waited until 2 AM to get pomegranates?" I raised an eyebrow at her zipping straight to the produce section of the market.

"I didn't wanna go alone~" Toga casually responded in her singsongy voice. "A little girl like me shouldn't be out alone at night. Besides, late night shopping in a practically empty supermarket is the best time to go. It's super creepy!" She giggles, filling a plastic bag with three large fruits.

We returned to our hideout and she asked me to help her de-seed them. I slide in next to her, taking the knife out of her hand. Not like I had anything better to do. What was I gonna do, sleep? Sure, okay.

She sliced the fruits in half and held her hands over a large, empty container, using just her hands to push the seeds off the bitter white core, humming to herself. "Are you sure there isn't a more...strategic way to do this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at the mess she was making of her hands.

Toga just giggled and held my stare with her cat-like yellow eyes. "When it gets all over your fingers, it kind of looks like blood doesn't it?" She shivered in ecstasy as she licked the scarlet juice running down her hands and the knife she cut them with. "Mmm, so sweet."

While I continued, trying to avail to be as clean as possible, taking sips of the tea she made for us while we work. I chanced a few tastes myself, chuckling at my own hands. "You're right, it looks like we've commit murder."

"Right?" she chirped with the widest grin, "Isn't it fun?"

I made a better point to get more juice on my fingers before curling my fingers grossly towards her. "I want your heart, Toga. Give it to me!" I growled.

She giggled and held one of my wrists so she can lick some of the juice off. "Too bad you can't have it."

After we finished gathering the seeds into the bowl, we sat on the couch, munching on them by the handful and finishing our drinks. My eyelids kept drooping as I drank my tea.

"We should go on adventures more often," Toga purred as I near the end, taking my cup, laying me down, and covering my body with a blanket before petting my head. Her voice singing, "Sleep well, (Y/n)" was the last thing I heard before drifting off. It was the best night's sleep I'd gotten in a long while.

A few days later, Kurogiri stopped me from heading to bed while the rest went off. "I heard you and Toga up late a few nights ago. Why don't you help me clean up before going up?"

I agreed, mostly because I would be awake with my thoughts anyway. He had me shining his glasses, climbing up a ladder to dust the top shelves of his bar, wiping down the counters, and organizing his liquor.

"Have some of this, child." He set down a cup of tea and saucer on the counter while I was organizing his top shelf liquor, the clock flashing 1:57 AM. "You've been a big help."

I climbed down carefully and stare down at the translucent, peach colored liquid carefully.

He noticed my cautiousness. "How are you adjusting?"

I tilted the cup around, swishing the liquid around before holding it up to my lips. "It's better than where I was before, thank you."

"I'm glad you're settling in and getting along with the rest."

"It's just Toga so far." I sipped a good portion of the hot liquid, easing down my through smooth as the honey I can taste that he added.

"It'll take time for the others to warm up to you. Shigaraki and Dabi especially don't take to strangers that easily, but they'll come around." His cold, portal enclosed hand rested on my head. "We're happy to take you in as our family, (Y/n)."

I smiled at his assurance of me, nodding in gratitude, but still hesitant about feeling that I fit in here.

We talked for a while more until I finished his tea and he sent me off to bed. Though reluctant - I even offered to do more cleaning up to keep myself there - he insisted I leave. I trudge to my room, the exhaustion in my bones and muscles more apparent than usual. I know this old trick; even when I'm fatigued, my thoughts still keep me up. But as I ease under the blanket and close my eyes, I feel myself pulled down into sleep without interference. I started thinking there was something in the tea.

It took a while for Shigaraki to come around, as Kurogiri said. He heard the rustling of me rolling around in bed on his way back from getting a glass of water from the kitchen. "Hey, you still awake?"

I turned over and sat up. "Am I bothering you? I'm sorry-"

"You wanna come play games with me?" It was an unexpected question. He never talked much to me so I figured he wanted to keep his distance.

But I still agreed, ending up in his dark room where only the TV cast its artificial light over us. He pulled up another pillow for me to sit with him, leaning back against the mattress and box-spring stack. He resumed his game, some kind of RPG with amazing art and storytelling. The main character had jet black hair and traveled with three other guys of varying talents and personalities. They seemed to have a great relationship together as they trekked across their virtual world in a fancy car. (1000 brownie points if you know which game i'm referencing)

There was a hilarious part in the game where the crew rode on the backs of these fluffy, yellow birds that were the size of ostriches. "What's the point of this part?" I asked curiously.

Shigaraki beamed at the screen, his chapped lips spreading in joy. "It's just something you always have to do in these games."

My eyes remained glued to the screen. Shigaraki wouldn't ask me if I wanted to play after one time, which I appreciated. I'm not too good at playing games, I prefer watching other people play them from the sidelines. I followed the complicated story line, impressed with how fleshed out the world is, the detail in the art, and the power system interface. If I were better at gaming, I'd understand how amazing it would feel playing it; I was immersed in it even as a spectator.

The game got to a cave-crawling segment. The eased up voice acting, ambient noise, and dimmed lighting made my eyes heavy. I didn't want to fall asleep in Shigaraki's room, but I also knew that I wouldn't be able to sleep if I went back to mine.

"You can sleep if you want. Get comfortable."

Though he didn't particularly use a motherly voice like Kurogiri, I understood he was trying to come off the same way. I ended up laying on my head on my pillow, sprawling onto the floor on my stomach, the noise of the game slowly lulling me off to sleep. In the morning, I would wake to a blanket pulled over my body. It somehow became a weekly occurrence; we wouldn't talk to each other, but the silence was comfortable. It was reassuring that I didn't always need that strange tea to put me to sleep.

Late nights with Twice are probably my favorite. He's like a huge dad, or much older big brother. I connected with him on a more emotional level than the rest. If I found myself in the kitchen rummaging for snacks, he'd come up and pick out a bunch and sit us at the table with some tea.

"I have trouble sleeping too sometimes," he admitted, popping some chips in his mouth. "I was lonely before I found these guys. I had no one but myself, and the many versions of myself weren't the most forgiving on me either."

I stared down at my glass of warmed milk. "So your thoughts were actually told out loud to you all the time?" I whispered softly.

"Yup." He blinked before waving his hands in front of his face wildly. "But that doesn't mean I had it worse than you, that's not what I'm saying at all! Your problems are just as valid and important and-!"

"It's okay, I understand."

He offered a sympathetic lopsided smile. "I know you've been through a lot, kid, and it probably feels like a lot and nothing at the same time. The times when it feels like a lot will hurt, and that's okay. You'll get through it and grow up to deal with it in your own way. And there is a light at the end of the tunnel, believe me. You can't see it now, but it's there. Keep fighting through it." He touched my hand over the glass. "I'm here for you, we're here for you."

I felt like crying, suddenly choked up by the bitter nostalgia of missing my parents. "You'd be a great Dad, Twice." I tried to cover for my tears and unsteady voice by clearing my throat and rubbing my eyes.

He hummed in response. "I've always wanted a kid. Things never ended up that way though."

I found myself finally sobbing at his misfortune piling on top of mine. "That's really shitty actually," I choked out.

He handed me a tissue to wipe my face with. "Let it out, kid. Sometimes it's good to just cry it out."

And I did, until I finally sobbed myself to sleep at the table, and Twice picked up and returned me to my bed, tucking me in like the soft dad he should've been.

Dabi remained the hard nose one, keeping his distance and looking down on me. Like Shigaraki, walked by my room while I was tossing around, but he stood over my bed. "Hey. If you don't go to sleep, I'm putting you to work."

Put me to work he did, sending me out to fetch him snacks, cards, or cigarettes. Once, he decided to join me and we ended up on the roof of our abandoned building after coming back from the convenience store. The stars already dusted the sky as Dabi lit the cigarettes with his blue flames just for fun, watching them disintegrate into ash in front of his eyes. I never knew how to get him to open up, he's too gruff for me to start a conversation with him, so I stuck to being mesmerized by his flames.

"What's on your mind that you can't sleep, kid?" he finally asked, breaking the awkward silence and cutting off his quirk to stare me hard in the eyes.

"N-Nothing." I hated to admit it, but I'm scared of Dabi the most. Both him and Shigaraki can end my life in a fraction of a second, but Dabi overall has the scarier aura. "Just...thinking."

After a few more moments of braving his stare, he looked up. "Yeah, we all do that a lot, don't we? Us damn human can't help but think. It'd be nice if we can pull the cord sometimes, yeah?"

"I guess," I answered carefully.

He studied me again out of the corner of his eye before flickering back up. "Do you ever think that's why none of us survive well alone? We need other people to distract us all the time because then we'd get stuck in our heads, and we all know how dangerous that can be if we're stuck there for too long. It never ends well." He adjusts himself, placing his hands behind his head to rest his neck. "We all got demons, kid. It's what makes us stronger, but you gotta grow from them first. And I guess that's what the rest of us are for, so if you need us, you know what to do."

It was with Dabi that I realized he had a point. I'm not alone anymore and none of the others seem to think of me as a stranger or a stupid little kid they have to be responsible for. I'm a member of this group now, I should rely on them as support, just not in the traditional way.

How I ultimately ended up here doesn't help any of the awful things I tell myself or what happened to me, but being here definitely helps, especially when I'm surrounded by people who subtly share solidarity with for now.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #league of villians x reader #dabi #toga himiko #mha twice #kurogiri #shigaraki #request #platonic #gender neutral reader #comfort #league of villains imagine #league of villains scenario #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Love Is Not Forced ~ 31

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,700ish

Summary: small rollercoaster of emotions... that’s all I can summarize for you.

Steven was pushing his legs to run faster, trying to get to Y/N, who was being held by her neck by Loki. He and his guards were trying to reach her before anything happened.

“Y/N!” Steven shouted when saw Loki lift her above the water.

He suddenly realized that he had never asked if Y/N could swim. He willed his legs to go faster, but he wasn’t fast enough. Steven watched as Loki dropped Y/N into the water.

“NO!” Steven screamed.

A few of his guards began shooting arrows Loki. One successfully hit right near his heart, causing him to fall onto the dock. Wasting no time with the injured man, Steven ran to the edge of the dock and threw off his shoes.

“Sire, I don’t think that is wise at this time of night,” one of the guards advised. “There’s no chance—“

“I don’t care!” Steven snapped, throwing his jacket off. “I’m saving her.”

And then the King dove into the water.

The water was terribly cold. That was the first thing Y/N noticed when her body became submerged in the water. The second thing was that she was already running out of air. She tried to move her arms around to somehow get to the surface, but she was failing. She had to close her eyes, as the salty sing to them became too much. Sooner than she would have liked to admit, she stopped trying to get to the surface.

Y/N’s thought’s suddenly went to those she loved. Guilt filled her as she thought about how sad they would be if they died. That would be her fault. She should have never left her room. Her family had already been through so much because of her, they didn’t need these too.

As she could tell that she had a mere few seconds left, she let her thoughts drift to Steven. The start of their friendship… relationship… whatever you’d call it, was rocky. And she didn’t make it an easier for either of them with her attitude. Y/N suddenly wished she had made it easier for him, that she had been more honest with him. Her last thoughts before consciousness escaped her was: I’m sorry, Steven. I love you.

King Anthony and the rest of his family were running towards the scene when they saw Steven dive into the water. Fear ran through him at what his friend jumping into the water meant. Brooklyn’s guards were hauling Loki away as the royals from Alexandria, Captain Barnes, Lady Natasha, and Lord Wilson ran up the dock, searching the water for any sign of the other two.

“Come on, come on, punk,” Captain Barnes muttered to himself.

The crowd watched the water, dread filling them with get passing second.

“Look!” Lord Wilson shouted, pointing towards the water a little closer to shore. “Over there.”

Steven was heaving as he carried Y/N’s cold and lifeless body out of the sea. He held onto her close, even as he knelt on the ground and set her down. He leaned down to try to hear her breathing but nothing. So the King started chest compressions.

“Oh my gosh!” King Anthony cried out, as him and the others ran up beside them.

“Y/N,” Queen Virginia sobbed, collapsing into her husbands arms.

“Steve, let me trade you,” Bucky said, sliding in opposite his friend.

“No,” Steven replied, focused on Y/N’s face.

“You’re tired from the swim. Let me.”

Steven looked at Bucky. No one had noticed the King’s large tears until then. “I can’t lose her, Buck… I love her so much… My heart won’t be able to handle it…”

“Then let me help.”

Steven nodded, and as soon as Bucky’s hands were in position, the men switched. Steven grabbed onto one of Y/N’s hands and brushed away the hair from her face with his free one. He bent down so that his forehead was resting on hers.

“Please, don’t leave me…” He begged, tears mixing with he water droplets on her skin. “Fight… come back to me. Come back to your family.”

Everyone watched as the King of Brooklyn cried against Y/N’s face, as his best friend was trying to safe her life. The Queen couldn’t watch anymore, hiding her head into her husbands neck. Peter was kneeling beside his parents, watching his sister’s lifeless body.

“I don’t know what else I need to promise you, Y/N,” Steven continued. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here with us. Just please… come back.”

Suddenly, the Princess began coughing, water spilling from her lips. But she definitely wasn’t fully conscious yet. Another sob ripped through the Queens throat as she watched her daughter begin to breath again. Steven pressed a long kiss to her forehead as she continued to cough.

“You’re alive…” He whispered. “Thank goodness… I love you so much…” He pressed another kiss to her hairline. “You’re okay…”

“We need to get her inside,” Natasha suggested, coming up to rub her husbands back. “Get her warmed up and see if she’s going to be okay.”

Steven nodded, but before he could pick her up. King Anthony had come over and pulled the Princess into his arms. He held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as he let the tears slip out of his eyes. He held a kiss to his daughter’s cheek before standing up and taking her inside.

The doctor’s and nurses stayed by Y/N’s bedside for the next twenty four hours. Not allowing anyone else into the room. She had yet to fully wake, but was experiencing a fever and the chills at the same time. She kept tossing and turning in her sleep, calling out for Steven or her Father. The two men had been sitting or pacing outside the bedroom since they had been barred from entry. Captain Barnes and Thor refused to let them near Loki, who had survived the wound to his chest, knowing that he would end up dead. Thor believed that his brother deserved a far trial, even if he’d just end up being executed.

It was turning into the second day of the Princess not being allowed to be seen, and it was currently the middle of the night. The doctors and nurses had left Y/N to rest alone. King Anthony had gone to bed to comfort his distraught and worried wife. King Steven had not left the hallway where Y/N’s room was located. He was currently struggling to stay awake as he sat on the floor right across from her door. His eyes kept fluttering shut and his head kept bobbing. But he was determined to stay awake. When he was pretty sure he was going to succumb to sleep, Steven heard a cry coming from Y/N’s room. He immediately woke up and moved to put his ear against the door, wanting to check to see if he was hearing things. He quickly realized he wasn’t.

“Steven!” Y/N cried, not too loud but definitely in distress.

The King quickly stood up and rushed into the room. Y/N was tossing and turning on her bed, sweat forming on her forehead. Before Steven could make it to her side, she cried out again.

“Steven!”

“I’m here,” he sat next to her. He grabbed the rag next to her and began wiping off her brow. “I’m here, my darling. And I’m not planning on leaving your side again.”

Steven set his colder hand against Y/N’s cheek. She leaned into it, obviously needing to be cooled down. The King stayed there, giving Y/N comfort, for a few minutes before Y/N’s eyes began to fluter open.

“Steven?” Y/N mumbled, trying to focus on the man, working over her.

“Yes, my darling,” he responded. “It’s me.”

“What—what happened?”

“Loki dropped you into the water. I jumped in after you.”

“I—I stopped breathing… didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Steven nodded, tears forming as he thought of her lifeless body in his arms. “I was so scared, Y/N. We—I almost lost you, again.”

It broke her heart to see such a strong man tearing up over her, scared to lose her. But, at the same time, it warmed her heart. Steven truly cared. And she believed she did nothing to deserve it.

“Oh, Steven…” She weakly said when she noticed his tears. She slowly brought a hand to rest on his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” Tears began forming in her eyes as well. “For everything. For not giving you a proper chance at first. For putting you through so much grief and barely giving you anything in return…”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, hand moving to hold hers, keeping it against his cheek. “You don’t—“

“Let me finish… you have stayed by my side with no reason, with little to no reassurance that I even feel an ounce of what you do. You continually save me, and I have a feeling, no matter what, that you always will come to my rescue. You are so… so much more than I ever thought you would be.”

“Y/N, I stay by your side because I want to. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

The King’s eyes went wide. He never thought that he’d being hearing those words from her anytime soon. A large smile grew on his face. The largest Y/N had even seen from him.

“I love you so much,” she repeated.

Steven leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Remembering her wanted boundaries, he quickly pulled back. She gave him a concerned look.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him.

“I pushed. I’m sorry. I was suppose to wait for you to give the go ahead.”

“You did nothing wrong, Steven. We’ll still go slow. Plus I think it’s okay to kiss someone after they’ve confessed their love.”

“Are you sure?”

“From now on, I’ll always be sure when it comes to you. Because I love you.”

next chapter >

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tuanyiems · 3 years

Text

Champagne Truffles

Yugyeom x Reader (f) It’s a little angsty at the start oops but still this is a fluffy one, it’s me after all words: 4k plot: it’s your anniversary date night and he’s determined to make this a night you’ll never forget, established relationship!au a/n – Forgive this unedited piece, it’s 3am rn lulz I spent too much time gushing over got7 I had to take out the smut content to make the deadline lol but anyways, make sure to stream Last Piece as you’re reading!!! And this concludes my November of posting exclusively for Yugyeom! (It still counts as November if I haven’t slept yet!) And what a beautiful month it was! Thank you for following me on this Chocolatier journey, I’m sure these two will show up again in a drabble or two in the future. But until, please enjoy and give got7’s new album a listen if you haven’t already. It truly is another masterpiece album c’: // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

“So, how was work today?” you start, climbing into bed where Yugyeom is already tucked in and scrolling on his phone. The bright light illuminates his face, and you pause, admiring his profile as you wait for him to answer.

But Yugyeom only shrugs, not even bothering to look at you. You grab your own phone from your nightstand, twisting it awkwardly around in your hands as you think of something else to say.

“It’s getting colder these days, isn’t it?” you ask softly, staring down at your phone as you flip it once more and watch it light up to a picture of you and Yugyeom at a carnival. It was one of those summertime, pop-up fairs. Yugyeom had convinced you to call in sick and the two of you made a trip an hour out from the city to play like two teenagers in love.

Your lips twist as you press your thumb into the screen where Yugyeom is holding your hand in his. Even when your hands were getting clammy from the summer heat and the nerves of waiting in line for the pirate ship, he had refused to let go.

“Nice try,” he had scoffed, before lifting his hand to kiss the back of yours. “If I let you go for even a second, you’ll definitely find a way to hurt yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re so protective for the weirdest things.”

“Weird? Who was the one who fractured their wrist while bowling?”

You looked away, pretending not to hear.

“And who’s the girl who got a concussion while walking in a department store, hmm?”

“Hey! That time wasn’t my fault!” you pouted, allowing yourself to be tugged along as the line moved up. “Who puts such heavy items on the top shelf anyways?”

“But what normal person climbs the shelves?!”

“An! Independent! Woman!” You defended, slapping his chest with your free hand with each word.

He only laughed, eyes shining down on you. “You could’ve called for help, or oh I don’t know, asked your boyfriend to get it for you? I mean, what else is my height good for?”

“Eye candy, of course!”

“I’m just a piece of meat to you, aren’t I?” he joked, bumping you by the hip before quickly pulling you back into his chest.

You giggled, “Oh course not, babe. I’m obviously using you for our future offspring too. It’s my gracious consideration for future generations.”

“Future offspring?” Yugyeom’s cheeks blushed a rosy hue and as soon as you noticed, you followed suit.

“I mean! Uh-well…if…” you sucked in a breath, forcing your heart to calm. “Anyways, if they end up inheriting your height and my butterfingers, it’ll end up being a disservice to society actually.”

He chuckled, hand squeezing yours. “Probably,” he mused softly, cheeks still warm with daydreams.

When you turn your phone again, the screen flickers awake and there is his blushing face again, eyes twinkling with thoughts of the future…or, that’s what you always thought he was imagining when you look at this photo, but maybe you were just being delusional. It could’ve just been the summer heat making him flush.

The Yugyeom from that memory and the one sitting next to you feel like completely different people. You don’t understand what happened, only a few months had passed since that day. At first, you had summed up his quiet behavior to the changing season. It’s not like Yugyeom had never been quiet or moody before, but never has he iced you out like this for so long.

It makes you nervous actually. In two days, it’ll be your three-year anniversary. This is supposed to be a good thing of course, but in the back of your mind sits the nervous belief that something bad will happen on that day.

None of your previous relationships have ever lasted longer than a year. You and Yugyeom were always so stable that you never thought this would be a problem, but his sudden changes have made you more superstitious.

“Baby?” you utter softly, touching his wrist to put his phone down. He looks over but doesn’t say a word. “Um, I was wondering how you wanted to spend this Saturday? We haven’t really talked about it, so…”

Your voice trails. He looks at you almost fiercely, a slight frown on his lips.

You swallow. “Not that we have to do anything. Maybe we could just have a quiet day inside. We can marathon that anime you really like! What was the name again? With the cute pig?”

“Seven Deadly Sins,” he answers, looking back at his phone.

“Yeah, that one!” you say, voice much brighter than how you feel. “But…I was just suggesting. We can do what you want to do. Did you have something in mind? Food you’re craving?”

Yugyeom sighs, turning on his side to turn the lamp off. “It’s late, babe, let’s decide later.”

“Oh, okay.”

In the darkness, your worries fester though.

“Baby?” you whisper cautiously. Quietly, you curl against his back, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Goodnight, Gyeom.”

A moment passes before he twists in your arms and pulls you to his chest. You smile, looking up even though you can barely make out his features in the darkness.

“Night baby, I love you,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, and you find yourself relaxing in his arms.

That night you fall into a sleep so good, you end up missing your alarm.

Rushing around the apartment in only a forest green blouse and your nude hip huggers, you unpack your purse for the fifth time that morning.

“Babe, have you seen my charger?” You yell from the bedroom.

“It’s not in your purse?” Yugyeom calls from inside the bathroom.

You huff, throwing the items haphazardly back into your bag. “No!”

“Just take mines!”

“Thank you!”

Rounding the bed, you make your way to Yugyeom’s nightstand. Unlike your own though, his drawer is a disorganized mess. You furrow your brows, shifting through the old mail and random trinkets.

“How does he find anything in here?” you mutter, stuffing your hand to the back and hoping the wire was buried somewhere there.

“Y/N!” Yugyeoms voice booms from behind you. You jump in surprise. “Why are you going through my drawer?”

He snatches your hand out and slams his drawer shut.

“I-” You try to blink back your surprise. “I was just looking for the charger.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, bending behind the nightstand, and pulls the wire out.

“Here,” he tosses it into your hand before walking to your shared closet. “And don’t go through my things.”

Gaze on his back, you place the charger into your purse meekly. Grabbing your cream trousers from the bed, you quietly step into them as Yugyeom gets dressed too.

“Sorry,” you mumble when he finally turns to you.

He lets out a sigh, threading his fingers between yours. His thumb rubs over your hand gently. “I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean to yell.”

“Jackson,” you slide on your rolling chair towards your cubicle buddy, cup of hot chocolate between both palms.

“Uh oh,” Jackson looks at you once before twisting dramatically in his chair. “You’ve got the frowny face!”

“Frowny face?” Jinyoung pokes his head into your cubicle. Seeing your expression, he immediately walks into your cubicle, leaning onto Jackson’s desk. “Who do we need to hurt?”

“No one,” you sulk, stirring your drink. “I just had a question.”

“It was Susan, wasn’t it? I hate her,” Jinyoung scoffs, crossing his arms. Jackson chuckles, nudging him to stop.

“No, I was just wondering,” you pause, looking at your cream flats. “What are some signs when a guy no longer loves you?”

“I’m going to kill Yugyeom.”

“Why is murder always your go-to?” Jackson jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “It can’t be that bad, the last time I saw Yugyeom he was madly in love with you!”

“I just…I don’t know…it’s a feeling,” you frown, gut twisting as you’re speaking the words aloud. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Well, what signs have you been getting from Yugyeom?” Jinyoung asks.

“He’s just gotten quieter in the last couple of months. Sometimes it feels like he’s hiding something from me. Like last night, he was mostly on his phone even though I was trying to talk to him.”

“On his phone doing what?”

You tilt your head, shrugging. “I don’t know, Instagram? Twitter? But that’s not the point.”

“Wait, Instagram or Twitter, Y/N? Was he scrolling through news or was he sliding into DMs? These are important details,” Jinyoung interrupts. Both you and Jackson look at him with wide eyes.

You feel your heart jump to your throat. “Y-you think…maybe, he’s c-cheating on me?”

That thought had never even occurred to you as a possibility but now that you hear it…Your vision starts to blur.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N!” Jackson slaps Jinyoung’s thigh, pushing him away as he hurries to put an arm over your shoulder. “Jinyoung was just asking stupid questions. Yugyeom’s not that kind of guy.”

“But what if he’s right?” you mumble. “This morning I was looking in his drawer to borrow his charger and he yelled at me for going through his things. He’s never done that before! And every time I ask about his day, he won’t really tell me anything.”

You sniffle, rushing to wipe your falling tears.

“Don’t cry, Y/N,” Jinyoung pats your hand softly. “You’re probably just spiraling right now. I don’t know Yugyeom the way you do. He was probably just scrolling through pictures of tattoo art or something.”

“But he’s so handsome and amazing, he could have any girl he wants. What if he’s found someone better? Someone who doesn’t burn toast or, or-”

“Hey,” Jackson squeezes your arm with a frown. “We don’t tolerate that kind of talk in this house.”

“House?” Jinyoung chuckles.

“Our cubicle home!” Jackson clarifies, making you smile.

“Ah, I see a smile,” Jinyoung announces, making your lips stretch wider.

“My makeup is running, isn’t it?” you laugh weakly.

“Yeah, you’re a mess,” Jinyoung teases.

“Good time to ask Susan for an early weekend,” Jackson nudges you playfully.

“Yeah, leave early and go have a real conversation with Yugyeom about how you’re feeling. No use in holding things in if it’s just going to make you cry anyways.”

“Someone’s crying?” Susan, your project manager, pokes her head into your cubicle. When she sees your state, she gasps. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m okay,” you flush with embarrassment.

“Nonsense, you should let her start the weekend early, Susan,” Jinyoung states before smiling at her sweetly. “And as her favorite co-workers, you should let us join her!”

“Nice try, Jinyoung,” she laughs goodheartedly, before turning to you. “You two have to stay, but Y/N, you’re free to go. Come back Monday, feeling better, okay?”

She sends you a wink before striding off.

“I hate her so much,” Jinyoung grumbles.

“You gotta stop lying to yourself, man,” Jackson laughs. He turns to you and pulls you into a hug. “Go and talk to him, Y/N. The longer you wait it out, the longer you’ll just be running circles in your head.”

You nod, convinced. “Alright, I’ll do that. Thanks guys.”

“Call me if you need a hitman!” Jinyoung calls as you rush out of the cubicle.

“Hey, why are you calling at this hour?”

“I just missed you,” you hum into the phone, as you walk down the familiar sidewalk towards your favorite chocolate store. “How’s work?”

“Um, actually,” there’s a pause on the other line before he continues, “It’s kind of busy. Probably be home late today.”

“Oh, okay,” you put on a tone of disappointment as you round the corner to the store. You snicker to yourself. Maybe surprising him at work and helping him with the shop will pick his mood up.

“Yeah, sorry, but you know this time of year. People like to eat chocolates.”

You smile to yourself, slowing your step as you reach the storefront. “Yeah, I know. It’s how I met you.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” you chuckle.

“Anyways, I really have to go now.”

“O-” You freeze, staring into the window of the chocolate store. “Okay.”

“Bye,” Yugyeom doesn’t wait for you to reply before he cuts off the line. You barely register the dead phone line though. You gulp, watching as your best friend, Jenny, pulls Yugyeom into a tight hug between the counter. In her arms, he smiles with full cheeks.

Stepping back, you cross the street in a rush, collapsing into a seat outside the French café across from Yugyeom’s store before your legs give out entirely.

This doesn’t make sense. While Jenny was one of your closest friends, she and Yugyeom weren’t especially close. This was partially due to the fact that Jenny lives in another city two hours away from yours. Yugyeom has never expressed any interest in spending time with your friends unless you were with him, and so things just don’t add up.

Jenny never sent you a text that she’d be in town, especially on a Friday. Just as you’re about to go through the text messages in your phone just in case, you see the door of the chocolate store open and out walks Yugyeom and Jenny. They’re so deep in their own conversation, they don’t even glance at you, right across the street from them.

You take in a breath, shaking your head. This just doesn’t make sense. Getting up again, you make your way down the street, watching them from across. Maybe Jenny needed a special order of chocolates. Was there a birthday you were forgetting?

You stop in your tracks, watching as Jenny practically jumping with excitement alongside Yugyeom. She must’ve said something funny, because he tilts his head back, mouth open wide, the same way he always laughs at you when you make a stupid joke.

Shaking your head again, you continue your steps. No, Jenny is a trusted friend. You’ve known her since high school. But the longer you follow, the more your stomach starts to hurt. It’s exactly because you’ve known Jenny for so long that you know she would never be this animated with your boyfriend.

Your chest hurt at just the thought, but you can’t help it from echoing in your brain. That the two of them look too comfortable—like they’ve been meeting for a while.

Biting your lip hard, you stop in your tracks again and force yourself to turn around. No, this just didn’t add up. And you didn’t want to trail after them like some kind of stalker.

You trust Yugyeom and you trust Jenny.

Hailing the nearest cab, you enter with a huff. It was like Jinyoung said, you were probably just spiraling.

“I’m home,” Yugyeom calls softly as he enters the house. You freeze in your seat at the kitchen table, despite having sat there for three hours for this very moment.

“Hey,” Yugyeom peeks his head into the kitchen, looking at you with furrowed eyes. “What are you doing just sitting here by yourself?”

You chuckle dryly, trying to shake off your nerves. “Oh, I guess I was just spacing out.”

He smiles at you before sitting down in the chair across from you. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” you lie. “How was work?”

“It was fine. Busy as usual,” Yugyeom shrugs. “What did you have for dinner?”

“I made pasta. There’s leftovers in the fridge for you.”

“It’s okay, I’m stuffed already.”

“Oh? You ate?”

Yugyeom’s eyes grow wide before he is blinking away, running his fingers through his hair. “Uh, yeah, um…Bambam, he bought me dinner.”

“That was nice of him,” you mumble. You breathe loudly, trying to keep yourself collected despite feeling like you were going to vomit with each second that passes.

He chuckles before raising his voice abruptly. “Anyways! Let’s talk about tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow? Did you have something in mind?” your chest jolts with hope.

“Actually, I was thinking you could have a girl’s day with Jenny! And then we could do something in the evening.”

“Jenny’s in town?” you watch him closely, noticing the way he licks at his lips and swallows.

“Oh! Yeah! I uh, I heard it from Bam. He must’ve seen a story update from her or something.”

You dig your nail into the cuticle bed of your thumbs as you listen to him lie straight to your face.

“Jenny didn’t text me though. She probably has something else going on this weekend.”

“Nope!” Yugyeom whips, smiling far too big for this conversation. “I messaged her about tomorrow already.”

“So, you want me to hang out with Jenny…on our anniversary?” You question slowly.

Yugyeom looks away, his ears flushed. He brushes at your hand. “Yeah, you two should catch up, get your nails done or something. You should really stop doing this to your nails.”

You look to your hands, your nail beds raw.

“I’m tired,” you mutter, getting up from your seat first. “I’m gonna go to bed first.”

“Oh, okay…well, just remember, you and Jenny at noon!”

You don’t answer.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Jenny turns to you with concern as the nail technician keeps her right hand hostage. “Is something bothering you?”

“Why are you in town again?” you ask, eyes concentrated on the deep red shade that your nail tech paints onto your fingernails.

“Oh!” In your peripheral, you can see her noticeably jolt. “I came for a conference on Friday and when Yugyeom reached out to me I decided to stay for the weekend.”

“A conference, huh?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, turning back to her technician. “You know how much the beauty industry loves their conventions.”

“Must’ve been draining.”

“Yeah, totally. That’s why I didn’t text you I was in town. I was completely exhausted by the end of it that I completely forgot.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Mhm,” she turns back to you. “You should add a gold accent. Gold accent, please!”

Your nail tech nods, bringing out another tray of gold embellishment from underneath her desk. You turn your head, hearing the click of Jenny’s nails on the screen of her phone. There’s a bright smile on her face and it makes you want to burst into tears on the spot.

At first you thought maybe the two of them planned for Jenny to reveal the truth to you. You didn’t think Yugyeom was a coward but lately, none of the things you thought before make sense anymore. However, after hours spent with Jenny, all you’ve managed was getting prettier nails and lots of lies from who you thought was your best friend.

“Gorgeous,” Jenny coos, leaning in to admire your fingers.

“Yeah,” you murmur half-heartedly, feeling your spirit fully deplete.

No confession comes. No explanation. When evening comes, Jenny sends you right back home. Your walk up to the apartment is slow. This is it, isn’t it? Gyeom needed time to prepare himself to break up with you. It’s why he didn’t want to be with you for your anniversary.

Your stomach sinks when you get to your door. Was this your last time ever entering? Where were you going to move to?

As the familiar tone of the keypad rings in your ear, hot tears prick at your eyes. Stepping into the house, your vision blurs as you step through the hallway and into the kitchen. Yugyeom is standing at the stove when he turns to you with a smile.

“You’re back!” he greets you. When you hear his laughter, tears spill down your cheeks. “Crying already, babe? You haven’t even tasted it.”

Hiccupping, you try to calm yourself but the more you try to contain the tears, the more your chest fills with fear and floods you. You cry even harder, a terrible wail leaving your throat.

The sound of tin crashes onto the floor and quickly, you are enveloped in Yugyeom’s warmth. The feeling only makes you more sick and you bury your face into his chest, crying harder. Your last embrace. Your last time being comforted by him. The thoughts send sharp pains straight to your chest.

Yugyeom holds you tight against him, taking the impact of your shaking body to his chest. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”

It’s a long time before you feel calm enough to stand on your own. When you finally do, stepping back from his arms, you feel yourself tearing up again from seeing the concern on his face.

“What happened?” he whispers, fingers reaching out for yours.

You pull away though, taking another step back.

“Yugyeom,” your voice comes out shaky but determined. “Are we breaking up?”

Tears spill again.

Yugyeom looks at you with a shocked expression. “What? Where is this coming from?”

“You don’t love me anymore,” you cry.

“Of course I do! What are you talking about?”

“Then why did you lie to me?” You look at him sharply, gaze severe despite the shine of tears. He doesn’t say anything, and the silence breaks your heart.

Lips quivering, you sit down at the kitchen table. “You lied to me. Jenny lied to me…H-how long? How long have you been doing this?”

“Baby,” Yugyeom whispers, bending to the floor. He rests his hands on your thighs, looking up at you and there are tears in his eyes two. “Baby…baby, you’ve got this all wrong.”

“Even if it’s not Jenny, it’s still not me, is it?” you whimper, tears spilling down your chin. They splatter on the back of his hands. “You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t want to share anything with me. Not even stories about your day.”

Tears run down Yugyeom’s cheeks as he presses a kiss to your knee.

“No, no, baby, you’re wrong.”

You sniff, cupping your palm to his wet cheek. “I want to be wrong. Please prove me wrong, Gyeom.”

“I was trying to keep it a secret,” he scoffs to himself, shaking his head. “I was planning this for months.”

“Planning?”

“I was so afraid I’d accidentally let it slip, or that you’d find it.”

You frown, brows furrowing in confusion now. “Find what, Gyeom?”

Yugyeom takes in a deep breath, breaking into a gentle smile as he glances down at the kitchen floor. Following his gaze, you realize he had dropped a tray of chocolates earlier.

“Chocolates?”

“Champagne Truffles,” he tells you, reaching down to grab one.

“You…you made a new recipe?”

Yugyeom lets out a loud sigh. “Good thing I marked it.”

You look at him, bewildered. He chuckles softly, turning to you again.

“I’m not going to break up with you, baby,” he laughs, digging his thumb into the spine of the chocolate until it bursts with a pop. “I’m trying to spend my whole life with you.”

Your hands to fly to your mouth in surprise as a fresh wave of tears spring to your eyes. He drops the chocolate shell to the floor, holding onto the shining gold band with shaking hands.

“Every day since meeting you,” his voice breaks and you cry, hands coming to cup his face as tears run down his cheeks too. “I thought I had a good life, and then I met you…And then I realized, I was missing everything before you came into my life.”

“Gyeom,”

He sniffs, breaking into a smile as more tears fall from his eyes. “Baby, you’re my everything. You’re the first person I want to tell anything to. You don’t know how hard it’s been trying to keep this from you.”

You laugh with him, “And Jenny.”

He nods. “She was helping me pick out the ring, plan the event, pick the flowers.”

You grin, pressing your forehead to his. “You bought me flowers!”

He laughs, nose brushing softly against yours. “Yeah, and a ring too…if you want it.”

“I do, I do, I do,” you giggle against him as your tears wet his cheek.

He chuckles, breath ghosting your lips.

“Not yet, baby, that one’s for the wedding,” he chuckles and you laugh with him.

“Either way, it’s I do.”

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #kim yugyeom #got7 series #fluff #angst #writing #fanfiction #le chocolatier series

80 notes · View notes

rosaliepostsstuff · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4 - Of the D.A. and the good ol’ fashioned muggle beating

series masterlist

tags: @weasleysbees ; @gloryekaterina ; @thatguppienamedbae ; @sagittarius-flowerchild; @hufflepuff5972 ; @pandaxnienke ; @izzyyy-1 and also @valwritesx because you mentioned wanting to give it a read

if you’d like to be added/removed, send a DM or an ask

warnings: swearing, sexual references, mentions of food, violence, a tiny bit of angst word count: 2895 a/n: I had so much fun getting back to this, but simultaneously, at the moment of checking and editing it I’m on my period and super irritable, so I’m not confident about how it came out, didn’t wan’t to hold it up any longer, though, so I hope you like it.

If you have any feedback, please let me know!

—————④—————

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Alicia Spinnet asked in a tiny whisper. “It has to, I mean, why wouldn’t it? It’s really simple, nothing complicated,” you answered while scoping an intersection before taking a turn. “Why didn’t we take Angie..?” Alicia fretted. “Oh, you know what she’d say. Besides, she’s got important things on her mind now, the quidditch team and all…” “Right, right…” Alicia nodded, “but we could’ve asked Fred and George..?” she complained, looking around the dark corridors. “We don’t need them,” you whispered back, “we can do this on our own, now pull yourself together, girl..!” you said, trying to hide just how nervous you were yourself. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” she started walking a little closer to you, as you lit the way with your wand, holding it low enough not to wake the portraits. “We’ve got this.”

“How much do we need?” Alicia questioned, scraping some moss off of an old castle wall. “I dunno… a lot?” you shrugged your shoulders and she glared at you, “keep going, definitely more than that.”

“Did you hear that?” she froze, terrified. You looked around the two of you, scanning your surroundings as your heart rate spiked up, “I didn’t hear anything. Let’s switch, you keep a lookout,” you instructed.

“Here goes nothing,” you pointed your wand at the bucket, standing in an abandoned storage room, in an empty part of the castle, “geminio.”

The bucket multiplied.

“Awesome…” said Alicia, before a long yawn escaped her lips. “Minnie would be proud of me,” you noted, then performed the same spell a few more times.

—————④—————

You were quite weary the next morning, having breakfast with Angelina and Alicia, who was having trouble staying awake over her bowl of cereal.

“Morning,” greeted Fred and George, sliding into empty seats, even though they had free period first, and were lazily greeted back.

Hermione was reading The Daily Prophet a few seats further, and after a few seconds Fred asked, “Inspections..?” “Yeah, she’s gonna be sitting in on our lessons now, apparently. To make reports,” Angelina answered flatly, with a bit of irritation in her voice. “Oh, that should be fun,” George commented, to which Fred added, “I bet, a real shit-show” with a smirk.

Only then George glanced at the still not quite healed sentence on your hand and his face fell a bit, as your friends continued the conversation. Instead of going over the same thoughts once again, he took notice of your posture, facial expression and tired eyes.

“What’s up?” he nudged you with his elbow lightly. “Huh..?” you mumbled. “You look like death,” he stated. “Oh, thanks, charmer,” you replied sarcastically, pouring yourself a bit more coffee. “Everything alright?” George asked. “Yeah, stayed up late, is all,” you answered, avoiding further explanation and George nodded in response.

“What do you have first period?” he asked after a bit of silence, even though he knew the answer. “Ancient runes.”

Later that day, before lunch, you had charms with Flitwick. It was one of few classes George, Fred and you had together.

As soon as the three of you walked into the classroom you noticed the pink toad standing at the front, talking to Flitwick, and you groaned involuntarily.

You walked over to one of the long benches to take your usual seat. George, instead of going to the next one and take his usual seat with Fred behind you, kept walking with you.

“Ehm, excuse me? That’s- that’s my seat,” Clint Nicholson, the Ravenclaw boy who usually sat next to you, pointed out. George gave him a single glance, “find a new one, mate,” he told him and you watched, a bit puzzled. “Will do.” Clint nodded right away and walked away, sitting next to some housemate of his.

“What was that for?” you asked, puzzled, once Clint set his books down. George looked at you with his eyebrows slightly raised. “For your information, I’m here to make sure you don’t end up boiling up again, with her around,” he said, pointing quickly at Umbridge, then ruffled your hair.

You had no energy to argue, so you looked at him dazed for a couple seconds more. “Sorry,” he added quietly, fixing a few strands of hair he messed up on top of your head.

—————④—————

“Wait, is it the musty old shack at the end of one of the side roads?” Lee asked, shoving a bag full of Zonko’s merch in his backpack.

You had just finished shopping with the boys and the four of you were headed to the Hog’s Head Inn. Fred and George had a rough idea of where the pub could be but you were the only one who knew the location.

“I think, isn’t it?” said Fred, before you could answer. “Oooh I know now, the place where the owner has the goat..!” Lee exclaimed like it was the most exciting piece of information in the world, but that was just his talent. “The goat?” George questioned, puzzled, walking with his hands in his pockets. “I mean, a goat. But I heard the guy l e g i t has a goat in there. Like, as a pet,” Lee went on, “or maybe..? Do you think he..?” he trailed off with a suggestive facial expression, making the twins laugh.

“Ugh, stop right there,” you halted their train of thought with disgust written on your face, trying not to picture it. “But yes, that is the place. Reckon we’re gonna need something less crowded... Dodgier.”

You were the last people to join in. After everyone had a butterbeer in hand, they gathered round in front of Harry and you settled in a chair next to Fred and George. The crowd was versatile, mostly 5th years, with a few younger and older people.

Hermione was the one that started talking and then the conversation rolled around the topic of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Although you were quite skilled in that department, wanting to be an Auror, there were always things you could learn or practice, or maybe even help some others.

They started arguing about Harry’s accomplishments. He spoke about how difficult it was, you hadn’t expected to be so moved but when he spoke about being near losing a friend or really losing one, the reality hit you properly. It got you thinking about what if, as you looked at a pair of hands scrunching up a beanie to your right. What if you lost George?

Coming to Hogwarts, you weren’t one of the most confident kids. You got sorted into Gryffindor and naturally got somewhat close to other Gryffindors in your year. George and Fred were wild from day one. They were easy-going and somehow always managed to make you feel comfortable. By the end of your first year, you’d already considered them your proper friends.

It was always easier with George. Although you’d also trust Fred with everything and in return, you could kill for him, you’d always go to George first. So it became not only Fred, George and Y/N but also George and Y/N.

George was always there and understood. With George, you could communicate without words. He always had the right thing to say when you needed him most, and where words were unnecessary or ineffective, he knew the right thing to do. All that on top of being an all-around great guy.

You were always each other’s biggest support, and over the years developed some shared interests. You could still remember the time you discovered your shared love for one particular book series and how it became so special.

It was in your second year that you mentioned reading it. You had just been rereading the second tome right before the third was about to come out. George shared that he loved the books too, but Fred found the plot boring and overcomplicated. When the third tome came out, you both rushed with your pocket money to buy it and raced each other who could read it faster. You had so much fun with it and sharing your thoughts, you couldn’t wait until the continuation would come out. Next year, however, when the book was about to be released, George was really sheepish about it. After many attempts, you managed to learn that with George’s younger brother starting school, his parents didn’t have enough money for him to buy the book. So you did, and you read it together – that’s how the tradition started. As the series was continued, no matter which one of you paid for the book, you’d always read it together. Over the years you forgot about the money aspect of it – you just loved spending hours upon hours with your best friend, engrossed in your favourite story. Sharing the experience with George made it that much more amusing, memorable and so, so special.

So after all that, what would happen if he was gone one day?

“That’s not what he said,” you were pulled out of your thoughts by Fred’s voice when he snarled at Zacharias Smith. George pulled some long, metal object out of his Zonko’s bag, “Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” he inquired. “Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” added Fred.

A wide grin appeared on your face and you started blinking away some tears you hadn’t even noticed were about to appear a moment before. You looked down at your feet, not wanting George to notice that, but you still smiled to yourself.

You were proud to call those two your friends.

—————④—————

The following Monday, walking to breakfast with your roommates you noticed a giant notice on the board in the common room. The sign declared all student organizations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs disbanded. This new information took a turn on everyone, you spent a long time trying to help Angelina calm down as it meant their quidditch team as well. The great hall was filled with buzz that morning and the Dumbledore’s Army stood in question. Everyone decided to stick to the plan, though, so you did.

Over the next few days Fred and George some massive boils as a result of their unfinished formula for Fever Fudge. It proved a great joking material for you, up until Fred threatened to show them to you if you didn’t stop. Angelina also managed to get permission to reform their quidditch team, meaning your friends would spend a lot of time on the pitch now, with 3 weeks until the first match of the season.

—————④—————

“Well,” said Harry, slightly nervously. “This is the place we’ve found for practices, and you’ve — er — obviously found it okay —” “It’s fantastic!” said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement. “It’s bizarre,” said Fred, frowning around at it. “We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then…”

“A room that gives you whatever you need, whenever you need it? That would’ve come in handy,” you exclaimed, looking around once again. “Yeah, for you, I bet. More spacious than a broom cupboard, isn’t it?” Fred teased you with a shit-eating grin. You immediately reached your foot, over a puzzled looking George, to kick him. Fred wasn’t talking about anything that actually happened but you felt a bit embarrassed nonetheless.

Your first practice session felt very odd, but also fun. You practised the disarming charm, and you partnered up with Neville. He even managed to disarm you a couple of times.

—————④—————

The morning of the match, Gryffindor vs Slytherin, you separated from Fred and George with a kick in the butt for good luck and headed to find the best seat.

The game was dynamic and it turned really aggressive – as most games against Slytherin did. This time, however, they developed a song ‘Weasley is our King’ to get into the team’s, and especially Ron’s, minds. It drove everyone even more.

You were at the edge of your seat and didn’t know where to look. You clutched the ends of your Gryffindor scarf tightly, biting your lip constantly and your gaze alternated between keeping track of the quaffle and following George around. He was doing brilliantly, as always.

The game ended suddenly, Harry caught the snitch and Gryffindor won. Your happiness was mixed with concern as you saw him get hit square in the back by a bludger the moment he caught the snitch. You made your way down to see if he was alright and congratulate your friends.

When you finally reached the pitch your stomach immediately sank and you knew something was wrong. The air felt thick. It was just the two teams on the grass and everyone looked on edge, Fred and George stood stiff.

You heard Malfoy say something indistinctly to you and the twins were about to jump on him, being held down by the rest of the team.

You continued walking towards them but George didn’t see you, he was too focused on Malfoy talking about his family. His jaw was clenched and his whole body tense, shoulders straight – he seemed even taller and bigger than usual.

But the moment Malfoy mentioned Harry’s parents, he let go of George and the both of them tackled Draco. You froze in spot, not knowing what to do. You were scared for George, not wanting him to get hurt or get in trouble, but you couldn’t deny Malfoy deserved it and seeing George land punch after a punch on the prat was scary but satisfying. Seeing him stand up for his family and a friend was also something completely else, which you wouldn’t admit to yourself.

—————④—————

You closed the door to George’s dorm. Fred was out somewhere, blowing some steam off and none of the team members was in the mood to celebrate tonight after three great players got a lifetime ban.

George had showered and changed, he lay sprawled out across the bed, covering his eyes with his forearm.

You put down the few things you brought, that could help with the cut and swelling on his lip, on the bedside table and sat down next to him.

“Can you sit up?” you instructed quietly, with a soft voice. You felt so bad for him and couldn’t imagine how bad he must’ve felt. And you knew he was angry, still.

He took a deep breath after a few seconds, then sat up. Both his hands were now clutching the bed tightly and he stared straight ahead, he avoided looking you in the eye.

You soaked a cotton swab and squeezed the excess, then turned back to him and moved a bit closer, so that your work was easier, and your thighs were touching now. You placed one of your hands on his jaw to hold his head in place. You made a mental note to yourself now was not the time to point out it was time to shave. You started dabbing silently and George winced quietly at the first touch.

“Did he mean that..?” you asked after a minute or so, barely audible. “What?” George mumbled and you put the swab away. “Is it true..? That quidditch was the only thing keeping you here?” you paused to take a deeper breath, “are you going to just leave now?”

George shifted on the bed and looked away, showing signs of irritation, then looked down at his hands, fiddling in his lap. His features softened, he rested elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, sighing deeply.

His silence disturbed you, and you also shifted, turning to face him.

“Maybe for Fred. We talked about this for a bit, but… Yes, you do make this shit-hole bearable.” “…but?” “But if we’re talking school-specific? Nothing. You know we don’t need to sit here. We have the money, we could start up the shop and start doing real things,” he looked at you, “Y/N, we’re friends outside of school, if I left, I wouldn’t just vanish out of your life. And you’d do fine without me here.” “Yeah, just peachy, George!” You huffed, “it’s 8 months! Eight whole-fucking-months, the year has barely started.” “Relax, I didn’t say we’re leaving.” You relaxed a bit, slouching. “There’s still a bit more testing we could do here, and also the D.A. stuff...” He added.

You were quiet for a bit, both avoiding each other’s eyes.

“Are you upset I beat Malfoy up?” George asked, slightly subdued This surprised you slightly. “No, I’m not. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, considering the consequences,” you waved your hands around and shrugged your shoulders, “but also, the prat deserved it. Annd it was nice to see you in action,” you said with a chuckle and a faint smile appeared on his face with a raised brow, “good to know what you’re capable of, if needed.”

He tried his best to hold back the grin, but couldn’t, “capable, huh?” he questioned. You blushed, because you didn’t mean to make it sound suggestive, and you were about to start explaining yourself when he tackled you, tickling your sides.

All your attempts to defend yourself, attack him back or get out of his grasp were pointless.

You had to just let go and surrender.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley series

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Text

10. Emerson

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.8k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: this is the last chapter of The Only Exception, and honestly, i never thought it would come. s/o to @bfharry and @havethetimeofyourstyles for helping me with dad!harry concepts! thank you to everyone who reblogged and loved my two little angels - i love them so much and hope you enjoyed their journey as much as i did! concepts for them are always open - i’m definitely not ready to let go of dad!harry. slide into my DMs and share your thoughts!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

The final weeks before Emerson arrived were a flurry of activity. Y/N went on maternity leave, much to her dismay and Harry’s joy because he got to spend all day with her, every day. They finished the nursery off, finished their respective parenting books and compared notes, and did buckets of research on what to expect at the hospital. Harry, being Harry, ended up worming his way into helping Hanna and Jamie plan the baby shower, saying that if it was going to be at their house he deserved to have at least some part in planning it.

If he was being honest, he mainly did it to distract himself from the anxiety that seemed to plague him every time he woke up in the morning and rolled over and saw Y/N’s extremely pregnant belly. It wasn’t necessarily the anxiety about being a dad, that he could figure out, it was the anxiety about her giving birth. He had stayed up one night stalking a Reddit page that started out as advice for soon-to-be-dads, but ended up devolving into horror stories of things gone wrong. There were even a couple where the woman had died, which had Harry immediately shutting his computer, trying to get the thought of Y/N dying in childbirth out of his mind.

But he couldn’t. He rolled over every possible outcome of the birth, even the extreme ones of losing either her or their little Peanut, who he hadn’t quite adjusted to thinking about as Emerson yet. Anne hadn’t been much help at calming his nerves, even though he knew she was saying all the right things. The problem was that he wasn’t being rational, that he was letting his mind run rampant, and the only way to solve that, Harry knew, was to focus it on something. A goal.

Which led him to the baby shower. He had basically forced Hanna and Jamie to let him help, which he was a bit ashamed of, but the planning actually helped. Thinking through decorations and guest lists and party games and food and playlists, it quieted his mind enough to let his anxiety subside for most of the day. Now they only took over when Y/N fell asleep and he laid awake, watching her sleep and staring at her belly in awe.

Those moments of anxiety and awe were, coincidentally, the same moments in which he ended up thinking about proposing to her.

He loved Y/N more than any other woman he had ever known, he knew that much for sure. She challenged him in ways he loved, made him work to keep her around, and cared for him in a way he had never experienced before. Somehow she knew what he needed before he ever asked—the touches, words, reminders that put his mind and body at ease. Loving her was so fucking easy that it scared him a bit.

And then there was their little Peanut, Emerson, who was already the love of his life. The time he spent singing to her belly, talking to him with his body nestled between her legs, pressing kisses to where he kicked her, it made his heart practically burst. Harry had always wanted to be a father, and even though this wasn’t how he had planned it, it made no difference to him. It was still the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He wanted them to be a family, a proper family in a traditional sort of way. And he knew that marriage didn’t make a family, that it was love and time and effort that created one, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her any less. He wanted her to have his name, the same last name Emerson would have. He wanted to watch her walk down the aisle in a beautiful white gown in the church in Holmes Chapel he’d spent years in. He wanted their child to throw rose petals ahead of her. He wanted to say his weddings vows to her, to slide a ring on her finger, to kiss her when it was all said and done. He wanted to spend the rest of his life loving her.

He didn’t necessarily know when he decided he wanted to propose to her, which night exactly, or what moment he knew in his heart that if he didn’t he would regret it for the rest of his life. He’d been thinking about it off and on since she told him she was pregnant and it got stronger when she moved into his house and made it her permanent address. When she came on tour and he saw how easily she fell into his world every single day. When she had a group text chat with Anne and Gemma where they bullied him and talked about the baby and politics all in the same conversation. When he got home and he felt like he could finally breathe again, because he was with her.

He was fully set on the idea a week into being home, and that was when he went rummaging through his attic for the box of things Anne had given him of his grandmother’s. Specifically, he was looking for a ring—one that had been her wedding ring, and she had given him as something to remember her by, or use for his own marriage. When he found it, he knew it was perfect for her—simple silver with vines etched into the band, and one clear diamond. Y/N was an understated person, never too flashy, and even though Harry could afford an expensive ring, he knew it wouldn’t mean nearly as much to her as this one would.

When it came to the question of when he would propose, he decided to wait. She was too stressed as it was, with Emerson on the way, and it wasn’t like she was going anywhere. He would wait until things had settled down, until he had the ability to do something special for her. He didn’t want to rush it in any way, shape, or form. So instead, he kept the ring tucked into the back of his sock drawer, ready for when the moment arrived.

Until that time, though, he would have to satisfy himself with the simple moments of loving her. And when they were all sat in their backyard, streamers and lanterns decorating the space, their closest friends and family sitting around them at tables and chairs, that was one of those moments. She was talking Anne and Gemma, who had flown in for the birth—which was only a handful of days away—a grin on her face so wide he wondered if her cheeks hurt. Her hair tumbled down her back in waves, her eyes glowed with joy, and the soft pink lipstick she had selected made him want to kiss every inch of her face. She was in a white summer midi dress and a pair of comfortable sandals, and he didn’t know if she had ever looked more beautiful.

“Harry!” His name pulled him out of his trance. She was beckoning him over, and he stood from his chair where he had been vaguely talking to Jeff and some of his other friends, and moved towards her immediately.

“Hey love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his chest pressed to her back, and rest his chin on her head.

Her hand moved to cup his forearm, a simple touch that made him smile. “Anne and Gem were just wondering if there was going to be cake.”

“For the record,” Gemma said, “we did not specifically ask about cake. We asked generally about the likelihood of there being dessert.”

Harry laughed at his sister and simplicity of the request. “Yeah, there’s cake. Got. Your favorite kind,” he said squeezing Y/N’s shoulder.

She tipped her head up and looked at him, eager eyes finding his. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “Cookies and cream ice cream cake is in the freezer.”

She yelped in excitement, pressing a kiss to his lips chastely. “Love you.”

“Just for the cake?”

She shrugged. “And other stuff.” Anne and Gemma started laughing, the sound intermingling with the chirp of the birds and soft sounds of the playlist he had spent hours creating. They had played baby shower games led by Hanna, which had left them all in hysterics, some people had gone for a swim, and they’d had a cookout. It was simple, easy, and exactly what Y/N had requested. There was pile of gifts inside that she declined to open in front of the group, since neither she nor Harry were the kind of people who liked to show off their gifts at parties. One of the many things they shared.

Now, the party was winding down, the sun was setting, and he knew people would begin preparing to head out. It was probably time for cake. “Ready for it?” He asked Y/N.

“Yes!” She followed him inside, where the air conditioning was a welcome relief from the warm summer day. Her hand slipped into his and thumbed along the inside of his wrist, a smile drifting onto his face from the small action.

“Do you like the party?” He asked when they reached the kitchen.

She leaned against the counter and watched him make his way over the fridge. “Yeah. I don’t know why I was so against the idea at first—it’s been nice having everyone here. And to celebrate little Peanut.” She hadn’t adjusted to the name yet either, so they had stuck to calling their unborn child Peanut, leaving the name for when they arrived in the world.

“Me too.” He pulled open their freezer and found the cake easily—he’d gotten it done at their favorite gelato shop and it had cost an absurd amount for a cake, but he didn’t mind. The reaction on her face when he lifted the top and she saw the cake was worth double the price. “Like it?”

Her arms came to wrap around his waist, tugging him into her. “You know, sometimes you just blow me away a bit.”

He mirrored her position, arms twined around her waist. Her head was tucked into the crook of his neck, and he leaned his head against hers, savoring the simplicity and calmness of the moment. He’d started doing it lately, knowing they would be few and far between. “So do you.”

Footsteps sounded on the wood floors of their house, and he turned his head to see Trisha, her mother, in the living room. “Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “Came in for another drink.”

Y/N pulled away, much to his dismay, and when to the fridge for another sparkling water for her mother. “Can you take the plates out too, Mom? We’re doing cake.” She handed her mother a stack of plates and flatware, bustling around the kitchen to find the rest of the napkins from earlier.

“Is that ice cream cake?” Trisha asked, sliding the stack into her arms. “You know her well, Harry.”

That he did. Was quite proud of it, too. The three of them made their way out to the rest of the party, Harry holding the cake and the napkins clasped in Y/N’s hand. Everyone turned at the sound of the sliding door and excitedly joined the couple around the cake, a jabber of conversation about how gorgeous the cake was and how delicious it looked. Anne asked if it was going to melt and Harry chuckled in response, before cutting into the cake. Y/N got the first slice, and Harry watched as the ice cream melted on her lips ever so slightly, a sticky mess coating her skin a bit. He restrained the desire to lick at her skin knowing she would hate him doing that in front of everyone. Instead, he stood next to her with his own piece of cake, an arm around her waist and her head nestled against his shoulder as their friends and families chatted.

“How are long are you staying?” Hanna asked Anne and Gemma, taking a bite of the cake.

“A few weeks,” Anne replied. “I might stay longer, but Gem has work to get back to.”

“If you need someplace to stay, I’ve got spare rooms,” Peter piped up.

Anne gave Peter a thankful smile. “We might take you up on that. Hotels can get a bit tiresome.”

“Mum, you can alway stay with us,” Harry told her for the millionth time. Anne had insisted upon her and Gemma staying in a hotel until the baby was born, wanting to give Y/N and him as much solo time as possible before Emerson arrived. Harry and Y/N had both fought her on it, telling her she was welcome, but she was sure on the decision. Trisha had ended up deciding to stay in the same hotel, echoing Anne’s desire to let them have their space before the birth, so the two had gotten a bit closer. Trish had even become Anne and Gemma’s personal chauffeur, since they didn’t have a car.

Anne waved at the thought. “No, I want you two to have your space. We’ll be here after the birth, but until then, savor these last moments together.”

Y/N pinched at Harry’s hip and he yelped, giving her a glare. She was giggling into his arm though, a playful smile on her face, so she let it slide. “As much as I’d love to have family around, I can’t say I’m mad.”

Everyone laughed at that, and Harry rubbed a circle on her skin, enjoying her relaxed nature, the anxiety that had been plaguing her recently disappearing. It wasn’t just him who had been stressed lately about the quickly approaching birth—Y/N had been having vivid stress dreams that usually ended up waking him up, her body sweating next to him.

Harry wasn’t mad that his family wasn’t staying with them either, because frankly after being apart from Y/N for so long, he didn’t want anyone invading their space unless absolutely necessary. (Exceptions would obviously be made for their child.) He just wanted to touch her all the fucking time, just pet her skin or kiss up and down her neck, and sometimes he kissed her hard against the wall just because he could. As they stood next to each other, her hands gripping the back of his striped t-shirt and his fingers brushing up and down her spine, he wanted everyone to leave so he could love on her as much as he wanted.

When Y/N started to yawn, Harry knew it was time to wrap up the party. He did the honors of ushering their guests out, knowing she was too kind to ever pressure people to leave, but Harry had no problem forcing people to leave his home so that he could be alone with her. Peter lingered behind to help pick up the yard while Y/N and Harry washed dishes in the kitchen. Fleetwood Mac flowed from the speaker and they moved around one another in ease, comments about the party passed between them. Harry pinched her hip when she scooted past him and she swatted his ass with a towel in retaliation, a playful smile directed his way.

“Love you,” she murmured against his shoulder, nosing at the shirt stretched across his body. His hands were in soapy water as he washed a plate so he couldn’t touch her, which he felt was a crime, but he settled for just turning his head and kissing her temple.

“Love you too,” he replied. “Now get back to drying, you’re messing up our flow.” She giggled and he handed her a plate, which she wiped dry. Her father came inside with the rest of the decorations and items that had been left outside, and Harry directed him to put them in the garage. Going through all of them was on his to-do list for tomorrow, but he didn’t have the energy to do it now. After that, Peter showed himself out, promising to call Harry the next day to talk about the song he had mentioned wanting to work through with him. Harry had never thought having a talented musician as a father-in-law of sorts would be so nice, but now that he had Peter he loved being able to give him a call and get his opinion on a mix or the bridge of a song he was working on.

The dishes were finished, and Harry pulled the plug in the sink to let the soapy water drain before wiping his hands on a towel and turning to Y/N. “I was thinking a late night swim might be nice,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t want to try and find a suit that fits,” Y/N said with a frown, hand brushing over her belly.

Harry would personally have favored if she was naked all the time. “Don’t need one, love. C’mon—I’ll turn on the fairy lights you love.”

She smiled and nodded, letting him lead her to outside to the porch. Outside, it was dark, moonlight illuminating the outline of the large oak trees in the backyard, the shed with the lawnmower Harry had been meaning to replace, and a vegetable garden they had put in before tour. Hanna had tended to it while they were gone, and then it was Y/N’s responsibility, and she had done a good job—they had little tomatoes and beans and broccoli and a variety of herbs, which Harry loved cooking with. A few feet past the patio was the pool, the concrete surrounding it strewn with reclining chairs where they loved to sunbathe in the afternoons, Harry running sunblock over Y/N’s stretched skin.

When his feet met the concrete of the patio, Harry tugged his shirt off, then his pants and briefs, before turning to look at Y/N. She was struggling with the tie at the back of her dress, and Harry motioned for her to turn, his fingers deftly pulling the ties loose and then tugging her zipper down her back. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a series of kisses to her spine that had her shivering. He helped her out of her undergarments, and then she stood before him bathed in moonlight and the soft glow of the fairy lights that twinkled around them. Her full breasts, a hand rubbing over her belly where their child rested. She looked almost ethereal, a vision, a dream. “Come on, love,” he said, walking towards the pool.

He dropped into the water without a pause, the cool temperature washing over his skin deliciously. When he poked his head up to the top of to the water, he found Y/N sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in. “It’s cold,” she said, kicking some water into his face.

Harry moved towards her, pulled like magnets, and snatched her feet. Littering her leg with kisses and leaving her giggling for him, he found a spot between her knees, his chest pressed to the side of the pool. “Feels good, though.” His hands swept over her belly, and he nosed at her bare skin. “Want to go for a swim, Peanut? Think it’ll feel good, but Mumma isn’t so sure.”

“God, you’re so annoying,” Y/N said, pushing at his chest so she could slide into the pool. She landed on the bottom and immediately reached for Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Did you have fun today?”

Harry pulls her thighs up so he can hold her close, and her fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. “I did. You were so happy.”

“Not just about my happiness, you mush. You seemed pretty happy too.”

This was true, but the sight of Y/N happy made him happy. “I was, baby,” he reassured her. She pressed her lips to his, one of love and care, and then pulled away, resting her head on his shoulder. He just held her close, adoring the feeling of her bare skin on his, their child nestled between them, basking in the glow that was loving her.

Harry dipped the tongs into the pasta water, grabbing at a piece and pulling it out of the hot water to test its readiness. Y/N was standing next to him, tossing the salad they had put together, and trying to hold herself together. The contractions had been coming and going all day, pain that radiated up her spine as she clenched her jaw and tried to continue her activities. They’d called the midwife the minute they started and she had been there ever since, helping Y/N with breathing patterns and guiding her into different positions to keep the pain from overwhelming her. They hadn’t been regular, though, so they were still at home, waiting for the contractions to speed up or even out.

“Another one?” Harry asked, peeking over at her, her hands clenching the edge of the counter as another contraction rolled through her body. She nodded shakily, and Harry ran his hand across her back. “Breathe for me love, remember? In, out, even—there you go.” Once he was breathing more evenly, he went to pour out the pasta, wanting to make sure Y/N had strength for the delivery that was for sure coming.

It might have seemed unusual that Harry and Y/N were cooking dinner—the midwife had sure thought so, but it felt good to have something for Y/N to focus her mind on, even if it was just putting together a salad and watching Harry cook. It was better than doing uncomfortable exercises in the backyard to try get the labor moving along. They’d tried her squatting, her waddling around, her doing loud yells, and none of it had worked. She was exhausted.

All of a sudden, a dull pain lashed through her and she dropped the tongs to the counter with a clatter, the metal hitting the granite countertops.“Fuckkk,” Y/N groaned, clenching the edge of the counter and trying to breathe in and out.

“That was faster,” Harry said, panic rising inside of him. He looked to the midwife, who was on her feet and moving towards them from where she had been sitting on the couch reading a book. “Right?”

“Yes,” the midwife, Sarah, told them both, coming to Y/N’s side. “Breathe for me, Y/N, okay? I need to start counting them. Can you do that with me?”

Harry had completely forgotten about dinner as he counted with Sarah and Y/N, timing the distance between her contractions. Y/N was panting so hard and all Harry could do was grip her hand when she reached out for him, and hold it and watch in sheer horror at the pain in her face. It had been like this all day, but this—this looked different somehow, more intense. Her fingers were squeezing his palm so tightly he thought she might cut off circulation.

Together, they managed to move Y/N to the couch, where she could be more comfortable. Her contractions were coming faster and more frequent over the next hour, dinner completely forgotten—Harry could tell and Sarah agreed. “Harry,” Sarah said, breaking her focus on Y/N to look at him, “is the hospital bag ready?”

It had been ready for two weeks—he’d done it the day after he had gotten home and checked it almost every day to make sure they had everything. “Yes,” he said.

“Go get it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and Harry pressed a kiss to her hand before scampering upstairs to the nursery to grab it. He took the stairs two at a time, eager not to be away from her for too long. When he reached the nursery, he looked around and thought to himself that the next time he would be there, his little Emerson would be coming home.

Downstairs, Sarah was counting with Y/N again, talking her through the contractions and the pain. When Harry reappeared, she waved him over before taking out her phone. “Take her,” she told him. “I’m going to call the hospital.”

“It’s time?” Y/N looked up in panic, before another contraction made her moan, her fingers squeezing Harry’s. “Oh my god, H, it’s happening.”

Harry scooted next to her on the couch and pressed a kiss to her sweaty brow. “It’s happening, love. How does it feel?”

“Like hell,” she said, teeth clenched. “They said it hurts but fuck this is horrible. Why do women have to experience this? Fuck, Emerson, baby, please calm down.”

Sarah was talking to the hospital in the background, giving them information on Y/N’s contractions and Harry was only half listening, mostly focusing on Y/N’s eyes, which were darting around the room. “Got the bag ready,” he said, trying to distract her. “We’ve got everything we need. Plenty of gas in the car, too—checked this morning.” He did it every morning now, just to be sure that if it happened suddenly, he would be ready to drive.

“What—fuck—about dinner?”

Harry just chuckled, brushing her hair back. “I’ll have Gemma come by and clean up. Don’t give a shit about the pasta getting stuck to the bottom of the pan.”

She leaned into Harry’s neck and exhaled sharply, clutching his leg. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to have another kid,” she said, “because this is fucking torture.”

Before Harry could reply, Sarah turned to them. “They’re waiting for you—let’s go you two! Time to meet little Emerson!”

Harry drove like a calm, collected, race car driver on the roads. Trying to go as fast as possible without getting pulled over, jumpy because every time Y/N moaned he freaked out a bit, just praying he would get the hospital soon so that they could give her something for the pain. At one point he had brought up natural birth and she had given a look like he made him immediately shut up and never bring it up again. Now that he was seeing labor in person, he fully understood why.

He pulled into the hospital, following Sarah’s instructions for what entrance to use, and put the car into park. People were rushing to the car with a wheelchair which he knew Y/N would hate, but she needed it. He let them get her out of the car before parking it horribly and racing after them, hospital thrown over his shoulder and his phone in his hand. He was having a baby, he thought to himself after the door slid shut behind and he walked alongside Y/N as she was wheeled down the hall. He was going to be a dad today.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Y/N panted, holding onto Harry as she looked at the doctors around her. They’d given her an epidural, which helped, but she was fucking exhausted. She’d been pushing in time with her contractions for two hours and her body felt like it was on its last limb. Even though she couldn’t feel the pain, she could feel the ache in her muscles and she just wanted to sleep for hours. But she was dilated to ten centimeters and it was time to do the final pushes. She was in the home stretch.

“Come on, love,” Harry said, brushing at her forehead. “You’re so close, yeah? You can do it, baby.” His eyes bore into hers, the hazel irises overwhelming her. The look of love and pride and utter awe written all over his features.

“I need you to push for me, Y/N,” her doctor said. She could see him between her legs, where he was looking up at her. “Emerson is ready to meet you both.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, and then she pushed as hard as she could, bearing down on Harry’s hand so hard she thought she might break it, but he didn’t say anything. Just held her tight and repeated encouraging words, telling her how good she was doing, how she could do it, how they were so close to meeting their baby.

“I can see the head,” the doctor informed her when Y/N took a breath. “Another one—okay? You’re doing great.”

She looked at Harry, the eyes pricking both of their eyes at the prospect of meeting little Emerson finally. And then she shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed with every fiber of her being, desperately wanting to meet her child and let this be over. She screamed—she could hear it in her ears as her body tensed, toes and fingers curling.

And then she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

The cry of a baby.

“Oh,” Harry gasped, kissing her hand in his, making her look at him. He was crying in the chair next to her, tears rolling down his face, utterly overwhelmed. “You did it, baby.”

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, giving them a wide smile.

A girl. “Emmy,” she said, the nickname claiming its place in her heart immediately.

“A little girl,” Harry murmured in awe, and she couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her face at the sight of him, overwhelmed with love for her and their child.

The doctor pulled away slightly from her and looked to Harry. “Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?”

Y/N’s heart lurched at the doctor calling Harry “Dad”—the kind that utterly took her breath away. Harry was moving in an instant, going to where the doctor was situated. “Harry, what does she look like?”

Harry’s curly hair bounced as he looked from their child to her. “Pink,” he said simply, a giggle leaving his lips. “Beautiful.” Then she heard a snip and the umbilical cord was cut, and the doctor was handing her baby to Harry.

She wanted to see her child, but the next thing she knew she was being told to keep pushing, that she had to deliver the placenta, so she focused on the task at hand. She was worn out, but she reminded herself that she sooner she did this, the sooner she could hold Emerson in her arms. When she was done, she sagged into the hospital bed and stretched out her arms to Harry, who was swaying slightly, their child held close in his arms.

Y/N looked at her child in awe. Ten fingers and ten toes, two little green eyes that stared up at her when Harry set her against her chest, a tiny nose and adorable lips that puckered and stretched. Emerson. Her baby, her child, the person who she loved with her entire soul from the moment she discovered her existence. “Hi, Emerson,” she whispered, brushing at her face.

Harry knelt next to Y/N, kissing her forehead. “She has your nose.”

“How in the world can you tell?”

He shrugged. “Just can.”

She looked up at Harry and found his eyes, the one their daughter shared. “I love you.”

He kissed her lips, the love that flowed between them overpowering every other feeling in her her body. “I love you so much, Y/N. Feel like the luckiest man in the world—I’ve got you and I’ve got little Emmy.” Then, he was nudging at Emerson’s hand with his forefinger, and Y/N watched in amazement as her daughter opened her little fingers and clasped Harry’s finger, as if to know it was her father.

She was a true wonder, and Y/N couldn’t look at anything else.

TWO YEARS LATER

Harry set his daughter down on the counter, her chubby thighs nestled against his torso. She had on a pair of overalls and a baby blue shirt, a pair of little baby Converse that Harry had absolutely lost it over when he saw them. He had discovered an obsession with baby clothes and had turned Emerson into his personal model, despite Y/N’s annoyance at the size of her daughter’s closet.

“Need to put your hair up, Ems, otherwise it’s going to get all in the food,” he told her, pulling at the hair ties he now always had on his wrist for moments like these. His daughter’s dark brown curls that matched his own were long enough to where they had to be tied up, otherwise they would end up tangled in seconds.

Emerson looked up at him, her hazel eyes peeking up at him under long eyelashes. Y/N always joked that she was a spitting image of Harry, and he couldn’t help but admit it was true. He adored it—seeing his child, who was so obviously his, but with a personality that was so Y/N it made him laugh sometimes. Her stubbornness, the way she insisted on her own way, even her little opinions that were starting to peek out as her vocabulary grew. It drove Y/N bonkers, but Harry loved discovering more and more of his child.

He swept her hair into a ponytail, something he had become adept at in the two years of being a father. As he tugged the hair tie around her locks, Emmy’s hands made their way to Harry’s hair, which had grown longer recently. Y/N had been working up a storm since she was promoted last year, and Harry had taken on the role of full-time stay at home Dad with glee, but it did mean things like shaving and hair cuts had fallen by the wayside. He didn’t mind though, and Y/N didn’t seem to either, from the way she nuzzled her face against his bit of a beard, and tugged on the ends of his hair when they made love.

Emerson had a similar obsession with Harry’s hair, another thing she shared with her mother, and it always made Harry burst with love whenever his daughter played with his hair. “Papa’s hair is soft,” she mumbled as he tightened the hair tie so none would fall out. “Like mine!”

He poked his daughter on the nose, loving how her eyes scrunched up. “That it is, my little angel. Ready to cook with Papa?”

“Yes!” Her hands reached for him to pick her up, which he did, swinging her onto his hip as he moved to her designated spot on the floor next to where he would be set up by the stove. It was their nightly routine—as Harry cooked dinner for them all, Emerson played with the wooden cooking toys that Harry had bought for her, babbling at his feet. It kept her entertained while he got dinner done, just in time for when Y/N got home from work.

He situated her on the floor and pulled out her box of toys from the cabinet, squatting down to unload the wooden bowls, spoons, and fake foods inside. Emerson grabbed at each of them, telling him the name, as he had taught her. “Bowl, spoon, cheese!” She said, looking at him with wide eyes to see if she got it right.

“Good job,” he said, kissing her forehead before standing to his full height. “Where’s your apron?”

“My apron!” Emerson babbled with a gasp, grabbing at her clothes.

Harry chuckled at the sight before grabbing her yellow apron that Harris had sewn her for her second birthday, something far too gorgeous for a two-year-old, but Emerson was utterly obsessed, so Harry didn’t make a fuss about it. “Apron!” She said when he tied it around her neck and her little waist. “Papa, spoon!” She was holding her wooden spoon up at him and Harry smiled at his daughter, her love for their little traditions making his heart soar.

He grabbed his own spoon from the cup on the counter, bending down and bumping it against his daughter’s mini version. “Spoons unite!” He said, the sound of his daughter’s giggles filling his ears. “What do you want to listen to while we cook, bubs?”

“Hmm.” Emerson dropped the block of cheese and some nondescript meat into a bowl and twirled them around with her spoon. “Papa!”

“Me?” Recently Emerson had become obsessed with his music, constantly requesting for him to play it. Fine Line had come out just a few months ago and she loved Watermelon Sugar, which Y/N utterly hated since she knew what it was about, but Harry found it hilarious. “Which one?”

“Watamelon Suga!” She said, struggling with her Rs. She bounced up and down on her knees in excitement until he was hooking up the music over the speakers. When it came on, she immediately began bopping her head back and forth to the music and trying to sing, which Harry found positively adorable.

He started to make dinner, chopping up vegetables for a stir-fry that he knew Emerson liked. He had been trying to help her branch out into new foods, which Y/N kept on reminding him was really unnecessary considering she was barely two years old, but he liked seeing her little face screw up when she didn’t like something or eyes widen when she liked it. They sang along to his songs, and every so often he’d peek down and check on Emmy, who was happily pretend cooking with her toys, making all sorts of things. Sometimes he would ask what she was making and she would reply with any foods that came to mind that she had heard him mention, even if it was completely incorrect. One time she said she was making a cake, but she had a broccoli and some grapes in the bowl, and he tried not to crack up at the sight.

“Papa!” He looked down at his daughter, her spoon raised at him. “Look at my spoon!”

He chuckled, bending down to take a picture of her holding her spoon up triumphantly. “You just love your spoon, huh?” He snapped the photo and posted it on his Close Friends story on Instagram, which was 90% photos of Emerson doing random things throughout the day.

“Papa’s spoon is bigger,” she said, struggling with the last syllable of bigger, but making it through.

“It is. But yours is pink, which I like a lot.”

Emerson examined her spoon, and then lifted it to Harry, rubbing her nose on the back of her tiny hand. “You can use it, Papa!”

His heart melted at his daughter’s generosity, which was overflowing. She was always offering for him to borrow her toys or to let other kids to use her things, and he loved her kind soul. It was another thing that came from Y/N, he was sure of it, since he hated sharing as a kid. “Thank you, bubs, but I’m fine with mine.” He kissed her hand and she smiled at him, before going back to her cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard the garage door open and close, and Emerson must have heard it too because she on her feet immediately, teetering out of the kitchen in the direction of the garage. “Mama!” She screamed, and Harry smiled at the sound of Y/N’s voice, her soft reply of “Hello, pumpkin,” and the soft laughter of his daughter cascading through the house.

“Smells good,” she said, and Harry’s eyes caught hers as she entered the kitchen, Emerson resting on her hip. Her little head was on Y/N’s shoulder, each hand scrunched in her work shirt, eyes flickering over Harry. “Stir fry?”

Harry gave his love a kiss on the forehead. “Mhm, know how much my two girls love it.”

“That we do,” Y/N replied, hiking Emmy up a bit on her hip. “Did you have fun with Papa today, bubs?”

“Yes!” Emerson replied, picking her head up and smiling at them both, her little baby teeth showing. “We went to park and made new friends. Charlie, right, Papa?”

He nodded, brushing a hand across Y/N’s shoulders and rubbing into the tense muscle there. She lolled her head back on his arm and smiled at him, a silent thank you passing between them. “Then we got some lunch at our favorite spot, and took a swim in the pool.”

“I kicked Papa!” Emerson said excitedly to her mother, and she laughed in response.

“Did you get him all wet?” Emerson nodded, and Y/N brushed her hand to Harry’s side, the touch warming him immediately. “Sounds like fun. Maybe we can have a pool day tomorrow?”

It was Saturday, the whole family’s favorite day. Emerson got both of her parents all day, and Y/N and Harry usually had date night, Emerson going to her grandpa’s house for the night. It was a tradition they’d had since she was born, and one that had become incredible important to them. “I think that sounds great,” Harry said. “Ems, can you help Mama get dressed for dinner?”

“Yes!” Emerson loved watching her mother get dressed and Harry firmly believed that she was inheriting his love of clothes from the way she loved to run her hands over the materials.

Y/N chuckled and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek before she walked out of the kitchen, their daughter on her hip. She chatted to Emerson about her day, asking questions about what she and Harry had done in her absence and answering her daughter’s questions. Harry got dinner finished up, putting the stir fry into bowls for him and Y/N and a smaller amount into a bowl for Emerson, cutting it up into smaller bites so she could eat it more easily. He placed them on the table and filled up a glass of wine for both Y/N and himself, before switching the music to some nice relaxing jazz while they ate.

Y/N reappeared in one of Harry’s old tour shirts and sweatpants, an excited Emerson trailing after her on the stairs. She was scooting down them hesitantly, something she had recently become obsessed with doing and Y/N and Harry were letting her do while supervised. Harry was terrified of her cracking her head open on the stairs, but Y/N told him it was important for her to develop confidence in her ability to move around, so he tried to let it go.

“Ready for dinner, Ems?” He asked, picking her up and settling her into her high chair. She nodded and he handed her little fork and her bowl, before settling into his seat next to her. Y/N sat down in the seat opposite him, reaching out for her wine glass and taking a long sip. “How was work, love?”

“Long,” she replied, tucking her napkin into her lap and picking up her fork. “I got that presentation done I was working on. I think we’re planning to bring someone else on, which would be a huge help.”

“When’s that going to be?” Harry took a bite of his food before reaching over and helping Emerson to get some food onto her fork, noticing she was struggling.

Y/N sighed, and Harry looked up at her, noticing the exhaustion in her eyes. “Soon hopefully. There’s way too much on my plate and there’s just no way I can get it all done.”

“I hope they figure it out soon,” he told her, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. “Want to have a bath after dinner? I can do nighttime tonight.”

“You sure? You’ve been with her all day—“

“Hush,” Harry cut her off with a smile. “You know I love doing it. Want you to relax, okay?”

She nodded, lifting their clasped hands so she could press a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Of course, love. Emmy and I have a book to finish, right, bubs?”

Emerson nodded, and then launched into a mildly botched description of the book they had started reading last night, one about a girl detective that she really liked. Harry was passionate about reading to her every night, as it helped her settle down and developed quite a healthy imagination that he loved. They chatted for the rest of dinner about what they wanted to do the following day, deciding that Harry was going to make biscuits, Emerson’s favorite, and have a pool day, since it was quickly becoming too cool outside to have a proper pool day. Harry loved that about California, though, that it was warm year round so even in September they could be outside in the sun and he could work on teaching Emerson how to swim. Y/N wanted her to be comfortable in the water so they could feel safer with her around the pool, so they had been working on teaching her how to get in and out of the pool how to kick and how to breathe. So far, she was a natural, a little fish, Y/N called her.

After dinner, Harry helped Emerson into her pajamas after changing her diaper—they were still struggling with potty training—and watched her as she brushed her teeth triumphantly in the mirror. Then, they recited their nightly affirmations, thinking of something they were thankful of and something they liked about themselves. Harry had implemented it from the moment Emerson had started learning to talk, and now it was a nightly ritual for them.

“I’m thankful for Papa,” Emerson said, making Harry smile as he stood behind her in the mirror, the resemblance between them startling. “I like that I was nice to Charlie. What about you, Papa?”

“I’m thankful for Emerson and Mama,” he told her, tickling her sides and making her giggle, “and I like that I was able to help Mama tonight when she was stressed.”

Emerson turned around, gave her father a peck on the cheek, and lifted her arms for him to carry her to bed. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging to him like a koala, and Harry walked her to her bed, pushing aside the princess netting she had fallen in love with at Target one day and had nearly thrown a tantrum about before they bought it. She snuggled into his side as he curled up next to her, grabbing the book from the bedside table to continue reading. She rested her head on his chest, eyes on the book that he had opened for them to read, and he sighed from the feeling of his daughter nestled into him. He loved the moments like this of being a father, the quiet ones of just him and Emerson, the world falling away from him.

Being a dad was his proudest achievement.

Once Emerson was asleep, he got up, tucking her in and making sure her nightlight was on before shutting the door gently behind him. Down the hall, Y/N was waiting for him, tucked into bed with a book she was reading.

“Hi you,” he said, shutting their door behind him, the wood creaking softly as he leaned against it. “Missed you today.”

She looked up, taking in the sight of the man she loved standing next to the door. His hair as all askew from her daughter’s pillow and his voice was a bit raw from reading, clothes creased from a long day with a two-year-old with plenty of energy. But she loved him like this, so obviously a father, taking every part of his role with a smile on his face. “You say that every night.”

“That’s because I miss you every day,” he said, moving towards her. “Now come here, wanna hold my girl.”

But Y/N waved him away. “Go get ready for bed. Don’t want you to have to get up later.”

“Fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at her, but followed her directions anyways. While he brushed his teeth and washed his face, she chatted about work and asked questions about Emerson’s day, wanting to know what she had missed out on. As much as she loved working, she hated being away from her family all day. After he had stripped out of his clothes, just his briefs hanging on his hips, he pulled back the duvet and pulled Y/N into his side. “That better?”

She rolled on top of him, her book long forgotten on their bedside table. “Much.” Her knees came up on either side of his hips and she tucked her hands into his hair, tugging softly as he pulled him into a kiss. She lost herself in the taste of his lips, a home she loved returning to every day, a home she never wanted to leave. His fingers trailed down her body, rucking up the edge of the shirt she wore and smoothing across her back. She shivered under his touch and he smirked, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and making her pant his name.

“Thought you were tired,” he mumbled, brushing his lips down her neck in short kisses that had her panting in his ear.

“Not too tired for this,” she replied, and when she rolled her hips over his, Harry groaned, hot and heavy into her neck. She wanted him always, it seemed, unable to get enough of the way he touched her, even after a child and plenty of sleepless nights, she still found the energy to love on him. It filled her up, the way he brushed her skin with his kisses and showed her how much he appreciated her.

“Gonna kill me, love.” His hands, bare from his usual rings, pressed into her hips, anchoring her against him. “Ya sure? Don’t have to.”

But Y/N had other plans, wiggling free from his grip and kissing a line down his chest. Harry was mumbling her name as she moved, tugging at her skin as she disappeared under the comforter and pulled his briefs down his legs. He pushed at the duvet, desperate to keep his eyes on hers, and Y/N loved it, wanting nothing more than to see his face as she drew pleasure from his body. “Want to show you how thankful I am for you,” she told him, before spitting on his dick and pumping the spit in her hand.

“Fuck.” Harry gripped the sheets to try and hold himself together. Nighttime was her favorite time of day, because it was when she got him all to herself, Emerson far enough down the hall that they could do whatever they liked without waking her up most times. They’d had some close calls, but so far they were blessed with a daughter who loved to sleep and they’d made sure to put her on a sleep cycle early on so she was trained to sleep through the night by now.

Y/N tugged her hand up and down him a few times, before licking a stripe up the underside of him. Harry pushed at her hair, tugging it into a ponytail so he could see her face as she did it and the light from their bedside tables illuminating his face. His wide eyes, the same ones their daughter had, stared back at her, blown wide with desire, his tongue licking across his lip as he watched her move. “Wanna taste you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his tip.

“God,” Harry mumbled, bucking his hips up into her touch and she loved the control she had over him. “Can do anything you want to me, baby.”

Without waiting, her lips were around his tip, taking him into her mouth and Harry moaned, fingers digging into the sheets from the sensation of being inside her. He was heavy in her mouth and she loved how he brushed her throat and panted her name, barely holding himself together and she licked at him. She knew everything that set him off after years of being together and used it all. Scratched at his thighs, hummed over him, batted her eyelashes at him, mumbled his name.

She knew Harry wasn’t going to last, though, he never did. Far preferred being inside of her to coming in her mouth and told her often. “Love,” he said, reaching for her and trying to pull her off of him. “Need you.”

She decided to play with him a bit, wind him up just because she could. “Where do you need me?”

He whined, pulling at her hair to try and get her to move up him, a desperation overtaking his body. “Around me. Need your pussy.”

Those were the magic words for her. She climbed up him, capturing his lips in hers for a passionate kiss that had them grinding against each other like kids. He was hard against her clit, the wetness of both of their desire mixing and allowing him to slide easily between her folds. When he bumped her clit with his tip she whimpered, and Harry lost it, unable to wait any longer.

He flipped them, Y/N yelping as she landed on her back, a soft giggle escaping her lips as he settled over her. “Little tease,” he scolded with a playful smile, sucking on her neck, the soft spot that always had her pawing at his skin.

“H,” she panted, pushing her hips up to his. “Please.”

She was on an IUD, had been since they’d started having sex after Emerson was born. Neither of them were in the market for another kid right now, as much as they loved Emmy, she was plenty of a handful for both of them. They wanted to wait longer, get their life together and more settled before they had the conversation about more kids, although it definitely wasn’t off the table. Especially since Y/N had said yes when he had bent down on one knee, a year after Emerson was born, unable to wait any longer. For now, though, they were in no rush to marry, just enjoying building a life together, raising Emmy, and being together. Maybe it hadn’t been the life either of them expected, but now that they were living it there was no turning back.

Y/N pushed his hair off his forehead and tugged at the ends, pulling his head to hers so she could pull him into a kiss that left them both breathless. “H, fuck me, please.”

“Good God,” he panted against her lips. “One day you truly are going to kill me.” With that, he moved slightly and pressed his tip to her slit, both of them groaning as he pushed inside. It had been a few days, the longest they usually went since they, even after a child, couldn’t get enough of each other. Y/N quickly adjusted to his size, because after four years with Harry she couldn’t remember what it was even like to be with someone else—he was so good to her, always.

Her legs twined around his waist and pulled him deeper into her, and Harry moaned her name into her neck as he sunk in and then pulled back out. He leaned on his elbows on either side of her face, his head falling so his forehead knocked against hers when he pushed into her, but neither of them minded. They loved being this close, so close she could feel the beads on sweat on his chest and hear his every exhale in her ears. He was deep, deliciously so, and when he nudged the back of her walls, finding that spot that drive her wild she arched her back into him. “Feel so good,” she murmured, attaching her lips to the column of his neck, sponging kisses down it. “H, fuck fuck fuck—“ He drove into her, deeper than before, and the impact had her scratching lines down his back, red angry marks left in their trail that he would admire in the morning and Y/N would blush at the sight of.

“Yeah? Like feeling me inside of you?” He nudged at her nose, turning her head so he could kiss underneath her earlobe, a soft spot that left her keening in his touch. “Made for me, you know. Just…made for me and only me. You’re mine, love—fuck—mine forever. Can’t wait to marry you, Y/N, please,” he spat when she fluttered around him, walls pulling him deep. He stuttered inside of her, barely inches from tumbling over the edge, but he wanted her to come first, always wanted her to finish first. “Close for me, baby?”

She nodded frantically, pulling at his biceps to keep her steady and he thrusted into her at a fast pace, their bed squeaking slightly. “Want you to come, too,” she told him, lips finding his in a quick kiss.

“I’ll come when you do,” he promised, because he could never hold himself together when she came around him. Had never been able to and would never be able to. “Come for me, love.” His words were rough in her ears, murmuring and begging for her.

With another thrust and a sloppy kiss to her nipples, she was coming, panting his name in breaths that left her gasping for air. Harry finished right after her, slamming into her and shuddering against her body as he fell, sweaty skin kissing sweaty skin. He rested his head on her chest and her fingers combed through his hair, brushing at the locks just like he loved. “When do you want to get married?” She asked him after a few minutes of lying there.

He picked his head up and looked at her and she saw the sparkle in his eyes that she adored. “Tomorrow. I don’t care, Y/N, as long as it’s to you.”

She kissed his forehead and pushed a curl back. “I want to do it in Holmes Chapel, like we talked about. Or maybe Italy. In the Spring? Before Emmy is three.”

He slid his arms under her and pulled her up so she was sitting in his lap, her legs around his hips, and he grinned at her. “Yeah? You wanna marry me in the Spring?”

“As long as it’s to you,” she said, and Harry chuckled into her skin, before capturing her lips in his, just as sweet as the first time he tasted them. “I’m so glad I made an exception for you.” Her words were a quiet confession, and one that Harry had heard multiple times over the past four years of being with her, but ones that never ceased to make him love her more.

“Your only exception,” he mumbled, kisses dusting across her cheeks, showering her in his affection.

She nodded, holding his cheeks in hers, eyes boring into his, the ones he dreamed of when he was gone. “My only exception.”

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

Text

The Iowa Caucus Happened

A job offer slides into Rafael’s DMs as he waits to find out if it’ll be a new start or prison on February 8.

Accidental Feminist Icon

Delete the Twitter app, Mr. Barba

“Mister Barba?”

Rafael didn’t like hearing his name from the young woman behind him, especially not given what he’d done. He’d texted Carmen on the first day of the trial, and she’d agreed to look into the offers from attorneys he knew, and some he didn’t, while he sat beside Dworkin and emotionally prepared himself to testify. The ones he’d looked at the night before came from people he didn’t like or were last resorts. He’d moved from his visceral response to finding law to back his actions. Applying logic could let him detangle himself from his conflicted emotions. Catholic guilt wrestled his humanity. That said, he also found himself desperate to introduce Ollie to music as Carmen worked from his apartment that first afternoon, not caring for once as the toddler drooled or sneezed or spilled all over him.

“Yes?” he asked, taking his coffee from the cart. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“We haven’t. I follow you on Twitter.”

“Ah,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss-”

“Rachel Sullivan. I have, like, a reading Twitter.”

“I’ve seen that! Read with Rachel? Your icon is a copy of Howl?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, chuckling. “I just- listen, I know it’s bad what’s going on and a lot of people are really hurt and going after you. Do I get it? No. But, I think you didn’t get a good choice, and you did what’s right for you. When it seems impossible, it’s not my place to judge something I can’t fathom. And a lot of people feel the same. A bunch of us have a group chat and we hope everything goes well and you get to start again.”

It was a stark contrast to his interaction with mami or emails from church ladies. There was an acknowledgement of disagreement, but he needed more people to respect that they weren’t there like she did. He also remembered watching his father die, and while he didn’t like the man, he regretted not ending that pain. It only drew out hurt for everyone.

“Thank you, Rachel. That really means the world to me.”

“Good luck today,” she said, giving him a wave when she took her coffee and left. By the end of the day, Rafael hated Peter Stone for being a damn good prosecutor, and he wondered if there were any cases he’d tried, especially the ones before SVU that he was wrong on. He made his way into a new bar, definitely not his usual during all of this, and he sat and drafted his resignation. It took longer than he cared to admit, and he restarted and reread it time and time again. By the time he was drunk, he’d written something he could proofread the next morning and ignored calls from Olivia, Carmen, and mami.

He decided it was time to do what he had been dreading, logging into Twitter. Since Carmen had cleaned it up, more people had found him, and he was able to easily ignore anything hateful by skimming for murder or murderer in the body of the tweet. He skipped those, and Rafael was surprised to see some apathy, sympathy, or respect for his reasoning. Lazily, he scrolled his direct messages. A select few of the people who knew him contacted him with revulsion, but his filtered messages were filled with vitriol. He found Rachel’s account again, following her back and deciding he could break his unspoken rule of only following people he knew or the occasional blog/podcast/museum/celebrity. If anyone contacted him with kindness, he was now more open to the reciprocity of Twitter; no one would be asking him to prosecute their case soon.

He saw a message from Tripp Greene. In Harvard, they’d had an unspoken alliance as the two scholarship kids in their cohort, a silent allegiance that continued into law school. There were very few people Rafael respected personally from Harvard, but Tripp had remained kind, even if he worked in something as ruthless as politics. They’d been reunited by Rafael’s uptick in Twitter popularity. He was more proud than he should be by the potential presidential candidates that had followed him. Rafael should have known Tripp would reach out; he was ever the silent cheerleader and had watched a sibling die on life support when he was at Harvard. They’d discussed the morality of pulling plugs and the selfish desire to keep people alive, though most of it had been Tripp talking and Rafael listening.

While moving to Iowa seemed extreme, he was acutely aware that he would end up haunting the DA’s office and Manhattan SVU like some ghost of ADAs past instead of moving forward. His mother had a boyfriend and looming retirement that seemed likely to take the pair to Miami, where she could play grandma to his grandchildren. There was nothing left for him here but Carmen, and while a great friend, she was not enough to erase the last twenty-one years of his life. When Carmen called for the fifth time that night, he ignored it, but it was quickly followed by Answer the phone or I tell Olivia I haven’t heard from you. With a groan, he answered when Carmen called again sixty seconds later.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to delve back into a play by play of my day.”

“That’s why you’re drunk at seven o’clock,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm as she pretended that solved everything.

“It’s only been two hours?”

“You’re not at Forlini’s.”

“I’m not hanging out with Stone.”

“Send me your location. I just picked Ollie up from mom’s.”

“Take your son home, Carmen. I’ll be fine.”

“But we could talk about how much I also hate Stone. I’ll even stop and let you grab take out from that Cuban place you like.”

“Deal,” he acquiesced, motioning he wanted to close his tab. “Call me when you’re close.”

“Deal. ETA is about fifteen minutes.”

He polished off his scotch, signing the check and tipping well before taking his briefcase and leaning against the wall as he waited for Carmen’s SUV. She waved at him out the window, and he hurried into her passenger seat. Though he always knew that she was a great secretary and assistant, Carmen was proving to be the friend he needed right now. Olivia, in the few phone calls they had, was unwilling to discuss anything but the case. She was in cop mode, and she talked to him like she could swoop in and fix what he had done. While she thought he didn’t know, she’d talked to McCoy, talked to Stone, talked to anyone who would listen. But what she didn’t understand is that he’d accepted going to prison was a possibility, but it was one he felt was worth it.

“Barba!” he heard from the backseat, smiling softly to see Ollie more awake than he’d expected. He’d seen the boy periodically, mostly during evening handoffs when Carmen’s mother would drop him off so Carmen could take him home. There were a lot of single mothers in his life, and all were exceptional. The last few days, Carmen and Ollie both had spent a lot of time with him. He kept introducing Ollie to music and movies and foods like he could make up for everything Drew wouldn’t experience by making sure Ollie did.

“Oliver!” he smiled, twisting around to smile at him. The boy kicked his leg, and the blue stripe on the rubber of his sneakers lit up. “I like your shoes.”’

“Thanks,” he giggled, kicking again.

“You’re good with him,” Carmen smiled, the navigation now leading her to get his take out.

“He’s a good kid. Noah made me better with kids. Liv said I held him like a sack of flour at first.”

“You’ll be ready by the time you have your own.”

“I work too much.”

“That can change.”

“I don’t deserve to have a child,” he shrugged, and he could see Carmen purse her lips. “I don’t. I wouldn’t be good at it anyway. Wouldn’t be fair. Besides, I might end up like dad. No kid deserves that shit.”

“Bad word!” Ollie scolded, tablet in hand as he watched a movie.

“Sorry, Ollie. Stuff.”

“You’ve never told me what he did.”

“He wanted heterosexual, toxic machismo and got a swarmy, emotional bisexual.”

“You’re not that emotional.”

“He took care of that,” he said darkly. “I used to cry when he went after mami. That turned his attention to me.”

Carmen knew there was nothing she could say, so instead she silently took his hand, squeezing softly. He was taken aback at first, but he kept her hand loosely in his as his head lulled against the headrest. It was strangely grounding, the physical affection. He’d felt like he was swimming the last few days as memories of his father, his father’s death, his childhood, and each case he tried bubbled up. That wasn’t including the vision of baby drew and Maggie in the hospital room that lingered everywhere.

The conflicting guilt and conviction he’d done the right thing also broke a damn and the feelings he’d suppressed- loneliness, guilt, abandonment, distrust- were all bubbling to the surface. He’d spent so much of his life trying not to process them so he could focus on a conviction rate and moving forward that he didn’t have the tools everyone else did sometimes. Right now, Carmen felt like an anchor, and he was grateful for her.

He got out of the car when Carmen parked, ordering enough food for three adults, one take out container containing whatever he thought a toddler could handle. Soon enough, they were settled in his living room and eating, though Ollie had minimal interest in the pork, beans, and rice in front of him. The thought crossed his mind that when he took one of the out of state jobs, he wouldn’t have Carmen there like this. He was sure this friendship would be short lived; when he didn’t need her anymore, she’d leave him. That’s what usually happened, wasn’t it? She just felt bad for him.

“I’m moving to Iowa,” he blurted out before he was able to spiral into the self loathing he’d recently discovered.

“That’s far,” she said, and he thought he could detect sadness in her voice.

“There’s FaceTime.”

“Not quite the same, but I’ll take it.”

“Tripp understands,” he said, sobering up as the food hit his stomach. “He lost a sister. Watched someone dying like with my dad except she’d been born that way. It was years, Carmen.”

“That’s a lot. I’m going to miss you, Rafael. Ollie will too.”

“Come visit. If the tickets are bad, I’ll pay. Or cover renting a car.”

“You’re drunk,” she chuckled.

“Sorry. Best friend. It’s the rules.”

“We’ll come. But I can afford tickets.”

“Promise if it’ll make things tight, you’ll let me. You’re raising a kid. No kids means I can afford to get my friend the occasional plane ticket.”

“Deal.”

“Next week, will it be Des Moines or prison? Who knows! I’ll probably grow a beard either way. Think they’d recognize me in prison if I grow a beard?”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard. Stop shaving and we’ll find out.”

She could see Rafael getting tired, head leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. She preferred when he joked about all of this. They were stuck waiting, and this time the next night they’d probably know. Ollie climbed between them on the couch, and she realized her boss wasn’t the only one almost asleep.

“You two can stay,” Rafael yawned, hand smoothing Ollie’s curls back.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice not being alone in the morning. And you can stay here to work. We didn’t talk about it, but I know you hate Stone. He’s a good attorney. Doing his job.”

“His job is wrong.”

“That isn’t his fault. If another ADA had done what I did? I’d be prosecuting them.”

“Go get ready for bed,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. As she scooped Ollie up, she kissed the top of Rafael’s head. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Carmen?” She turned in the doorframe. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“I’m glad to, Raf. Promise you’ll actually sleep.”

“I promise.”

“Night, Barba,” Ollie yawned, waving over his mom’s shoulder as they entered his guest room. Maybe Iowa was going to be too far if he didn’t go to prison. He was getting quite fond of having Carmen around quite quickly. He wasn’t going to be her superior anymore, so this friendship could be something he maintained.

Olivia would be a given; even if they were primarily united around work, she was also one of his closest friends and maybe not working together would make him relax. Hell, maybe the end of his life in the city would do it. Rafael couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t felt he was chasing an upward trajectory in New York City. Even at Harvard, the plan had been to return. Maybe coming into Des Moines established would let him feel comfortable just existing.

He liked cooking and reading in the park and going out dancing on occasion. He rarely had time for two options, and the latter made his cheeks red with embarrassment at the prospect of a colleague seeing him during the outing. In Iowa, maybe he could go dancing and take up a new hobby and wear jeans without feeling like something was out of his control.

He woke up before Carmen, excited to be able to cook for her. He appreciated the fact she was happy to help him, but she had paused her own life for the last few days. Their friendship was relegated to offices and dinners by the office. He’d come to her baby shower and birthday parties and even a holiday party, but that was it and that had other colleagues present. Except maybe the baby shower, but he was determined to buy up whatever was left on her registry when the day came, using mami, abuelita, and the older women at church as pseudonyms to pretend he’d just let family know.

“You can cook?”

“I just never had time,” he shrugged, tray coming out of the oven.

“You made pastries?”

“Pastelitos de guayaba.” Carmen didn’t miss how proud he looked as he admired them. They were something he’d always made with family. “They aren’t hard, but abuelita used to make them for me all the time. Puff pastry, sweetened cream cheese and guava paste. Cafe con leche on the way.”

“You couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, pouring the espresso and adding the milk before placing mugs at the breakfast counter. His mouth was set in a line now, the corners sucked in as he focused on the countertop. Her hand rested on his, giving a squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft smile. “We’ll be helping you pack for Iowa in no time.”

“I hope,” he nodded, biting into a pastry. Ollie came out, eyeing the countertop. “Want one, Oliver?”

“What are they?”

“Delicious,” Carmen groaned, having torn into her own. That was enough for Ollie, who accepted a pastry from Rafael with a soft Thank you before biting into it carefully.

“Wow! It is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

It felt a somber affair, despite the pastries, when Carmen saw him off to court. She chose to wait in his apartment, ringer on high and news coverage on. Ollie was easily entertained by the toys she had in the car, and the phones were forwarded to be answerable on her cell phone. By the end of the day, she’d put dinner in his slow cooker and cleaned most everything at least once. And then her phone rang with his ringer. She’d picked one of the other presets for him long ago, and she watched Ollie with his blocks as she answered.

“Rafael?”

“Not guilty,” he exhaled, still unable to believe it as he surveyed his office to begin packing. Her desk was empty, and he didn’t mind today because if she had been here, McCoy would’ve had her helping Stone. Carmen was his assistant, his friend, and it was bad enough to know Stone would probably take his place at work.

“Thank God,” she whispered. “Did you turn the letter in?”

“I put it on Jack’s desk. I’m hoping to be gone buy his return. I think three heavy boxes will cover it. Plus anything I hung, but other than diplomas most of it came with the place.”

“I put dinner on. Ollie and I ran to the store and picked up short ribs and potatoes and carrots. I needed something to do.”

“Nervous you’d be visiting me in prison?”

“You know damn well juries can be swayed. You’ve done it.”

“And I’m safe. I’ll be there in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you get to go to Iowa.”

#Rafael Barba x Carmen #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu

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