Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.
You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.
Not even consciously, really.
Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.
Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.
Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.
What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.
Steve glances down.
You’re asleep.
Completely asleep.
Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.
Steve blinks once.
“…seriously?”
You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.
Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.
Interesting.
The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.
You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.
“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.
“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”
“Hm.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.
Your shoulders loosen immediately.
Another few minutes pass.
Then, nothing.
No response to his last comment. No movement either.
Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Still sitting upright between his legs.
Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.
“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.
By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.
Especially because Steve starts testing it.
Not maliciously.
Scientifically.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”
Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.
“Doing what?”
“The hair thing.”
“What hair thing?”
“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.
Because it really is absurd.
You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”
Steve loses it completely at that.
You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.
After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.
Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.
The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.
And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.
On the couch.
In bed.
Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.
Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.
“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”
Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”
“She was literally talking.”
“Yeah?”
“And now she’s unconscious.”
Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.
Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.
“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”
Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
“She’s associated you with sleep now.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”
“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”
“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.
Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.
There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.
Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.
That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.
Which is why he tries not to.
Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.
You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”
Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault you’re always sleepy?”
“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”
The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.
You notice immediately, even half asleep.
“What?”
Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.
“Nothing.”
“Steve.”
His fingers slow slightly in your hair.
“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”
Your expression softens immediately.
Because there it is.
The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.
Steve likes being trusted.
Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.
The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.
You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.
Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.
“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”
Your lips twitch.
“Me falling asleep?”
“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”
Something warm twists painfully through your chest.
You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.
Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.
Dangerous.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”
“You’re literally weaponising affection.”
Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.
“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.
“No I’m not.”
“You just blinked for like six seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.
“You’re done for, sweetheart.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Then immediately yawn instead.
Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.
It does absolutely nothing.
Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.
And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.
hiiiii snoopy!! can i request ice cream with single mom x college student steve? love you!! 😘😘
ugh missing these cuties <3
based on this original blurb but you don't have to read it to get the gist!
prompt #10. ice cream
spring + summer prompts are closed for now since i currently have a bunch to catch up on!!
pairing: young single mom!reader x college student!steve
word count: 750
"Has Bowie ever had ice cream before?"
Steve asks the question with genuine curiosity threaded in his tone and you hum, thinking to yourself as you take a lick of your cone — chocolate and vanilla twist with rainbow sprinkles. Finally, you shake your head, and Steve pauses his enjoyment of his treat, peering over the sun visor protecting Bowie from the harsh rays of Hawkins' summer sun.
"I gave him some yogurt once, but I think that's the closest he's had," you reply, gently rocking your foot against the bottom bar of Bowie's stroller, slowly moving him back and forth. "Why? Are you trying to send my kid home with a sugar rush?"
A crooked smile appears on Steve's lips and you laugh, lightly pushing your shoulder against his.
"Well, I didn't know if babies could even have ice cream," he quickly backtracks, lifting his cone to his lips. You shrug.
"Most soft foods are free game at this age," you say. "You can give him some if you want. He should be waking up from his nap soon."
"Really?" Steve asks with raised eyebrows.
You nod, smiling. "Why not?"
"I thought, like... I dunno, aren't food firsts a big deal?"
"I mean, for the first month or so, yeah. But there are only so many firsts you can have before it starts to get a little repetitive." you tease, standing from your seat on the bench and reaching into Bowie's stroller. Carefully, you retrieve your sleepy son, who recently just started sitting up on his own. You were raving to Steve about his neck and back strength earlier today and, unlike most guys your age, he actually seemed proud of both you and Bowie.
"And... his dad won't get, like, pissed he wasn't here for this?"
You clear your throat as you reach over to toss your trash in the garbage can next to you before positioning Bowie on your lap, making sure to support his back and neck with your arm. You and Steve have only been casually seeing each other for around two months. Even if that's a long time for some people your age, you haven't hung out a ton, mainly because balancing single parenthood with a job and going to school is no easy feat.
You appreciate that Steve is understanding and willing to take pockets of time with you and Bowie where he can get them — on campus between classes, on your break at the diner, even just walking you to go pick up Bowie from daycare — but it also means that Steve isn't yet privy to some of the more... difficult parts of your life.
Including Bowie's dad.
You gently nudge your elbow with Steve's; a wordless encouragement for him to let Bowie lick from his ice cream cone. Steve, who already looks slightly nervous, reaches out, and Bowie's blearly eyes widen in enthusiasm, soft babbles falling from his lips.
"Does that look yummy, baby?" you coo, nodding with a smile to Steve, letting him know to keep going. "Steve's gonna let you have some of his ice cream. That's really nice of him, huh?"
"Here we go, buddy," Steve says, watching with a grin as Bowie keeps his wide eyes locked on him, his mouth opening around a too-large dollop of vanilla ice cream. You both laugh loudly and Bowie squeals, likely from how unexpectedly cold the sweet treat is, and Steve leans forward to wipe some of the ice cream away from his chin. "Is that good?"
Bowie squeals again and Steve tries to make the same noise in response, which only makes you grin even harder. You lean down to press a loud kiss to Bowie's chubby cheek and he giggles as Steve offers him another lick. Bowie's all too excited to take a second bite.
"You've created a monster," you joke. Your hearts squeezes as you watch the two of them interact.
"I'll share my ice cream with you any time, Bowie," Steve grins. "Unless your mommy says no. Then I'm listening to her."
You smirk and roll your eyes, grabbing a napkin from the pile between you two. Moving Bowie so he's now facing you, you gently clean the mess from his face, then press a kiss to his nose.
"You keep saying stuff like that and you might just score a date with me, Harrington." you murmur, tossing the dirty napkin in the garbage.
Steve furrows his eyebrows. "Wait, this wasn't a date already?"
mae how have i just now realized u write for carmy?? actually, how is this the first time ive read bear fanfiction?
anyway, can you do something soft and sweet with him and a reader who is a little bit softer, quieter, sweeter? i think something about the rough and tumble and the easy and kind getting together trope speaks to me (has nothing to do with personal projection, pinky swear), and i know you would write the best grumpy x sunshine :)
Thank you for requesting angel <3 I hope your the bear fanfic discovery has been fun!
cw: mature themes
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 712 words
You’ve got Carmy sitting in the tub of his own shower. His bare ass is cold, and he’s thinking that the last time he cleaned it was probably when he moved in, though maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s only ever touched by soap and water.
The thing is, he sort of likes it.
He doesn’t particularly want to like it. His ass is cold. Your shampoo is way too nice for his hair. Usually, after sex (or after sex before you), Carmy just went to sleep or got on with whatever else he had to do, but you said you needed a shower like it was implied he’d take one with you, and it’s nicer than he thought it’d be.
“Tilt your head down?” you say, your voice hardly audible over the spray of water.
Carmy complies, and your sudsy fingers work their way down towards his neck.
“It’s gonna get in my eyes,” he mutters. Not even thinking you’ll really hear him, just complaining generally while watching your nice shampoo drip from the hair in front of his face. Mikey used to joke (meanly, Carmy thinks now) that Carmy got that from their mom.
There’s a smile in your voice, the soft kind, when you reply, “Then close them.”
Your fingers trace wide, spiraling circles, like you’re making art on Carmy’s scalp. He’s a little bit in love with you.
Carmy used to think that calm just wasn’t something meant for him. He could fake it, wear it for periods of time, but it didn’t become him. Tension, fear, anger, they felt like the only gravity he had sometimes, like they were all that held him together. If he relaxed for a second, that would be it. He’d fall to pieces, and the pieces would scatter on the wind, and whatever Carmy was wouldn’t be anything anymore.
But then there’s you. The first time Carmy caught himself relaxing with you, he waited to fall apart, and it didn’t happen. The pieces just…loosened, a little. Like Carmy’s gravity found something else to bind it. It’s good in a way he hasn’t figured out how to process yet.
It’s possible he’s a lot in love with you.
You make an amused hum, almost like a laugh, and Carmy realizes he’s tipped his head so far back you’re practically holding him up.
He tips forward again. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you say, chasing him with your fingers. “We should get you a scalp massager. I think you’d like it.”
Carmy makes a noncommittal huffing sound. He will not be doing that. (It wouldn't be the same if it wasn’t you anyway.)
He’s sort of overwhelmed by the need to do something for you. To care for you similarly, maybe wash your body if his hands would be too clumsy in your hair or wrestle you down here with him and go back between your legs. He wants to kiss you behind the soft part of your knee and say C’mere, baby, even though he thinks he’s probably not the kind of guy who can pull off calling someone “baby.” He toys with “sweetheart,” then “honey,” the h a breath on his tongue.
“Hey,” he says, because he’s a chickenshit. Carmy turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. Not meaning to be sordid, but he doesn’t hate the startled-then-shy flicker across your expression when he does it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, playing along but with a question in your tone, while he squeezes at your calf, trying to summon language half worthy of you.
He swallows. “I love you. You know?”
Your cheek apples when you smile. Your cupid’s bow stretches out, and Carmy wishes for a second that he were an artist instead of a cook (which is its own art form, he knows, he can hear Sugar’s voice in his head now, but still) so that he could paint it. You have the sort of smile that deserves that sort of thing.
“I know,” you say, sweet as spun sugar. “I love you too, Carm.”
He tips his head back down so you won’t see the way his mouth tightens on something tender. You push your fingers back into his hair, and he knows you’ll coax it out eventually anyway.
hi honey! can i request a little something with sirius where reader passes out a lot and maybe they’ve had an established relationship for a while and we just see sirius comforting her and it being all calm since they’ve gone through this a few times before?
Thank you for requesting my love!
cw: aftermath of fainting
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 399 words
Your own breathing sounds loud in your ears. That’s all you know for a while, black fuzz crowding your vision and your sense of touch still offline, but once the static of your brain clears somewhat you’re able to make out words.
“—take it easy, gorgeous. I’ve got you, you’re at home. No reason to rush things.”
You blink a few more times, until the fuzz clears. Sirius is beside you with his arm disappearing under your head.
You make some poor attempt at speech, and his mouth kicks up.
“What’d I just say?” he teases you. “Relax. Does anything hurt?”
You try to focus. You don’t think so. You manage to piece together the right sounds to tell him this time.
Sirius nods. His fingers twitch beneath your head in a lazy scratching motion. “Sweet. I wasn’t in the room when you fainted, but it looks like you might’ve fallen back down onto the couch and then the floor, so we should be good.”
You take a few deep breaths. Your body feels like you’ve just woken from a deep, disorienting sleep, and somehow also run a marathon while doing that. “Thanks,” you say.
Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and moves your head into his lap, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Don’t mention it, sunshine. All in a day’s work.” He grins when your lips twitch tiredly. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you some water when you’re ready, okay?”
You hum, letting yourself relax while he’s watching over you. Sirius has helped after you’ve passed out in public and once while crossing the street, so you know he’s more than capable of looking after you here in your home. Slender fingers tunnel into your hair to scratch soothingly at your scalp.
“So,” he says casually, “do you come here often?”
An amused exhale comes out your nose. You must make a funny face, because Sirius’ brows furrow.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide if saying something about falling for you would be too cheesy.”
He laughs, a surprised, barking thing. “Hey, cheese is welcome. I thought you had hit your head for a second there.”
“Sorry…if you say your thing again, I can try to flirt better.”
Sirius laughs again. He bends forward, pressing the imprint of his smile to your cheek. “No, I think we got it in one,” he says. “That was perfect.”
hi honey! can i request a little something with sirius where reader passes out a lot and maybe they’ve had an established relationship for a while and we just see sirius comforting her and it being all calm since they’ve gone through this a few times before?
Thank you for requesting my love!
cw: aftermath of fainting
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 399 words
Your own breathing sounds loud in your ears. That’s all you know for a while, black fuzz crowding your vision and your sense of touch still offline, but once the static of your brain clears somewhat you’re able to make out words.
“—take it easy, gorgeous. I’ve got you, you’re at home. No reason to rush things.”
You blink a few more times, until the fuzz clears. Sirius is beside you with his arm disappearing under your head.
You make some poor attempt at speech, and his mouth kicks up.
“What’d I just say?” he teases you. “Relax. Does anything hurt?”
You try to focus. You don’t think so. You manage to piece together the right sounds to tell him this time.
Sirius nods. His fingers twitch beneath your head in a lazy scratching motion. “Sweet. I wasn’t in the room when you fainted, but it looks like you might’ve fallen back down onto the couch and then the floor, so we should be good.”
You take a few deep breaths. Your body feels like you’ve just woken from a deep, disorienting sleep, and somehow also run a marathon while doing that. “Thanks,” you say.
Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and moves your head into his lap, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Don’t mention it, sunshine. All in a day’s work.” He grins when your lips twitch tiredly. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you some water when you’re ready, okay?”
You hum, letting yourself relax while he’s watching over you. Sirius has helped after you’ve passed out in public and once while crossing the street, so you know he’s more than capable of looking after you here in your home. Slender fingers tunnel into your hair to scratch soothingly at your scalp.
“So,” he says casually, “do you come here often?”
An amused exhale comes out your nose. You must make a funny face, because Sirius’ brows furrow.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide if saying something about falling for you would be too cheesy.”
He laughs, a surprised, barking thing. “Hey, cheese is welcome. I thought you had hit your head for a second there.”
“Sorry…if you say your thing again, I can try to flirt better.”
Sirius laughs again. He bends forward, pressing the imprint of his smile to your cheek. “No, I think we got it in one,” he says. “That was perfect.”
hola! may i request a fic within the marauders fandom- any ship is fine
where the reader was always blamed for when she/they got sick as a child because it costed to go the the doctors? i just really enjoy your sic fic and hurt comfort 🌷
Thank you for requesting angel!
cw: financial concerns around healthcare
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 498 words
You rouse in phases, achy and cold and feeling noticeably worse than you were when you tumbled into sleep. Your head pulses with pain even with your eyes still shut.
Remus must have already been awake and waiting for you. He pulls you closer to his front, kissing the back of your head.
“Morning,” he mumbles.
You stretch out, an instinct to relieve the ache in your legs that does little now. “Morning.”
Remus tsks quietly at the scratch of your voice. His fingers splay over your middle. “I think your fever’s gotten worse.”
“Yeah,” you sigh.
“You can tell, hm?”
Rather than answering, you turn over, hiding your face in his chest and drawing the covers more tightly around you both. A harsh shiver runs through you, and you fight against the urge to cry for exhaustion. How can you have just woken up and already be so tired again?
“Yeah, alright.” Remus’ voice is a calm murmur, concern lingering beneath. He rubs the slope of your shoulder. “It sounds like it’s time to see a doctor, sweetheart.”
Guilt twists your insides. “That’s okay.”
“It’s been three days. They might be able to give you something.”
“I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice smalling.
“I want you to go, lovely.” Remus kisses your hair, his tone gentle. “Please.”
You swallow; it aches. Heat presses at the backs of your eyes. “Okay,” you relent. “I’m sorry.”
He shushes you, chin resting atop your head. “What for? You’re doing this because I’m asking you to, and even if I wasn’t there’s nothing wrong with looking after yourself. I’m not upset.”
“I’m just sorry that you have to take me and everything.”
Your next inhale is wet. Remus mumbles something that gets lost in your hair as he puts his lips down again. His palm migrates to your back to make slow, warm circles between your shoulder blades.
“Shh. Sweetheart, can you look at me?”
You leave your boyfriend’s chest reluctantly, contrition upsetting your already upset stomach as he cups your face in his hand. Remus has a pillowcrease on his cheek. He looks at you with a fretful tenderness, pity without any of the underlying condescension. You watch his mouth pull down in a frown as his other hand joins the first, both thumbs brushing wet from your cheeks.
“You haven’t done anything to feel sorry about,” he tells you. “You can’t help being sick, sweet girl. It’s alright to ask for help to feel better.”
Your chin wobbles as more tears streak hot down your face. Not for guilt anymore. You don’t know what they’re for.
You haven’t really admitted it. Too wary of making yourself a burden, physically or emotionally or financially worst of all. But now, with Remus’ thumbs stroking consolingly over your cheeks, you nod.
He looks nearly relieved. “I know,” he murmurs, “I know. We’ll make it better, love. We’ll take good care of you.”
desc - you and joe find out about a very special new member to your family
influencer / youtuber au
val speaks - yayyy they back ! i think i might've gone over some things i've already said in previous fics bc i haven't written a chapter for them in a while so this was like a refresh for me
if i didnt ignore that
word count: 5.6k
the apartment had settled into that soft, easy rhythm that only came after the last of the wedding chaos had finally faded.
for a few weeks now, everything had felt a little brighter around the edges, like the world itself had decided to be gentler with you both. joe had booked time off before tour, and for once there was no frantic calls between interviews, no half-finished dinners left cooling on the stove because one of you had somewhere to be. it was just the two of you, learning how to be married.
joe was still joe.
still left his coffee mugs everywhere, still sang random songs while brushing his teeth and still wrapped himself around you every night like you were responsible for keeping him alive.
but there was something different now, something that made your chest feel warm whenever you looked at him.
husband.
your husband.
even months later it didn't feel real.
before the wedding people had always joked that nothing changed after getting married. they were liars.
because somehow everything felt brighter.
-
then joe had started going back to meetings.
nothing alarming, just the slow return of work and the fact he was going on tour soon inching its way back into your lives.
some mornings he left early with coffee in one hand and his keys in the other, hair still a little messy, kissing you goodbye with a promise to be back before dinner. some days it was later, meetings stretching on while you stayed home and tried to be productive in the apartment that suddenly felt a little too quiet without him in it.
you told yourself the quiet was fine. normal, even. a natural part of the season you were in.
you were both busy, both trying to prepare for what was ahead.
the tour, the travel, the long stretches apart that would come with it. you'd known from the start that marriage wouldn’t stop life from happening around you, wouldn’t freeze everything in perfect place just because the vows had been said and the rings had been slipped on.
still, on one particular morning, you woke up feeling wrong.
not dramatically wrong, not enough to panic immediately, just enough to notice.
your stomach turned when you sat up, a strange sickly wave rolling through you that made you freeze for a second with your hand braced against the mattress.
you swallowed hard and sat there, eyes half-closed, waiting for it to pass. and it did, eventually. enough that you got through the rest of the morning pretending it hadn’t happened.
it didn't concern you as much as it probably should've. you brushed your teeth, made yourself a little tea and told yourself it was probably something you ate, or maybe just exhaustion.
there was no reason to worry joe about it. he already had enough on his plate, between meetings and rehearsals and tour prep and everything else trying to pull him in a dozen directions at once.
he kissed you on the cheek before leaving that morning with an absentminded “call me if you need anything, okay?” and you smiled and told him you would.
by afternoon, you felt perfectly fine.
which, somehow, made the whole thing easier to dismiss. a fluke. a weird little moment. nothing to spiral over.
except then the next day came.
and the one after that.
and suddenly the “weird little moment” had become a pattern that your body seemed determined to keep repeating.
more nausea.
another morning where you barely made it to the bathroom in time.
a stubborn heaviness in your chest every time you tried to ignore the possibility forming in the back of your mind.
then the period that didn't come, even after you stared at the calendar like maybe it would feel guilty and appear if you looked hard enough.
and that was when the spiral started.
at first you fought it, you really did.
you tried to convince yourself it was stress, or hormones, or your body being dramatic for no reason. but the longer the days stretched on, the more every little sign seemed to align into the same terrifying shape.
the nausea. the missed period. the constant low hum of suspicion that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with work or editing or scrolling mindlessly until your eyes hurt.
pregnancy.
the word sat in your mind like a live wire.
it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. that was the part that made it so confusing, so impossible to untangle.
you were married to the love of your life. you both had stable jobs, a home you loved, a life that wasn't perfect but was solid and real and full of room for something bigger.
you had talked before, in soft private moments, about a future family. someday. one day. after the next thing, after the next phase, after the next stretch of work had settled.
in future.
not now.
not when joe was about to go on tour. not when your lives were already shifting into motion again. not when you were supposed to be joining him for a big chunk of it, packing your bags and following him on the road like you always tried to do when you could. not when everything was already in flux and the timing made your head spin just trying to think about it.
and yet if it was true, it would still be yours. yours and joe’s. a tiny, impossible thing growing in the middle of all this love.
-
you lasted longer than you thought you would before finally ordering a pregnancy test.
you made sure joe would be out all day before the package arrived, which was ridiculous because he was not suspicious by nature and never would've asked why you were suddenly hovering around the front door with too much energy and a too-bright smile, but it still felt important to keep this moment yours for a little longer.
something about it had made you strangely private, almost protective, as if saying it aloud too soon might break it.
when the apartment was finally yours alone, you carried the test into the bathroom with hands that felt colder than they should've.
the small, ordinary packaging looked offensively normal for something so capable of changing your life. you set it down on the counter and stood staring at it for a long moment before reaching for your camera.
you didn't know why you did that first, maybe because vlogging had become as natural to you as breathing and because, right then, having the camera there made you feel like you weren't completely alone.
like you could speak out loud into the little lens and keep yourself anchored to something outside the panic beginning to bloom in your chest.
you set it up on the bathroom floor first, as if you were just starting a normal vlog, and with a shaky laugh you talked to it like this was any other day.
you rambled, a little aimlessly, about how nice life had been lately.
how after the wedding and the honeymoon and all the little “officially married” things settling into place, everything somehow felt even softer.
you said how weird it was that you and joe had somehow managed to make this whole grown-up married life thing look easy. you joked weakly about how domestic you both had become, how much time you'd spent together in the kitchen lately.
and while you talked, the tears kept threatening.
you blinked them away and looked over at the test on the counter, trying not to think too hard about what you were doing. trying not to think about the possibility that this one tiny object could confirm everything you had been circling for days.
then the timer went off.
the sound made you flinch.
for one horrible second you just stood there, the bathroom suddenly too small and too bright. then you picked the camera back up from the floor and set it on the counter with hands that had started to tremble.
you stared at your own reflection in the mirror for a beat, like maybe the person looking back at you would have better answers than you did. then you turned the test over.
positive.
the world went strangely quiet.
you stared.
you blinked.
you looked again as if the lines might rearrange themselves if you gave them enough time.
your hand flew to your mouth without you even realising it, your knees almost gave out under you and you had to grab the edge of the sink to steady yourself.
for a few seconds, all you could do was breathe.
"oh my god"
the words came out of you in a cracked whisper, barely audible.
you had no idea how long you stood there like that, frozen in place, camera still recording while your entire life shifted underneath your feet.
maybe five minutes, maybe less.
it felt endless either way.
the tears finally broke free, and you laughed a little through them because what else were you supposed to do?
you covered your mouth again and made a helpless, breathless sound as your eyes kept darting between the test and your reflection and the camera, as if one of them might somehow tell you how to handle this.
what the hell were you going to do?
more importantly, how on earth were you going to tell joe?
that question alone was enough to send another rush of panic through you.
because you knew him, you knew him too well.
he could read you like an open book on your best day, and right now you were a mess of nerves and hormones and disbelief, which meant he would know something was wrong the second he saw your face.
you couldn't keep a secret from him if your life depended on it, you never had been able to.
especially not one this big.
but you also knew you couldn't just blurt it out over takeout containers and dish towels like it was a casual update.
this was too huge for that.
was it too little to just tell him, “i’m pregnant”?
did that sound wrong somehow, too blunt for a moment this important?
should there be a dramatic reveal or some kind of heartfelt speech?
you had no idea.
all you knew was that your heart was hammering hard enough to make your ears ring and your thoughts were spilling over each other so fast you could barely catch one before another took its place.
so you took another test.
just to be sure. just to have the proof sitting there in black and white, as if one positive result somehow wasn’t enough to convince your own brain. you sat on the bathroom floor with the second one in your hand and tried to breathe through the whole thing while your camera quietly recorded every nervous second. then you checked it too, and when it came back positive, your laugh broke into a sob.
you were really pregnant.
somewhere between the shock and the tears, your mind started racing ahead to everything at once.
the future, the baby, joe, tour, your work, the vlogs, the apartment, the nursery you'd not even thought about yet, the tiny life you'd somehow made with the man you loved more than anything.
and in the middle of all that fear, there was also something else. something softer, something almost bright.
you and joe had made a family.
the thought scared you and warmed you in equal measure.
-
by the time afternoon blurred into evening, you cleaned yourself up enough to look almost normal, though your eyes were a little puffy and your hands still shook whenever you held them still for too long.
you spent the rest of the day moving through the apartment in a daze, editing a few clips you probably wouldn't post, rambling softly to the camera whenever the silence got too loud, letting the lens become a kind of lifeline.
every so often, your gaze drifted to the clock.
when joe texted that he was on his way home, your stomach flipped so hard you had to put the phone down for a second and hold onto the counter.
now it was real in a different way, because he was actually coming back, and in a little while you would have to look at him and say the words out loud.
no more rehearsing in your head. no more waiting. no more pretending that tomorrow might somehow feel easier.
-
you finished dinner just in time, plating everything carefully despite your trembling hands.
the recipe was one the two of you had learned together recently, and for some ridiculous reason that made the whole thing feel even more emotional.
the apartment smelled warm and comforting, the kind of smell that usually made joe grin the moment he walked through the door, and when he finally did, it was exactly like that.
his shoes came off by the entryway, his shoulders loosened the second he saw you, and then that smile appeared. the one that always made your heart do something soft and helpless in your chest.
“baby” he said, voice already full of affection, and crossed the room to kiss you.
you melted into it for a second, clinging to him just enough to remind yourself he was really there.
he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips again, easy and familiar. he looked tired, but in a good way, like the day had actually gone well.
“i made dinner” you said, trying to sound normal and probably failing.
his eyes lit up immediately. “you did?”
you nodded, and he glanced at the table with a grin that made him look almost boyish. “smells amazing.”
“you had a good day?” you asked, because you needed to hear him say something ordinary, needed one more normal thing to hold onto before everything changed.
“actually, yeah,” he said, settling a hand at your waist while he spoke.
“really good day, productive one too. meetings went fine, got a bunch done. no disasters, no weird stress stuff. just.. good.”
that should have made it easier. it should have made it feel like the perfect moment to tell him.
instead, it made the panic bloom harder.
you must have gone quiet, because his expression shifted almost immediately. joe always noticed even the tiniest change in your face.
his brows drew together just slightly and his thumb brushed a slow line against your hip.
“hey,” he said gently. “you okay?”
you took a breath and let it out too slowly. no point pretending now. not with him looking at you like that. not when the words were already pressing at the back of your throat.
“can you sit down?” you asked softly.
the concern on his face sharpened. “that sounds scary.”
you gave him a tiny, shaky smile. “i know. i’m sorry.”
“baby,” he said, suddenly more alert, but he did what you asked. he moved to the chair near the table and sat down, though he kept one hand in yours the whole time, his fingers lacing through yours like he was grounding you both. his eyes stayed on your face, carefully searching. “you’re freaking me out.”
you almost laughed at that, which only made him look more worried, so you squeezed his hand and breathed in through your nose.
“wait here,” you said. “and close your eyes.”
his eyebrows shot up. “absolutely not. that is not helping.”
“joe.”
“you are scaring me, baby.”
you smiled despite yourself, because he always sounded so offended and so fond at the same time, but he obeyed after a second. slowly, warily, he shut his eyes. his free hand flexed once against the table like he was bracing himself.
you hurried back to the bathroom, your heart in your throat, and came back holding the pregnancy test like it was made of glass.
your eyes were already burning again by the time you reached him.
he still had his eyes closed.
“okay,” you whispered, stopping in front of him. “open your hand.”
he did, palm up and uncertain.
you placed the test in it, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary.
“open your eyes.”
joe did.
for a second, he just looked at the test.
then up at you.
then back down.
silence stretched between you so completely that it seemed to fill the whole room. not tense silence, not exactly, just stunned silence.
his mouth parted slightly. his eyes widened. he looked like he was trying to process something impossible.
his gaze flicked to the lines on the test and then back to your face.
then his eyes filled with tears.
“are you serious?” he asked, voice breaking on the words.
you nodded before you could stop yourself. “yes.”
he stared at you for another beat, as if the answer had to be said twice to become real. “you’re serious?”
your own tears spilled over then, and you nodded again, smiling so hard it hurt. “yes, joe.”
his face changed all at once.
he stood up so fast the chair scraped lightly against the floor, and then he had you in his arms, pulling you against him with such force that the breath rushed right out of your body.
you clutched at him immediately, laughing and crying at the same time, his arms wrapped so tightly around you it almost felt like he was trying to hold the moment still by sheer force alone.
“oh my god,” he breathed into your hair, and you felt it as much as heard it. “oh my god.”
he laughed a little through the tears, low and disbelieving, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you. both of his hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the tears on your cheeks with the most careful tenderness in the world.
“i’m gonna be a dad?” he whispered.
you let out a shaky laugh and nodded. “yeah, baby. you’re gonna be a dad.”
his eyes squeezed shut for a second, and then he laughed again, helpless and full of disbelief. “we’re-” he stopped, shook his head, looked back at you like he was still trying to understand the shape of it.
“we’re together. like.. together together. like parents together. like family.”
that set you off all over again. more tears. more laughing. you reached up and grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it hard.
“yes,” you whispered. “yes, exactly that.”
his forehead dropped against yours, and for one long moment the two of you just stood there breathing each other in, crying and smiling and trying to make sense of how everything had changed in a matter of minutes.
joe’s hand slid down from your face to your stomach, resting there with so much awe it almost made you cry harder. like he was afraid to move, afraid to disturb the delicate miracle of it.
you watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
“i can’t believe this” he whispered, and there was such wonder in it that your heart nearly split open.
“me neither” you admitted.
he looked up at you then, and there was a brightness in his eyes that made your chest ache. “we’ll figure it out” he said immediately, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “everything. we’ll figure it all out together, okay? every part of it. all of it.”
the certainty in his voice did something to you. soothed something jagged inside you that had been spiraling all day.
you nodded, because there was no other answer.
“okay.”
he smiled at that, soft and shaking, then leaned in to kiss you.
it was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. the kind that said he was here, and he was staying, and whatever came next would not happen to you alone.
when he pulled back, he kept one hand against your cheek and the other still on your stomach, as if he couldn’t quite bear to let go of either place.
then, because he was joe and because he apparently could never stay in one emotional state for too long, his face shifted into something halfway between disbelief and giddy realisation. he started pacing a little in the small space by the table, one hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
you could see the smile beneath his fingers, the tears still wet on his cheeks, the way he looked like he might burst right out of his skin from the size of the feeling in him.
“you’re pacing” you said, smiling through your own tears.
“i know,” he said, not stopping. “i know, i just- baby, i’m sorry, i don’t know what to do with myself right now.”
“i think that’s fair.”
he laughed, then turned back to you and came right up again, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second. both of his hands came back to your face, thumbs gentle at your jaw.
“we’re really doing this,” he said, quieter now. “we’re really having a baby.”
you nodded, and your smile trembled at the edges. “yeah.”
he stared at you for a second longer, then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your cheek, your nose, all over your face in a soft, overwhelmed sort of way.
you laughed wetly and tried to shove him lightly away, but he only smiled harder and pulled you close again.
then his hand found your stomach once more, resting there with almost reverent care, and more tears slipped down his face.
“hey,” he said suddenly, his voice turning lighter in a way that only made you suspect trouble, “i have always said i wanted to be inside you forever.”
you let out a shocked laugh that was half gasp, half groan, and immediately smacked his arm. “joe.”
he burst into laughter at your expression, full and bright and completely ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, tears still streaking your cheeks.
“what?” he said, grinning wildly now. “i’m just saying, i guess i kind of will be for nine months.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing harder, which only encouraged him.
the two of you were a mess now, crying and laughing at once, and the apartment felt somehow too small for all the love and disbelief and joy packed into the room.
he looked so happy it almost hurt to look at him. so stunned, so undone, so completely and obviously in love with the life the two of you had made.
“you are impossible” you told him, still laughing.
“and you love me.”
“unfortunately, yes.”
“good” he said, and pulled you in for another kiss before you could even finish rolling your eyes.
this one was softer, warm with tears and laughter and the kind of joy that makes the world tilt. he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the moment, like he knew things were changing and he wanted to hold on to this exact second for as long as he could.
when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, and both of you were breathing hard in the quiet that followed.
then his gaze dropped.
“wait” he said suddenly, pointing toward the camera you had hidden nearby.
your stomach dropped for half a second before you remembered. right. the vlog.
the proof of the whole surreal, emotional, life-altering day.
you let out a breathless laugh. “i was filming”
joe immediately groaned, though he was still smiling.
“of course you were.”
“i didn’t know if i’d post it,” you admitted, wiping at your face. “i just… needed something.”
he nodded, all the teasing gone from his expression again, replaced by that same soft understanding he always gave you when words got too tangled.
“i’m glad you did” he said.
you looked at him, still a little dazed. “really?”
“yeah,” he said simply. then his smile returned, smaller this time but no less bright.
“i’ll probably want to watch this later and cry all over again.”
that made you laugh, because of course he would. of course he would want to remember every second of this strange, fragile, beautiful beginning.
you reached for his hand again and he took it instantly, intertwining your fingers like he always did when he wanted to make sure you knew he was there.
then, as if the thought had only just hit him properly, he looked down at your stomach one more time and smiled in a way that was so full of love it made your chest ache.
“hi,” he said softly to it, like he was speaking to the tiniest person in the room. “it’s me. your dad. i guess i should probably get used to saying that.”
your heart melted right there on the spot.
you leaned into him and rested your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close while the two of you stood in the kitchen with dinner cooling on the table and the camera still somewhere nearby and your whole life unfolding in front of you all at once.
it was still scary. that part didn't disappear.
the tour, the timing, the future, the suddenness of it all, the way your mind already tried to leap ahead to everything you didn't yet know.
but in that moment, with joe’s hand on your back and his heartbeat steady under your cheek and his tears drying slowly on his face, the fear didn't feel bigger than the love.
maybe that was what being married was really for.
not avoiding the hard things. not making life neat and easy and perfectly timed. just having someone standing beside you when the hard things arrived, and knowing, with complete certainty, that you would face them together.
joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head and sighed, soft and happy and still a little stunned.
“we’re gonna figure it out” he murmured again.
you smiled into his shirt, tears still hot on your cheeks, and squeezed his hand against your stomach.
“yeah,” you whispered. “together.”
and when he kissed you again, it felt like the beginning of everything.
-
a few weeks later, after countless conversations, a lot of excitement, and joe randomly tearing up at least three times a day whenever he remembered he was going to be a dad, the two of you finally decided to tell everyone.
well.
sort of.
because after watching back the footage from that day, the one where you had found out and then told joe, neither of you could bring yourselves to share it.
it wasn't because you weren't happy. it was the opposite, actually.
it was too special, too raw.
that moment belonged to the two of you.
every shaky breath, every tear, every stunned laugh, every second of joe standing there holding that pregnancy test like it might disappear if he blinked.
that was yours.
and somehow, sharing it with millions of strangers felt wrong.
so instead, you posted a simple announcement.
just a handful of photos. one of you and joe standing outside in golden evening light. another of joe kneeling dramatically beside you with his hand on your stomach despite there being absolutely no bump yet. one of tiny baby shoes resting between your intertwined hands.
and the final photo was your favorite.
joe kissing your cheek while you laughed at something he'd said.
the internet absolutely lost its mind.
your phone practically exploded.
you and joe spent the entire evening curled up together on the couch reading comments.
every few minutes joe would just randomly smile at his phone.
"what?" you asked eventually.
he looked up.
eyes suspiciously shiny.
"people keep calling me a dad."
you immediately burst out laughing.
"joe."
"i'm serious."
he shoved his phone toward you.
sure enough, thousands of comments.
dad keery era.
djo - dad
you looked back at him, he looked genuinely emotional.
"you're crying."
"i'm not."
"you literally are."
he wiped under his eye.
"okay maybe a little."
"oh my god."
"leave me alone."
tour came quicker than either of you wanted.
but thankfully, because you were still early enough in your pregnancy, you were able to travel with him for a big chunk of it.
and honestly?
it became one of your favorite periods of your marriage because it felt like this little bubble. just you. joe. and the tiny thing growing between you.
you got to see cities together, eat food from places you'd never been, wander around unfamiliar streets hand in hand, take photos, film vlogs, make memories before life got a whole lot crazier.
if there was one thing that did change dramatically though, it was joe.
or more specifically how protective he became.
it was ridiculous. genuinely ridiculous. the second he found out you were pregnant it was like some switch flipped inside him.
suddenly you couldn't do anything. absolutely anything.
one morning you reached for a grocery bag.
joe appeared out of nowhere.
"baby."
you blinked.
"what?"
"put that down."
"...it's apples."
"still."
"joe."
he took it from you anyway.
another time you stood on your tiptoes trying to grab a mug from a shelf. a shelf, not a mountain. not a dangerous cliff edge. a shelf.
before your fingers even touched it, joe's voice came from behind you.
"what are you doing?"
you looked over your shoulder.
"getting a mug."
"why?"
"...because i want tea?"
he was already reaching past you.
"i'll get it."
"i can reach it."
"you don't need to."
"i literally do."
"nope."
and then there was the infamous airport incident.
you had picked up your suitcase. your own suitcase. the one you'd been carrying perfectly fine for years.
and joe had gasped, actually gasped, like you'd just attempted to bench press a car.
you stared at him.
he stared at the suitcase.
"put it down."
"joe."
"you're growing a human."
you laughed.
"the human is the size of a grape."
"still."
"you're insane."
"thank you."
and somehow he sounded proud.
later in the tour there was a short break where you both got to spend a couple weeks back home.
it was glorious.
no hotels, no airports, just home.
which was how you ended up sitting on the living room floor one afternoon surrounded by pr packages.
you had decided to vlog opening them because honestly there were so many.
the camera sat on its tripod.
joe lounged beside you on the rug, one arm draped lazily around your shoulders.
"hey," you said.
"today we're opening all the pr that's been piling up while we've been away."
joe nodded.
the first box opened easily.
you pulled out tiny baby clothes.
immediately both of you froze.
because they were tiny. absurdly tiny. joe picked up a little onesie, held it up, stared, stared some more, then looked at you.
"our child is gonna fit in this?"
you nodded.
he looked horrified.
"that's way too small."
you laughed.
"babies are small."
"that's not a baby."
he held it between two fingers.
"that's a hamster."
the next package was bottles, those you both recognised which immediately felt like a win.
"we know these."
"yes!"
you high-fived.
"look at us."
"we're basically parents already."
you both nodded seriously then burst out laughing. the confidence didn't last because the next package contained some bizarre baby contraption.
you pulled it out slowly, turned it around, looked at the instructions, looked back at joe. he looked equally confused.
"what is that?"
"i don't know."
"turn it over."
you did, it didn't help.
"still don't know."
"maybe it's a hat."
"definitely not a hat."
by the middle of the vlog the floor was completely covered.
baby blankets. tiny socks. toys. books. feeding supplies. carriers. little matching outfits. you kept stopping to hold things up and stare at them.
because every now and then it would hit you all over again.
this wasn't hypothetical anymore, these things were for your baby. your actual baby.
and every single realisation felt just as surreal as the first.
at one point you picked up an impossibly tiny pair of shoes.
the room went quiet.
joe immediately reached for them, holding them carefully in his palms. they looked impossibly small there.
you watched his expression soften and instantly knew he was having feelings. again.
"joe."
he sniffed.
"don't."
"are you crying over shoes?"
"maybe."
you laughed.
"they're tiny."
"i know."
"you are unbelievable."
he looked at the camera.
"i'm having a moment."
"over shoes."
"tiny shoes."
which somehow made him cry harder.
toward the end of filming you were both surrounded by baby things.
completely overwhelmed, completely clueless and completely happy.
you leaned against joe's shoulder, he immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer.
"you know," you said "we have absolutely no idea what we're doing."
"none."
you laughed.
"but," he looked down at you, that soft smile appearing. the one that always made your heart ache.
"we've got each other."
your expression immediately melted.
"that's true."
"and eventually we'll figure out what half this stuff does."
"hopefully before the baby gets here."
you laughed.
he kissed the top of your head then looked at the camera.
"if any parents are watching..."
he held up another mystery baby gadget.
"...please help."
when the vlog went up a few days later, the comments were absolutely flooded.
comments:
user: you two are gonna be the sweetest parents ever
user: the fact they openly admit they have no clue what they're doing is actually so comforting
user: their baby is already so loved and it's not even here yet
user: the way he constantly reaches for her without thinking i'm emotional
user: dad keery era is thriving
user: can't wait to watch this little family grow 🤍
Mae i fear i may request this for all marauders separately, together, and in every AU, existing and new
But for now, James?
Thanks for requesting!
cw: modern au, hangover, blackout from drinking
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
bouncer!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words
A cruel, abrasive beam of sunlight slices past your lashes, and you roll over for the dozenth time to hide from it in the pillowcase. You’ll have to find your phone at some point to check the time, you know. You work at three.
There’s a bit more rolling and ruing before you manage that. You feel around the bed for it, your skin achy and too tight, eventually finding your phone on the nightstand.
This is your first clue that something is amiss, because you don’t have a nightstand.
You open your eyes. No, a nightstand was not drunkenly lugged into your bedroom during the night; this room isn’t yours at all. It’s messy, with clothes spilling out of a hamper and a mismatched coverlet and sheets on the bed. It is, you admit to yourself with growing unease, distinctly boy.
You check the time. You’ve slept until nearly noon.
You take a hasty stock of yourself. Your mouth tastes bitter, you’re in clothes that aren’t yours—soft shorts and a hoodie with a comic book character you vaguely recognize printed on the front—and you feel somewhat less hungover than you’d expect, given you can’t remember much of the night before.
Whoever has kidnapped or seduced you left paracetamol and a bottle of water on the nightstand. You take two of the former.
At least, you tell yourself, there is no one currently in the bed with you. You can hear a shower running somewhere else in the flat, and through your sticky, lethargic thoughts, come to the conclusion that this may be your chance if you’d like to sneak out without ever learning whose hoodie you’re wearing.
Nausea pinches in your throat as you drag yourself upright, ensuring the drawstring of your borrowed shorts is pulled tight before padding across the room. You twist the door handle slowly, wary of making any sound to alert your host. You peer out just as cautiously.
It’s a nice place. The whole of the flat isn’t much neater than the bedroom, but it’s nice nonetheless. All the furnishings look like they were bought new, with a few years’ use at most, and big windows let in nearly more sunlight than your head can tolerate. On the kitchen counter, there’s a scraped-clean pan that indicates breakfast recently eaten next to a pile of mail, a wallet, and keys.
Keys. You’ll need to find yours if you want to get back into your own flat when you leave here.
You begin searching as unobtrusively as you can. You find your shoes by the door—those are going to be hell to put back on—and for some reason your chapstick is nested in one of them, but no keys.
In the bathroom, the water shuts off.
Your search grows more panicked. Not on the kitchen counter. Not dropped somewhere on the floor between the front door and the bedroom. Not on the sofa, or the coffee table, or on the nightstand next to where you woke up.
The squeak of a door opening finds you on your hands and knees looking under the stranger’s bed.
You sit up to look, and immediately wish you hadn’t. The man coming out of the bathroom on the other side of the bed, cloaked in mist like the star of an eighties’ music video, is quite literally stunning. You’re stunned, by an expansive, muscled chest and dark hair already curling at the ends despite being weighted with dampness and foggy glasses that somehow humanize the whole image. He holds a white towel around his waist with one hand, and it’s. Just. It’s absolutely far too much for the state you’re in.
Behind the foggy glasses, puppy-brown eyes blink in surprise. “Can I help you find something?”
“I was—” Your voice scratches as you discover your throat is sorely raw. You clear it and try again. “Sorry, I was looking for my keys.”
He blinks again. “Didn’t you read the note?” he asks.
“Note?”
“Ah.” A corner of his mouth lifts in a boyish sort of grin. “That would be confusing. Let’s see.”
He crosses to your side of the room (Far too close, really. Not that you’re not happy to have him here, just, it’s a bit overwhelming, honestly) and looks around for a moment before bending over. His hand keeps the towel affixed, but it slips just slightly lower on his back, and you focus very hard on not thinking either about that or about how his bicep brushes the back of your leg as he reaches between the bed and the nightstand. He pulls out a piece of paper you must have brushed off the nightstand while you were feeling about for your phone.
“I thought it would help to keep from scaring you,” he says, almost sheepishly, which is entirely too endearing, “but I guess it’s sort of null if you can’t find it when you wake up. Anyway, here you go.”
He passes the paper to you. You look up at him, realizing that you’re still on your knees. You move to sit on the bed to put some distance between you, but that only puts you about level with his abdomen. Not much better.
He leaves you alone to read the note, taking some clothes from an open drawer and shutting the door to the bathroom again.
It says, first and foremost, in boxy handwriting: DON’T FREAK OUT
Your mouth tugs. That may not have been as comforting to read upon first waking up as this stranger seems to think.
The note goes on to tell you where you are (the flat of the bouncer from the club you were at last night) and how you got here (he tried to call you a cab, but you’d been upset about the expense, and then the cabbie wouldn’t let you in after you got sick all over yourself), and lays out a few options for how you might proceed (sleep as long as you like, sneak out quietly, or stay for breakfast).
At the bottom, the writing grows cramped: P.S. Your clothes are in the wash (you put on my things before you passed out) and your keys are in the hoodie pocket.
There’s a smiley face at the end.
You pat the pocket of the hoodie you have on and hear a distinctive jingle. You exhale.
Your host (your savior, really) comes out of the bathroom again, this time in an outfit similar to yours, though the shorts fit him better. It’s easier on your head, though he’s no less handsome for being less nude.
“It’s…James, right?” you ask, drawing on a foggy memory.
He smiles. “That’s right.”
You nod. This man does look vaguely familiar, though the bouncer you remember was a lot blurrier and wore more black. He was kind to you, though. You have some recollection of a big hand closed gently around your arm to keep you upright, and warm brown eyes looking into your own. Kind enough to let you sleep in his bed after you made a mess of yourself at the club, apparently, which is far kinder than you likely deserved.
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” you say, shamefaced.
“Don’t mention it.” James waves you off. “You said your place was really far, so I figured this was as good an option as any. I’m just glad you didn’t wake up and call the police on me.”
Your face warms. You don’t know where you are now, but your flat wasn’t all that terribly far from the club you went to last night. You can see how your inebriated self might have exaggerated things once your feet began smarting, though.
“So, are you taking the breakfast option?” James asks.
You feel your eyebrows jump. “You were serious about that?”
He grins and heads for the kitchen. “I’m very serious about breakfast, always. If eggs and bacon aren’t your thing, there’s a good cafe down the street. We could go there, or I could go and bring us pastries back.”
You follow him out of the bedroom, your eyes catching again on the empty pan by the hob. “Did you already eat?”
“I’ve never turned down a second breakfast,” James replies easily.
You hesitate, overwhelmed all over again. Your clothes are in this man’s washer. You slept in his bed, and, from the looks of things, you now realize he likely slept on the sofa. He’s given you paracetamol, and loungewear, and now he’s offering you breakfast.
“This is too nice of you,” you say, contrite.
James looks at you and shakes his head. “Really, don’t worry about it. You just had a bit too much, it happens to all of us sometimes. You can go if you want, but I’d rather send you home with your clothes, and they ought to be done drying soon.” He nods to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit for a while?”
Tentatively, you lower yourself into the cushions. Fold your legs up close to you. “Eggs and bacon sound great,” you say, hoping your gratitude is conveyed by your tone, “thanks.”
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