Discover Top Posts Tagged with #catb van

32 - in a heartbeat

filling the request [van] fluffy as fuck + lil bit o angst + some smut + angry van+ van/reader are in secret/private relationship and do their best to keep things discreet + another one but i can’t spoil which one lol

note i changed the private relationship request to where it develops after the initial thing. content warning: there’s some smut in this and it gets a little wild. just so you know. you’re going to be #shooketh.

___________________

You checked your hair in the mirror, taming any fly-aways behind your ears as best you could. The tiredness was seeping through your pores. You sighed, and splashed your face with water. You’d been so frustrated this week; a few sleepless nights paired with loud boys and lots of travel and training had taken a major toll on you. Even makeup couldn’t cure your enervation. The bags under your eyes were evident.

When you pushed open the clunky door of the bathroom backstage, you noticed something about their sound was off. You ran through the hallways, dodging equipment and people as your lungs, which weren’t in a condition to handle that much exercise at once, felt as if they were going to burst with exhaustion.

Soundcheck was sounding very wrong as you neared where they were performing.

You leapt onto side stage just as Van flung his hands at soundboard and angrily yelled “Turn my fuckin’ guitar up!” into the mic. He hit the microphone hard and the stand fell to the ground. Veins were sharply poking out of his neck. Fucking shit. You briskly pushed your trainee out of the way and ran your fingers up the rhythm guitar slide until it matched their preferences and resumed its normal volume. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“How long was it sounding like that?!” you screeched over the fuller sound of Van’s guitar.

“I… I didn’t touch it the whole song.”

“The whole song! Are you fucking kidding me?” You palmed your forehead. The whole song. He was nearing the end of the second verse when you bolted onto stage.

“You know you’re supposed to have eyes on them the whole time? We’re in charge of all the guitars. Every single one,” you yelled over the music back to the trainee, George. “Did he motion to you at all before that?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“For fuck’s sake.” You paced behind the soundboard. “I’m calling Jenny to handle the rest of this set. You’re out when this song ends.” You dialed her number, and she picked up immediately and made her way from the tour bus. She was the more reliable of the two trainees you’d been teaching to be sound engineers.

Jenny picked up the slack on sound board, and you sighed with relief. You paced just off stage, head in your hands.

Larry approached you then with a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, where were you?” he asked, concerned.

“I was just in the bathroom for a few minutes. I was feeling ill and needed a short break. I haven’t slept right in several weeks.”

He huffed out some air and patted your back. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I hope everything goes over okay when they get off stage.” He left you to switch Van’s guitars.

You leaned up against the cold cinder block wall of the venue a little ways down from the left stage exit and hung your head. You listened carefully to the sound for the rest of the songs of the set, silently praising Jenny for working the soundboard so well on her second week of training. You desperately needed a nap, but you knew if they walked off stage and you weren’t there to own up to your supervising mistake, they’d be even more pissed.

When the last note of Tyrants sounded, you let out a long exhale. You hadn’t realized how short of breath you’d been since the mistake.

All of a sudden, you heard Van yelling. “What the fuck was that? Where is she?” His booming voice resonated to the hallway.

He came down the stairs just a ways down from you, bitterly kicking an amp with the toe of his boot. He flung a crumpled setlist down on the floor and turned to look at you. He stomped down the hallway toward you, boots echoing loudly in the concrete hall. His eyes were bloodshot, and the veins in his neck and arms were still protruding angrily. He was furious.

He stopped inches from your face, putting a hand next to your head on the wall. “Where the hell were you?” he whispered lowly into your face. His eyes were glistening wetly, his pride obviously hurt. The level of his voice rose. “We own our fucking sound. We looked like fucking idiots out there tonight.”

Shocked, you put your hand on his sweaty chest to try to settle him down. He didn’t waver. “I fucking trusted you!” he screamed into your face. His eyes squinted shut. He beat his fist against the wall, and his hot breath washed over your face.

He swiftly turned on his heel and walked down the hall. He kicked an empty metal bin and the clang pierced the air.

“Fuckin’ follow me!” he yelled back at you, running irate fingers through his wet hair.

Silently, you tried to keep up with his impassioned footsteps. Quickly he stepped through dressing rooms and halls, earning timid looks from passersby, and finally you burst out the side door to the road behind the venue.

The tour bus was parked haphazardly outside, and the orange sunset beat against the side of it, reflecting Van’s fierce gaze when he wrenched open the fragile door.

Huddled around the table speaking hushedly were Mike, Larry, Doug, and the rest of the PR team. You caught whisperings of “George” and “it’s still her fault” and “embarrassment” before they noticed you two were standing there and Van’s loud voice pierced the air.

“I want to talk to Y/N alone. Everyone get the fuck out!” he shouted, pointing indignantly at the door. Stunned, everyone’s eyes went wide. Van stood still with a forceful gaze pinned on each of them. They shook off their frozen stupors, picked themselves up out of the booths, and slowly exited.

As soon as the door swung shut and locked behind the others, Van paced to the back of the bus and rubbed his trembling hands across his face before turning to speak to you again. His voice was deep and barely controlled. “I fuckin’ trusted you, Y/N,” he repeated. His forehead crinkled.

“I know,” you said, taking a few steps toward where he was standing at the bunks. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, I was feeling ill and --”

“You were responsible for the trainees. They’re fucking new. And if they don’t know what they’re doing they shouldn’t be on my fucking stage.”

“I was under the impression that George was ---”

“You’re supposed to supervise their every move!” He raised his voice. “I felt like a fucking kid again with that shit sound. It was fucking infuriating!” The frustration bubbled up inside you.

“But there’s also no reason to fuck with my equipment because I made a mistake! That mic stand didn’t need to be thrown about like that!” Finally, you’d broken and were screaming back at him. He wasn’t having it.

He slammed open the door to the back room of the bus where the couch was pulled out into the bed. You followed him in there, ready to bite back to defend your career. Standing in the doorway, you crossed your arms over your chest. He couldn’t run very far with the bed taking up most of the space in the room; it hit the back of his legs and he was a mere two steps from you.

He reached over and behind you in one motion and closed the door with a loud snap, but his body lingered close to you. His forearm rested on the door above you and his face was inches from yours. You shivered.

“Why is it so hard for you to just do as I tell you?” he spoke softly, gazing straight into your eyes, but he was obviously still livid. You looked up at him, biting your lip. That was enough to push him to the edge.

He smashed his lips onto yours and pressed his body hard up against you. He hoisted your legs up to wrap around his waist and slammed you against the door. You groaned in pain as your head banged against the fake wood. He put his hand behind your head to cushion you as his other hand gripped your waist tightly. You reciprocated his kiss with as much ferocity as you could muster, but dropped your legs and pushed him off of you; the force made him stumble back onto the bed. You pounced on top of him, biting his swollen lips.

“If you think that’s how this is going to go, love, you’re sadly mistaken.”

He flipped you over so he was on top despite your resistance to his power struggle, and grinded hard against the seam of your jeans. “Be a good girl just this once and fucking listen to me,” he whispered into your ear before ravishing your neck with wet, open-mouthed kisses, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. The grinding pressure on your lower half didn’t stop. He hissed your name between clenched teeth. You bit your lip hard to hold back a moan; if you made a noise, he knew he’d have won.

You pawed at the hem of his black tee and forced it over his head between his kisses on your collarbone. His angry plump lips reconnected with yours, and your hands went into his sweaty hair. You pulled at it hard and he grunted into your mouth, fingers digging into your hips.

Suddenly he sat up abruptly, straddling your waist with all his weight resting on you. With two hands he forcibly pulled at the collars of your white button down, popping all the buttons in succession and exposing your bra. It was black and lacy; laundry day wasn’t til tomorrow and you’d worn everything else you brought.

“Fucking hell,” he growled, unbuttoning your jeans to reveal the matching underwear. He pulled off your jeans and bit your inner thigh hard, making you yelp in pain. Thumb hooked in the waistband, he pulled off the underwear in one go, exposing your wetness to the cool air. He unclipped your bra with one hand from behind and bit the swell of your breast as you gripped his shoulders hard.

His pants were straining with desperation. He undid his belt and flung it across the room; the metal buckle hit the door and left a scar in the wood. He sighed in relief at the feeling of no constriction, before his hands swiftly grabbed yours and pinned them against the bed. He rubbed himself up against you, coating himself in your wetness and teasing you.

He smirked at your unwavering gaze. He looked intensely into your eyes, before swiftly thrusting into you without any warning. You cried out, writhing under him and grabbing onto the sheets.

“You… are… so…” he groaned, unable to finish the sentence. He thrust in and out, each thrust harder than the last with erratic pleasure. The air was filled with the sounds of both of your panting breaths and moans.

He growled and lifted your legs up over his shoulders to thrust you deeper into the mattress. You screamed when he hit a sensitive spot, and muttered, “Fuck you, Van.”

That set him off. He thrust harder and faster, and you clawed at his back. Your pelvic bones knocked together, and you exhaled heavily when he bit your earlobe. He whispered fervently in your ear, “You know you love what I do for you.”

You moaned into his mouth, the vibrations of the sounds running through both your bodies. A shiver ran down his body at the same moment one did yours; you felt yourself tighten around his groin as his speed increased and his hands clamped down upon your wrists even tighter. You gasped out as you felt yourself climax; turning you into a panting, wet mess underneath him. He groaned, leaning his forehead against yours, eyes boring into yours through the sweat covered tips of his hair.

“Oh, I’m gonna-” he moaned out, sentence incomplete. His eyes closed, mouth opened in a wide O, and he let out a shaky breath. He rode out his release, then collapsed on top of you. You both lay there panting for a few seconds, chest to chest, nose to nose, your hands still clenched tightly into the sheets. He finally pulled out, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands for a few seconds before standing up to pull on his jeans.

“I have to go,” he said, avoiding eye contact as he tucked his shirt back in. He left you there, slamming the door shut behind him as he walked off the bus.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

Still alone, and now fully dressed (as well as you could be; your stash of safety pins had become handy in concealing that your button down had been ripped apart earlier), you made yourself a cup of tea and sat down in the empty booths. As soon as you smelled the milk, it made you want to heave. Sometimes the boys were carelessly disgusting; you set the carton in the fridge for someone else to find.

Sipping your hot milkless tea, you reflected on the last time you and Van did something like this.

It was about ten weeks ago, the start of tour, and he couldn’t stand you. You’d heard from the other crew members he was resistant to change, but until you experienced it first hand, you could have never expected how frustrated he could get. He fought with Larry one night over a jaffa cake, a negligible thing to bicker about, and it was obviously due to his frustration about your arrival. Later that same night, drunk in his hotel room, you found out his temper and his sexual frustration were almost inseparable.

Afterwards, he’d started acting normally around you; in your head, you joked that it was your initiation into the crew. Eventually, he’d come to trust you with everything sound related, and with anything else that was on his mind, too. You and he were closest on the team, and worked well together, most of the time. You understood now how hurt his pride had been earlier, that you’d ruined a night of his career, and that your friendship had been on the line up until what just happened. He’d pick back up in a few hours and be normal again.

Your introspection of prior events was ruined by Larry ducking his head into the tour bus. “Y/N, we all decided we’re going to rent a couple of rooms at a hotel, and since I know you’re not well, I was wondering if you’d want to share the room with me since I don’t snore.”

“Oh, god, yes. Larry, I love you. I’ll pack my bag right now.” Larry smiled, and left you to do what you had to do.

*****

With a good night’s sleep finally under your belt, you felt ready to take on the next day’s travelling to the next show. You were up early for breakfast, and went downstairs with Benji to raid the tour bus for any bagels, because the hotel didn’t have any.

Benji made you both some hot tea, and he was about to pour the milk into yours before you stopped him. “No milk for me, please and thanks,” you said, and he looked at you kind of funny. He poured some in his cup, took a sip of the hot brew, and sighed contentedly.

“Disgusting,” you muttered under your breath as you searched the cabinets.

“So moody,” Benji laughed, and walked back outside, giving up on the search for bagels. You followed after a few minutes more of digging through storage bins of Special K, tea bags, and rogue items of clothing.

A heaping breakfast of eggs, pancakes, and fruit in the hotel cafe, and you were one happy girl. Van laughed at you from across the table, talking about how he’d never seen a girl eat so much (but it was all in good fun). Larry tried to keep up with you, but failed after his fifth pancake.

“Dunno how you do it,” Bob said, with his meager breakfast of fruit and a slice of toast. You laughed and shoveled in another bite.

A hundred miles down the road, everyone else was hungry, but you were still fine, and living life smoothly. The good night’s sleep you had plus the real food made you the best person to be around on the bus that morning. Everyone else was chipper as well, and laughing heartily.

You and Bondy were in the booth playing cards when you felt the first twinge in your stomach. Your mouth twisted in a scowl, and your head started pounding. You looked out the window and your head felt all swimmy.

“You good?” Bondy looked up at you, starting to laugh at the look of blatant discontent on your face.

“Yeah,” you shakily breathed out, “Think I’ve been looking down at my cards too long, motion sickness and that.”

But then another twinge hit and you knew it was coming; you barrelled down the moving bus to the bathroom. You flung the door open and retched into the toilet bowl, tears threatening to fall. You were having such a good day before this.

“Love, everything okay?” Van asked at the door. You gave him the biggest side-eye from your place kneeled on the floor and hunched over the toilet bowl.

“We’re out of all the dimenhydrinate,” Mike called from the front of the bus after he checked the medical kit for nausea medication.

“I’ll go tell the driver to stop at the next pharmacy so we can get you some,” Van said, and helped you off the floor so you could rinse your mouth. His support was much needed, as you still felt faint.

You walked back out to the main space of the bus, Van holding onto your arm so you wouldn’t fall when the bus changed lanes on the highway, and settled back into your booth across from Bondy. He’d just poured himself a large mug of tea, and had the excess milk he’d poured for his tea sitting in a cup across from you. It stunk.

“Bondy, get that shit away from me, I don’t know how you all drink it,” you said, shoving the cup farther away from you.

“What are you on about?” he asked, intrigued.

“It’s fucking gross, how you can all just act like heathens around here!” your voice pitch started rising, and you felt your frustration tip you over the edge. “It smells so fucking bad, like it’s been sour for weeks!”

“Y/N, the milk is fucking fine, we bought it four days ago! What’s gotten into you?” Larry asked, appalled, sliding into the booth next to Bondy.

“She was like that this morning, too,” Benji murmured, his attention drawn away from Fifa for a moment.

Pressured by the judging eyes, you got up and ran to the back of the bus where Van was peeking his head out of the couch room after hearing your disturbance.

Once you closed the door behind you for privacy, you let the frustrated tears fall, not caring Van was watching you fall apart. He placed a hand on your shoulder and scooted close to you.

“Y/N,” he began after a while, “Is this, like, a mental thing? I know you’ve struggled with that before.”

You wiped your nose on your sweater sleeve and rubbed the tears away. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just supposed to start my period soon.”

You looked up into his eyes, his face so close to yours. Your brain cogs started whirring, and your glance turned from confusion to panic in a matter of seconds. His eyes widened immediately and the unsaid was exchanged between you.

****

“How long’s it supposed to take?” he asked as you paid for the test at the counter and walked through the aisles to the bathroom in the pharmacy. You didn’t have much time; the bus driver had dropped the boys off for lunch at a fast food joint down the road, and then driven you and Van to the pharmacy. They’d get suspicious if you took too long; you were in the middle of nowhere, so there were no other places to pretend to go to if you took too much time.

“Dunno, I’ll have to read the box --- Hey, you can’t come in here,” you told him as he followed you into the women’s room.

“If my baby’s in you then I can damn well come in here,” he said, pacing against the bathroom stalls.

“Fine,” you told him, figuring arguing was not the best thing for either of you right now, and undid the flaps of the box with shaky hands. He tapped his foot nervously. “The instructions say to look after five minutes.”

You went into the stall, and shot him a look that said I won’t be upset either way before you closed the door.

Free from his watchful gaze, you let terrified tears slide down your cheeks as you took the test and capped it. You started the timer on your phone.

You walked out of the stall and stuck it in his jacket pocket so you wouldn’t look at it before time was up. Van held you tightly, slowly rocking you back and forth with his chin resting on your head. You couldn’t see his face.

You stood there with him, quiet and contemplating, holding back nervous tears, until the alarm went off on your phone, and you sucked in a breath sharply.

“I can’t look,” you told him, and separated yourself from his arms. His face was pallid, and scared. You stood in front of him as he carefully took the test out of his jacket pocket, and flipped it over.

He bit his lip and looked up at you; tears shone in his eyes. You searched his eyes for the answer, and he nodded slightly.

Your hands drew up to your stomach, and you felt the magnitude of the situation descend on you.

A tear and a guttural noise escaped Van as he kneeled on the dirty bathroom floor, and pressed his forehead to your belly.

And then his phone rang. He handed it to you to answer; he couldn’t speak.

“Hey, Lar… Yeah, we got it. My stomach was still a little upset, that’s all.” Van stood and your eyes were on his the whole time you spoke to Larry. “Yeah…. Mmm-hmm….. We’ll be out in a minute.” You hung up, and gave it back to him. He breathed in unsteadily, and leaned in to press a kiss against your forehead. He took your hand in his.

“Let’s go.”

****

You both entered the fast food joint, hands still glued together. His knuckles were white from holding on to you so tightly. He only let go to pay for the food.

When you joined everyone else, they could see how unsettled you and Van were. Of course, they immediately asked about the looks on your faces.

“Really didn’t wanna see this one throw up again,” he said, not lying, but not telling the truth either.

“I still feel icky,” you told them, which was not a lie at all.

Van tried his best to process while continuing the banter as normal. You ate in silence.

****

The next show date went well, and no sound mistakes were made by the trainees. They’d decided to keep George on despite his ignorance, and you were determined to turn him into a helpful sound engineer after the frustration you’d experienced.

“Thanks for keeping me on, Y/N,” he said, loading the equipment that night.

“Oh, no problem. I see something in you, George,” you said, elbowing him playfully as he handed Larry a guitar case. Usually, guitar takedown would be your job, but Van had put a stop to all of your heavy-lifting activities immediately. You were thankful; your back and your stomach frequently bothered you. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the boys noticed your “laziness” and confronted you about it.

“You’ve been so helpful to my career,” George kept on, smiling brightly. “You’ve got this motherly quality about you.” You blushed red, and a soft smile graced your lips.

You turned your head to where Van was, several feet away toweling off, and watched him smile at the floor.

****

You unloaded your suitcase into the hotel closet, happy to have a few days off before resuming the tour.

“Van?” you called out to him. He was brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

“Yeah?” he said around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“We’ve got to go see a doctor about our little one,” you said, patting your stomach.

“You want to go tomorrow?” he asked, coming round the corner with the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Nobody’s got anythin’ planned.” You nodded, and let him spit in the sink.

This was the first time the both of you could be alone without risk of eavesdropping ears. You’d shared a hotel room before with Van, so nobody was suspicious when you paired up again. You were grateful for the time off you could spend with him to figure things out.

“Do you mind if I sleep with you?” you’d asked him after dinner. It was hard to admit the things that were about to become normal for the two of you. “I just need you.”

He held his arms open on the bed and let you crawl into them. You lied on your back and waited for his hand, inevitably slinking up to touch your stomach.

He was a natural father already, doing the hand thing and the staring at babies thing; you were still getting used to the idea that there was something growing inside you. It freaked you out and excited you at the same time.

“You want to get married?” Van’s voice spoke up and asked, drawing you out of your train of thought. You chuckled, and looked up at his face. His expression was not one of humor.

“Oh shit, you’re serious.” He nodded. Fuck. “Could I answer… later?”

“How later?”

“Just…. Later. I need some time to think.”

“Okay,” he nodded. You were surprised he left it at that. But you knew he was also just as stunned as you were. Parents.

“You know we’ve never kissed proper before,” he spoke up again. You snickered at these random offhand comments. He was so concerned about being his version of ideal parents, and it was only day three of knowing about the baby.

“Is that your way of saying you want to try?” you looked up at him again, and smiled.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do it then.”

He laughed at your frankness. He leaned in slowly, and your lips brushed his gently. He brought his hand up to cradle your cheek. It was sweet, and slow. Your heart fluttered.

He drew back, and rubbed your nose with his.

“Thoughts?” he whispered.

“Good.”

****

“When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?” he asked the obstetrician.

“Usually about 14 weeks along.”

“How far is she along now?”

“Judging from the time she listed on the form that she had her last period, she looks to be about 10 weeks. I’m about to perform a vaginal ultrasound, so we’ll confirm that in a bit.”

“Y/N, how did you go 10 weeks without your period and not notice?” he asked you. Your eyes narrowed.

“Hey, sometimes when girls are stressed out they miss their periods altogether. And I’m irregular. And stressed. So, yeah.”

The obstetrician left the room so you could prep for the ultrasound. You stepped into the paper gown and put your feet in the stirrups; you took a deep breath. Van looked as if he were going to faint. He was staring at the black monitor screen turned toward the obstetrician’s seat.

“We’re about to see our baby.”

“I know,” you said. You held his hand tightly.

The obstetrician reentered the room and prepped the equipment. She told you the process, and made small talk until the equipment was ready.

“Okay, I’m going to insert this into your vagina. It’s probably going to be cold. You’ll want to relax your muscles.” The obstetrician pushed what felt like a wand inside you. You felt strange pressure as she moved the instrument around.

“That’s fucking freezing,” you said, shivering. The obstetrician watched the screen carefully, and when she’d found what she was looking for, she stopped wiggling the wand inside you. She turned up the volume on her machine so you and Van could hear, and you burst into tears.

A heartbeat, small and strong, resonated in the room. The tears rolled down your cheeks, and you lied back on the bed, the reality of it all happily soaring through you. You opened your eyes, and turned to Van. He had wet tears too, and was recording the heartbeat on his phone.

“I’m gonna be a dad.”

You pulled his face to yours, and kissed him hard. Your tears and his mingled wetly between your lips. You pulled away and smiled brightly, your cheeks searing with pain from smiling so hard. It was well worth it.

“When do we get to see it?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Not the next appointment, but the one after that, at about week 17 or 18, you should be able to see it. The sex can also be determined if you wish. Y/N, you’re about 10 weeks, as you suspected.”

“When should we tell them?” you ask Van.

The obstetrician cut in. “Most parents wait until after the first trimester to tell family and friends. The risk of miscarriage isn’t over until about week 13, and that makes some parents weary to tell anyone else.” Van’s eyes widened in horror. You nodded; you already knew this.

****

“You’re not doing anything for the next three weeks,” Van declared as he opened the rental car door for you to hop into.

“Van, it’s normal for people to wait just in case,” you groaned. Super dad, here we come.

“There’s not gonna be a just in case, Y/N,” he said. He put the car in drive and GPSed the nearest park and shops. “You cool with shopping around?” You nodded.

Walking around the town center, pregnancy brochures in the pockets of your coat, you were happy. Your arm was wrapped around his, and every so often you’d look up at him and see the sparkle in his eye.

“Where are we going to live?” you asked him. “After 36 weeks of pregnancy I won’t be able to fly anywhere. So we’ve got to pick before then. And then I’ve got to leave.”

Van stopped walking and held your shoulders. “You’re not going to be alone for this. Not one minute. Don’t you even think that. We’ll figure it out.” You smile, a little more reassured, and leaned up to kiss his jaw. Then, after your short peck, he leaned down to kiss you on the lips, in the middle of the sidewalk. You wrapped your arms around his neck, savoring the moment. He grasped your waist and pulled you closer. You felt at home.

When the kiss broke, you were out of breath. Van smiled happily, and led you to the park in the middle of town.

“I need to sit down for a minute,” you told him, and he let you rest on a park bench. Then, he took off running toward a tree. “Van!” you yelled after him, mad that he was abandoning you for some goofy reason. When he was about a hundred feet away, he pulled his cigarette packet out of his back pocket and lit one up. You laughed from where you were sitting on the bench. He leaned up against the tree, trying to seem debonair and thoughtful.

While he smoked over there, far away from the baby, you pulled out your phone. How you wished you could tell your parents. And your friends. And the guys. Ugh.

Van returned from his smoke break, and sat down next to you. You watched the people go by, and Van petted a few dogs before you decided you were spent.

“Ready for a mommy nap, then?” Van said, smiling, and taking your hand. On the way back to the car, you both saw a mother and father wheeling their baby around in a stroller around the park. You looked at them, yearning for all of it, and you could tell Van felt the same.

****

“Larry! Mate, open up!” Van exclaimed, beating on his door later that night. Larry answered, and let you and Van inside.

“Champagne?” Bondy asked, holding up a few glasses. Van took one, but you declined with a “My stomach is still feeling a little funny.”

“So, why didn’t you tell us?” Larry asked when you and Van sat down on his bed. The color drained from your face. Van froze next to you. You started sweating immediately.

“What do you mean?” Van asked, careful.

“That you’re secretly dating each other!” Larry said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You laughed nervously.

“How’d you know?” you played along. Better to ease them into the pregnancy you’d be announcing in several weeks, you thought.

Bob was the one to speak. “I was out with my friends, taking a few photos, and we stopped mid-afternoon for a coffee at a cafe in the town center. We sat up at the bar that faces the shop entrance, and all of a sudden, you lot come down the path and start snogging in front of our window.”

Your face burned red, and Van started laughing. He put his arm around you playfully and smiled. “You’ve got us!” Van kissed your cheek. It felt real.

“To the newlyweds!” Bondy popped the champagne, and poured glasses for everyone except you.

Back in your own hotel room, you were ready for a bath to ease your sore muscles. You had already noticed the back pain, the leg cramps, and the neck aches. Sighing, you thought to yourself that you just had to get through to the second trimester, and most of the pains would go away. You ran the hot water, pouring in some bubble bath, watching the water sud up.

“So that makes it official,” Van said, dancing into the bathroom with his glass of champagne.

“Mmm?” you question, eyes still staring at the bubbles in the water.

“We’re dating,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. You smiled.

“Guess so.”

“You ‘guess so’?” he replied in that high pitched voice of his. “You’re carrying my baby!”

You stood up, and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Yes, Van, we are dating. Hello, boyfriend. Boyfriend who is the father of my child. Care to take a bath with me, your girlfriend, the mother of your child?”

“Yeah,” he said, already stripping down before you could get the rest of the sentence out of your mouth. You giggled, and pulled your shirt off. When you tugged your jeans off, you audibly groaned in happiness at the release of pressure on your legs. Van kissed you softly before sliding into the water. He helped you with your bra -- your “My arms are so sore and I’m just too tired to do it,” followed by Van’s “I’m never going to turn down taking your bra off, love” --- and you slid under the water too, your back against his chest. His arms came to wrap around your belly.

“I think you’re startin’ to poke out a little,” he said, rubbing small circles in your thigh. “It’s cute.”

*****

The next three weeks with him passed blissfully. He took you out on a date for the first time, and you found yourself falling in love with the things you never knew about him; it was easy to believe you’d always had feelings for him. He wooed you with roses when you were out, bought you the best chocolate bar he could find in the hotel gift shop, and made you feel like you were eighteen again, with butterflies cascading up your throat. But when you came back to the hotel room, and after you let your frustration melt into each other, it felt domestic already: he’d rub your stomach, or your shoulders, or kiss your belly and hum little lullabies to your baby as you’d drift off to sleep.

When he’d sing Hourglass, a tune that previously had no meaning to you, you cried hormonally every night he performed it and had to have Larry soothe you in a back room for the next ten minutes afterward. The trainees had mastered Hourglass enough to let you cry in peace by now.

“I just…. I love him so much,” you’d cry, and Larry would scoff and say, “You still haven’t told him?” but rub your back anyways because he felt bad for your relentless sobbing.

They still didn’t know you were pregnant; the end of this week was the conclusion of your thirteenth week. You knew Van was planning to announce it soon.

You and Van already planned your OB-GYN appointment for the next week in the city you’d be staying in. It wasn’t ideal for you to travel between doctors, but it had to be done, since Van wasn’t going to leave your side, and you weren’t going to leave his. Plus, both your careers involved touring. He was so excited after you made the call that he was quaking in his boots.

“We’re gonna get to find out what sex it is?” he asked, excitedly.

“Maybe. Ah! Don’t get excited. I said maybe. Usually they can tell at 17 weeks, according to this doctor. We’re at fourteen. So if not now, then the next one.”

“Can I tell the lids?”

“Not yet. How about we plan a little dinner? We can stand up at the end and announce it to everyone. I know you love being the center of attention, anyways.” You punched his arm casually and he narrowed his eyes playfully.

“I love it.”

*****

Your OB-GYN appointment went smoothly; you got to hear the baby’s heartbeat again, and it was stronger and louder. Van recorded it again, and you both had tears in your eyes again. It was hard not to. The way both of you looked at each other and then your stomach was enough to make the obstetrician grab a tissue.

“Do you want to see it?” the obstetrician asked. It caught you both off guard. You weren’t expecting to see the baby until the next appointment. The doctor turned the screen towards you, and you almost fainted.

On the screen, pulsing, was a little nugget of a baby, curled tightly in the fetal position.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up as far as you could, curious. “Van, baby, take a picture,” you told him, tapping his arm in succession when he wouldn’t move out of his stupor.

“No need, we can print a few for you in-house today,” the obstetrician said. “Oh! Look! I think I know the sex!”

“Wait!” you said, before your mind could even register. “I don’t think I want to know…”

“Course we wanna know,” Van said, taking your hand in his.

“But like… can we wait a little longer? I’ve only known about this baby for four weeks. I kind of need some more time.” Van sighed.

“Can we get it in an envelope for the missus?” Van asked the doctor.

“Sure! Many couples opt for a more private gender reveal.”

“Perfect.”

On the drive back from the doctor, you and Van planned the perfect dinner reveal. You’d wear your favorite dress, Van, his white button down, and you’d eat a delicious meal. It would be the fanciest restaurant in town, he said, and you’d walk in like kings and queens. Reservation and all. He said you could clink the glass like in Princess Diaries but you wouldn’t break it and you’d stand, and happily announce you were having a baby ---

Van failed to notice the car in front of him had slammed on its brakes in front of him until it was too late. He barely had time to react, his reflexes kicking in as his he slammed his foot down, tires screeching as he tried to stop. With a loud crash, the front end of the rental car collided with the other car’s bumper, airbags deploying as your bodies were jolted forward. It all happened so fast.

You blinked furiously, coughing as you realized there was something thick and hazy in the air, and then a few moments passed before you saw Van struggling with the passenger side door for a few seconds trying to get it open. His forehead was bleeding, and you wanted to reach out to stop it through the window. You couldn’t lift your arms.

You felt stinging pain as you were moved somewhere else, someone else’s face in yours, staring into your eyes, but you couldn’t conceptualize time. Your lungs hurt. Your arms and neck stung from raw cuts across your body.

“She’s going to the hospital, mate! Fuck!” you heard Van yelling in the distance. You wanted to tell him not to be upset. And that you loved him. When you tried to speak, your throat seized up.

The next thing you knew you were staring up at a white ceiling, spluttering awake.

Fuck, everything hurts, you whimpered to yourself. Something beside you stirred, but you couldn’t turn your head to look.

A nurse had been on call to watch you, and when she noticed you were awake, hit the button to the side of your bed. A doctor came in almost immediately, ready to check your vitals. She shined a bright light in your eyes, in your ears, in your mouth (as far as you could open it) and pressed on your abdomen.

“She’s in stable condition; I guess she can have visitors now. I’ll tell them what’s happened. There’s been a boy and his friends worried sick outside for her all night,” the doctor told your nurse. She nodded and exited the room.

After a few minutes, Van ran into the room, forehead bandaged. You could hear him whispering outside that he’d come in first, and then the rest of whoever could follow in a few minutes.

“Van,” you tried to speak, but your voice was hoarse and raw. It felt like knives were scraping up it when you spoke.

“Shhh, shhh,” he kissed your forehead; even that hurt. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“What happened?” you croaked out. You tried to sit up, but you couldn’t move your body.

“An idiot hit the brakes in front of us because he’d spilled searing coffee in his crotch. We hit him, and the windshield blew out. Airbags deployed, and I was okay because I’m taller; you got the brunt end of it, and I’m so sorry love. You haven’t broken anythin’, but you’ve got cuts from the glass all over.”

Something crossed your mind that made you want to cry out. “Baby?” you asked, squinting your eyes shut. You hoped to God nothing happened to your baby. You started to cry just thinking about the possibility of losing it.

“You’re a little banged up, but she’s fine,” Van smiled.

“‘She’?” you whimpered, tears slowly salting their way down your cheeks. He held your hand loosely.

“Yeah, baby, she.”

****

So you didn’t get to have the dinner you’d wanted: the boys had found out about your pregnancy as soon as Van had called them and frantically shouted “I can’t lose the both of them!” over the phone as you were being loaded into the ambulance. But many weeks had passed and you were well again; the baby was doing fine in its third trimester, and you and Van had started shipping baby items back home. Bernie and Mary said they’d set the baby’s room up when they had time; they were eager grandparents. And life was free of problems for the moment, thank goodness. And though you didn’t get your fancy feast, you did get a busload of boys ready to tend to your every move if you begged hard enough.

“Can someone help me to the bathroom? Lmao xxx” you texted the group chat one evening. You were sitting in a low fold out chair and were having trouble getting out of it by yourself. Bondy and Benji answered your beckoning call and helped lift you out of your chair and walked you down the hall until you finished, and then walked you all the way back. Ten minutes later, you had to pee again.

“God damn, this is hard,” you muttered. Someone else came into the bathroom, but you were past caring about your public appearances. You had a baby growing inside you. And you liked to speak to it. “You better know all the hell you’re putting me through.”

“Y/N, don’t talk to our baby like that!” Van half-laughed, half-whined from the other side of the door. “The boys said you needed some help so here I am. And I come bearing gifts.”

“Oooh! Gifts!” you flushed the toilet and waddled over to Van. Your belly was getting huge, and Van was surprised every time he saw you.

“Mmmmwah,” he kissed your cheek dramatically.

“Could we not do this in the bathroom, though?” you asked him, leading him outside.

“Well if you’re just gonna be back in here…”

“Van, I swear.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, following you back to the dressing room. “Want your gifts?”

“Yes, please. Spice up my life.”

“Can we actually do this on the stage? It’s closer and I’m afraid you’re walking too much,” he said, placing a steady hand on your back and leading you up the stairs to the stage.

“I’m definitely okay with that.”

The stage was empty, and your heavy footsteps echoed across the floor. He motioned you to sit at the edge of the stage --- “I promise I’ll help you up afterwards, love,” --- and sat down next you. He smiled.

The whole arena was empty; every sound was hollow and grand. You dangled your feet off the edge and imagined the crowd that would fill it later tonight. Perks of the job.

“I’ve loved sharing this part of my life with you,” he started off. Oh boy. Prepare for hormonal waterworks. “And I can’t believe I get to share a little baby with you. I love you. And I know you love me too.”

You nodded, glassy eyes already threatening to spill at his words.

“So the gifts.” He pulled a small bag out of his jacket. “The first one: a key to my house in

Chester.”

He handed it to you, and the cold metal felt final in the palm of your hand. You fumbled around with the ribbon attached to it. He smiled as your swollen fingers passed over it. You kissed him softly on the lips.

“And the second one: a key to the flat I just rented us in LA, near Sardy’s house. We’ll be back and forth, taking our little girl everywhere we go. Cause I ain’t leavin’ yous behind.” Emotion bubbled up in your stomach as he put the second key on top of the other in your hand, and the jingle made you feel nostalgic for the home you were just starting on.

“And the third gift, well…. this is it.” He held out a tiny box. You stared at him hard.

“Take it,” he said, eyebrows raised, willing it into your hands. He took the keys from you.

Slowly, you took the little navy box, rested it on your palm, and opened the lid.

On a pad of white silk, was the necklace. His necklace. Freshly polished and shining under the stage lights, wrapped around the silk decoratively, sparkling gold. You stared at it, unmoving for a few seconds, mouth parted. You looked back at him, and he took it from you.

He pulled it carefully out of the silk he’d wrapped it around, and unclasped it. He slowly leaned in and fastened it around your neck with delicate fingers. When it hung there, cold against your neck, he took your face in his hands and kissed you hard, tasting your tears, and you kissed him back.

Cheering could be heard from the back of the stage, where the whole crew had gathered behind the alligator curtain to watch him give you his necklace. He’d carried it around his entire adult life, and now here you were, with all his memories tacked onto you, carrying his child inside you, kissing him right there in an empty arena with both your dream jobs.

You broke apart from him and gazed coolly into his eyes. “Yes.”

“What?” he asked, confused. You kept staring at him, willing him to remember the first night you’d spent in the hotel together, when he’d asked you to marry him offhandedly.

“My answer to the question you asked me the first night we spent together is yes.”

“Wh--Oh! OH!” He jumped up, and hoisted your heavily pregnant self up as well. “If we’re gonna do this, then we’re gonna do it proper.” He laughed, and got down on one knee.

“You did not,” you said, smacking him on the arm before bringing your hand up to your face.

“Oh, but I did,” he said, pulling another box out of his jacket pocket.

“And when were you going to do this one?”

“Seconds after you said ‘yes.’ You jumped the gun, love.” He opened it to reveal a stunning engagement ring with an uncut diamond in the middle. Gold, to match the necklace.

“Y/N, will you marry me?” Everyone peeking out from behind the curtain waited with baited breath. They hadn’t heard your previous discussion.

“Van, of course, y-- oh,” you cringed, bringing your hand to your stomach. “Fuck.”

“What was that?” He stood up, and put a hand on your belly. “Y/N, you okay?” People behind the curtains gasped.

The pain didn’t stop -- it only grew. You looked him in the eye, and laughed shakily. “Fuck, Van, if I didn’t know better I’d think I just peed my pants.”

#catb van

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