#he took those vows during his first marriage knowing full well they were going to divorce. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherienymphe · 4 years

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Regrets of Yesterday (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: arranged marriage, infidelity? (does it still count if all parties are consenting?), mafia!Steve, side of Bucky x reader, jealous!Steve, eventual NON-CON, Steve’s an ass

DNI IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

➥ This will be a short 3 part series ➥ part 2

summary: your arranged marriage to the infamous Steve Rogers isn’t what you initially thought it would be, but things have worked out better than you could have imagined. However, your arrangement with your husband becomes complicated when feelings, and circumstances, that neither of you anticipated come into play.

Your marriage to the infamous Steve Rogers wasn’t even what you would call a cold one. Truth be told, it wasn’t a marriage at all. Everything was arranged the moment you had caught his parents’ eyes, and before you knew it, you were engaged to a man you had never met. Of course, you knew who Steve Rogers was.

Everyone did.

To the average person, he was your run of the mill business man who’d been blessed with generational wealth. To those who really knew, he was a stern leader to the most well-known crime organization in the city, the same one he’d inherited from his father. He was equally brilliant as he was handsome, and that you could confirm for yourself on your wedding day.

It was a wedding with a decent turnout. Both of your parents were there to witness the event of course. As well as his men, but you hadn’t expected other crime bosses to be in attendance, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous. Your hair looked the best it ever had, your makeup highlighted your best features, and your dress clung to you in a way that caused everyone’s gazes to linger. All in all, it was a beautiful wedding.

If only your husband to be had been present.

Steve was there physically, of course, but the rest of him was so far away that you found yourself feeling alone at the altar. Your hands were intertwined with his as you said your vows, but you couldn’t really feel them. Your eyes met his, but it felt like he wasn’t even looking at you. His lips brushed against yours so lightly, you had to wonder if you imagined the kiss.

Your parents were positively beaming as the priest pronounced you man and wife, but as you contemplated the weight of Steve’s hand in yours, you wondered just how true that was.

The reception was everything you wanted, and when you were told that you had free reign over all of the wedding details, you had been excited. You thought that Steve was going to be one of those husbands who just wanted to make his wife happy no matter what. It was a rude awakening to realize that it was solely because he didn’t care. About the wedding...

About you.

It was during your first dance as a married couple that you fully realized just what this marriage would be.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Steve had started, making you frown.

His blue eyes gazed into yours, neat blond hair pushed away from his face. His handsome face was unreadable, not a hint of emotion peeking through, and his voice was even as he continued.

“I don’t know if they told you why you’re here…”

“They did.”

The main reason for this marriage was so that Steve could produce an heir to continue his family’s legacy. That had been made clear from the beginning, but it didn’t help you any with trying to figure out where this conversation was going.

“…and you understand that’s the only reason you’re here, correct?”

You blinked, a bit shocked as you registered his words. You knew that it played a big part in this marriage, but you hadn’t known that it was the sole reason for this marriage…nor your place here.

“I see,” you whispered, a bit disappointed.

You both turned to pose as a camera flashed, and your conversation continued as he moved you about the dancefloor, a soft breeze ruffling the skirt of your dress.

“I’m not as cruel as they say,” he murmured. “I won’t expect you to just sit in a loveless marriage.”

Your frown deepened as he continued.

“You are free to find affection elsewhere. As am I,” he said, making your eyes widen. “I’m used to a certain lifestyle, and that won’t stop just because we got married, and it would be unfair to not allow you to do the same.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked because this was not how you expected your wedding day to go at all. Here you were, dancing in a courtyard full of people as they watched the two of you celebrate your marriage. Meanwhile, your husband was telling you that he had no intentions of remaining faithful while you were free to do the same because your marriage was for one purpose and one purpose only.

“You…you want me to…”

You trailed off, your words dying in your throat as he looked away from you. Your eyes focused on his side profile, jaw moving every time he talked.

“My father gave me a year to find a wife and start working on producing an heir. He isn’t the most pleasant person to be around when he doesn’t get what he wants. This will satisfy him for the time being while we continue our lives as they were,” he explained.

You pressed your lips together, shoulders dropping as you accepted this.

“…when the time comes, we’ll do what needs to be done to have a child. Until then…”

You supposed that you couldn’t be upset with Steve. This was an arranged marriage after all. Everyone knew how most arranged marriages went, and you were the one who’d imagined this to be something it wasn’t. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that your parents didn’t clue you in on the whole story. You suspected that was for a reason though because had you known, you never would have agreed.

At least he was being transparent with you.

His eyes met yours again, and you nodded at him just as the music slowed to a halt. For the first time since you met, Steve smiled at you, and you did the same, albeit reluctantly. He took your hand and gently handed you off to your father, the older man pulling you into a dance as the music started up.

When you were done dancing with him, you enjoyed a dance with Steve’s father, the older Rogers pulling several laughs from you as he recounted stories of years past. Your dances with the other crime bosses were much more nerve-wracking, the eldest Odinson holding you a tad too tight for your liking. You were relieved when the song ended, and another took his place.

Your next dance partner, while never having the pleasure of meeting him until today, was also not unknown to you. James Barnes was just as well known as your new husband, equally as handsome, and much easier to talk to it seemed.

“You look lovely, Mrs. Rogers,” he told you, and you blinked.

You were taken aback. Sure, your father and even Steve’s father had complimented you on your dress, but Steve hadn’t said a word about how you looked. In fact, he’d hardly spared you a glance. While you accepted your marriage for what it would be, you didn’t realize that meant it would be a cold one.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”

He smiled at you, a genuine expression as his lips pulled back from his teeth.

“Steve and I are close, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me so please. Call me Bucky,” he told you.

You returned his smile with a nod.

“Okay…Bucky.”

You danced with Bucky for 3 more songs, learning that he and Steve had grown up together and were practically like brothers. You enjoyed dancing with him. He didn’t hold you as tight as Thor Odinson did, but his touch also wasn’t that of a ghost’s like your husband’s. He was attentive during the conversation, looking at you instead of through you and talking with you instead of at you.

When it came time for you and Steve to cut the cake, you were a tad disappointed to part from him. Even more so when the time came for the two of you to be driven off in the limo. You stared out of the window the entire time while Steve took a business call. You occasionally eyed him, wondering if he’d ever hang up to at least have a conversation with you, but it was in vain.

With a sigh, you looked away, and forced yourself to accept that this marriage wasn’t really a marriage at all, and that it would never be. You didn’t know this man, and you weren’t being put under any obligations to love him. Truthfully, you never even had to interact with him at all. You could just bask in his millions while living a life completely separate from him. You realized that plenty of women would kill to be in your place, and it was then and there in the limo, on the way to a honeymoon where your husband wouldn’t even sleep in the same room as you, you’d decided that you would make the best of this.

“Do you…have to…leave so soon?”

His thick accent reached your ears as you bent to pick up your dress, smooth voice interrupted by his labored breathing. You slid the satin material over your skin as you pulled it back on, and you felt the bed move beneath you. You smiled when his lips brushed against your bare shoulder, a hum climbing out of his throat as they traveled to your neck.

“Pietro,” you chided.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard you, lips finding yours in a soft kiss when you turned your head. You grinned into his mouth, hand resting on his shoulder.

“I have to go,” you whispered, and he groaned.

He fell back onto the plush bed with a sigh, blue eyes finding yours. He didn’t look happy, but then again, he never did when you had to leave.

“I’ve already stayed much longer than I planned to,” you told him, standing to adjust your dress.

Before you had the chance to reach back and do it yourself, Pietro sat up to zip the material for you. His fingers brushed over your skin as he did so, lingering, and you took in a shaky breath. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and exhaled.

“Let me guess… Steve?”

You let out a snort, shaking your head while you held in a chuckle.

“When is it ever Steve?”

You and your husband had been together for almost a year, and you’d probably seen the man maybe 10 times. Steve had his life, and you had yours. Not once had the two ever mixed, not even for something as mundane as dinner. You heard Pietro scoff, and you stepped away from him to put on your shoes.

“James,” he decided, so much disdain dripping from his voice you’d think that James had fucked his mother or something. “Of course, it’s James.”

You glanced at him from over your shoulder.

“Do I detect some jealousy?”

“Of course, you do!”

You turned to face Pietro as he stood, naked as the day he was born.

“He always gets you. You like him better,” he said with a pout, and you tilted your head.

You did feel a bit guilty because what he said was true, but it couldn’t be helped. You and Pietro had only just started seeing each other two months ago. Bucky had made his intentions clear with you barely a month into your marriage.

You had been taken aback at his boldness, especially since you’d only been married to his best friend for 30 days, but then you remembered that Steve had probably resumed the activities of his former life as soon as you had returned from your honeymoon.

He was never home, always out late, and on the rare occasion you did cross paths, he hardly spared you a glance. It had been a bit lonely at first, most of your free time filled with shopping or reading or cooking. That all changed when Steve required your presence at some stuffy event. The limo ride had been silent, and you’d taken it upon yourself to part from him as soon as you entered the building.

Bucky had found you in one of the many empty hallways, admiring some painting while you sipped on a glass of champagne. He had complimented you just like he’d done on your wedding day, and you shyly thanked him, not used to the attention. Having been familiar with the building, he gave you a tour, keeping you company and making you laugh the whole night.

As you made your way to one of the upper floors, you had stumbled, courtesy of the alcohol in your system. Bucky caught you with a laugh, telling you that maybe you needed to slow down before plucking the glass out of your hand. You couldn’t remember when nor how he’d gotten so close, but his lips were suddenly on yours.

…and you were kissing him back.

You had eventually stumbled away, feeling wrong despite the fact that Steve said it was okay. Despite the fact that your husband had been doing this very thing all along. You left Bucky there in a hurry, easily finding Steve. He had been looking for you too, ready to go. The ride home was just as silent, but for once, your sham of marriage wasn’t on your mind. It was the feel of Bucky’s lips on yours.

You busied yourself for days, shopping and going out to eat to keep your mind off of one James Barnes. It came to a screeching halt when a limo that wasn’t yours was waiting outside for you when you exited one of your favorite stores. You knew it was Bucky before the window even rolled down, and you had every intention of telling him no when he offered you a ride home.

Your mind said no, and you had even convinced your heart to say no, but when you opened your mouth, that wasn’t what escaped. Confused with yourself, you reluctantly slid into the dark vehicle as he opened the door for you. He had offered you something to drink, and you had shaken your head, avoiding his eyes.

After a while, he moved to join you on your side, gently taking your hand. You didn’t stop him. His free one rested under your chin, tilting your head up so that your eyes were on him. You remembered thinking that he looked more handsome than usual that day, blue eyes brighter and dark hair styled perfectly. His eyes had searched yours as he leaned in to kiss you.

You didn’t stop him.

Your legs shook when you slowly made your way to your front door, a dazed smile on your lips. You had leaned your back against the door, ignorant to the housekeeper as they called your name. As you had made your way up the stairs, Bucky’s scent still clinging to your skin, for once, you were happy to be all alone in this big house.

You had touched yourself that night, no longer a faceless being behind your eyes, but instead James Buchanan Barnes. You woke up that next morning feeling better than you had in weeks, your mood only lifting when a knock sounded on the front door. Bucky was there with a bouquet of flowers, dressed impeccably with his limo waiting behind him. You told him to give you 30 minutes, and 30 minutes later, in a dress that you had bought yourself weeks ago to cheer you up, he was leading you towards the car.

The rest was history.

You pulled yourself from your reverie, frowning a bit at Pietro.

“Well, he’s here. You go back home in, what…2 days?” you wondered with a shrug. “I only see you for a week before you’re flying back home for another month.”

Pietro ran his eyes over you, lips down turned.

“You could come with me,” he whispered.

This conversation was not unfamiliar to you, and you rolled your eyes.

“Even if I wanted to Pietro, that would never happen,” you said, holding up your left hand. “I’m married.”

“Barely,” he mumbled.

You laughed at that, putting your earrings back in.

“True marriage or not, I don’t think Steve would take too kindly to me running off with one of my lovers. His pride wouldn’t survive it.”

“Screw his pride, the man is an idiot,” he spat, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer. “We both know it’s James you worry about. There’s no doubt in my mind he’d have me killed for stealing you away.”

You pecked his lips, pulling away before reaching for your coat and your purse.

“You’re probably right. All the more reason I can’t just run off with you,” you told him.

He heaved a heavy sigh as you made your way to the door.

“I’ll call you later?” you said, glancing at him.

Pietro rolled his eyes, but a fond smile found its way onto his lips anyway.

“Of course.”

As you made your way out of the suite and into the elevator, you found yourself thinking about your fling with Pietro. He was beautiful and cultured, and he made your head spin. However, he was flighty. You knew that Pietro had a roster of women lined at his feet, and you were simply his favorite. Pietro was not the kind of man you just run off with. Sure, your marriage to Steve wasn’t a marriage at all, but it provided security, and you’d be silly to give that up for a womanizer who would lose interest in less than 4 months.

Besides, what Pietro said did have a grain of truth to it. There was no doubt in your mind that Bucky would kill the man for stealing you away. If Pietro, like all the others, was a fling, then Bucky… Well, Bucky was probably the love of your life. It was strange to finally admit that to yourself, but you did love him. Sometimes it felt like you were married to him instead of Steve, and sometimes, when it was just the two of you, you wished that were true.

You sighed into Bucky’s mouth as he pressed his hips into yours, warmth filling you as you came around him for the second time that night. Your fingers were tangled into his hair, a shudder passing through you while his fingers pressed into your hips.

“Stay the night,” he whispered against your lips.

You chuckled, throwing your head back as he brushed his own against your jaw.

“That would make it the third night in a row. I shouldn’t,” you replied. “God forbid Steve remembers my existence and actually needs me for something now of all times. It would be just my luck.”

He rolled off of you with a sigh, exasperation coloring his tone.

“Just tell him you’re busy,” he slyly said, tracing his finger down your side.

You slapped his hand away, and he laughed.

“That’s not part of the deal,” you reminded him.

He scoffed, and you sat up. You and Steve never brought up your separate lives in conversation. While that was hardly a possibility before, seeing as he never talked to you, in a week, you and he will have been married a year and 4 months, and you were seeing more of him than you were used to. Bucky had mentioned something about some shipments he was letting Tony handle, and you guessed that gave Steve more free time. You were surprised he didn’t want to fill that time with one of his many mistresses.

“Right. What is it again? Don’t ask…”

“…don’t tell,” you finished. “…and never in the house.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, resting his hand behind his head as he gazed at you, dark hair mussed.

“Are you happy?” Bucky suddenly asked you, and you paused, turning to fully face him. “I mean with him. Are you happy with him?”

You frowned, mulling over that question.

“Well,” you breathed. “There’s not really an answer for that. I’m not with him.”

Bucky sat up too, now, and you continued.

“He and I, aside from our names on a piece of paper, aren’t together. I am…a womb waiting to be used to produce an heir to satisfy his family,” you said. “So, I’m not happy or unhappy with him because I am not with him. Truthfully, I’m with you...and I’m very happy with you.”

“Then be with me.”

Bucky’s face was clouded in desperation, and you blinked at him, frowning.

“What are you saying…?”

Bucky huffed, running his hand through his hair before taking your hand.

“I’m saying ditch the other guy,” he threw at you, and you barked a disbelieving laugh.

“The other guy! You mean Steve? Your best friend? That Steve?”

Bucky heaved a sigh as he got out of bed, and you watched as he pulled his pants on.

“Look, I love Steve, but he’s an idiot. I don’t care what kind of lifestyle I was used to. If I were marrying you, I’d turn my back on it all no questions asked just to have you every night,” he said, and your face softened. “If all he needs is a baby maker, he can easily find another wife.”

“Bucky,” you sighed.

“Leave him,” he pleaded. “…and be with me.”

“You know, the last time I saw Pietro, he was demanding the exact same thing from me.”

Bucky’s lip curled at the mention of the other man that you hadn’t seen in months, and you laughed.

“How is Pietro these days, anyway?”

You fixed him with a look.

“You know that I haven’t even talked to Pietro in months. After my last refusal to run off with him, he quickly lost interest.”

Bucky smiled, face brightening as he shrugged.

“I know. I just like to hear you say it.”

You tossed a pillow at him as he laughed, moving to get dressed. He pulled you into his side as soon as you were both clothed, fingers dancing along your waist.

“I like having you all to myself,” he murmured, lips meeting your cheek.

He helped you into your coat before walking you downstairs. It was colder these days, and he tightened his hold on you as he walked you to his car. The drive to your house was quiet, but not uncomfortable, Bucky’s hand in yours as you looked out of the window. It was late at night, but the city was even livelier than it was during the day. When his driver slowly pulled into your driveway, Bucky pressed his lips to yours, reluctant to pull away.

You felt the same, and you didn’t want to admit it to yourself that his proposal was tempting. His hand tightly held yours as you stepped out of the limo, making sure you didn’t fall. Just before you turned to leave, he brought the back of your hand to his lips, blue eyes drinking you in.

“Think about it,” he murmured, and you threw him a sad smile, promising him that you would.

Your heart was heavy as you pressed your key into the door, pressing your back to it as soon as you shut it. You stood in the foyer, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh. All those months ago, when Pietro had asked you to leave your husband, it had been easy to turn him down. Bucky? Not so much. Feeling like you wanted to cry for the first time in forever, you slowly made your way into the living room.

“You’re out late.”

A startled shriek left your lips, hip bumping into the table beside you just as light flooded the room in time to watch the vase of flowers shatter against the floor. Fear forgotten, you pressed your hand to your heart, sucking your teeth at the vase Bucky had gotten you last year. He bought you fresh flowers every week to fill it with.

“Oh no,” you sighed, kneeling to grab them.

You heard Steve move behind you, footsteps growing louder as he neared. You glanced at him as you stood, shaking the water and glass off of the flowers.

“Jesus, Steve. You almost gave me a heart attack,” you complained.

“Sorry,” he evenly replied. “Was this new?”

He was referring to the vase, and you tripped over your words.

“Uh…no. N-not exactly,” you said, making your way to the kitchen.

You sat the flowers on the counter, grabbing the broom and dustpan before making your way back into the living room. You frowned at the mere presence of Steve, wondering what he was even doing home. Perhaps that was a bit unfair of you, but you had grown so used to not having him around. You preferred it. You could feel his eyes on you as you swept up the glass, even still when you returned to wipe up the water.

“We have a housekeeper for that,” he said, making you frown again.

“I’m aware,” you replied, standing. “…but what sense would it make for me to leave this here all night just so Peter can clean it up in the morning when I’m perfectly capable of doing it right now?”

Steve nodded, and you made to move towards the kitchen again when he spoke.

“You were out late.”

You paused to look at him, realizing that was what he’d said when you first came in, scaring the crap out of you. With a frown, you looked at your watch.

“It’s only 1:17,” you told him.

You were normally out much later, but Steve always came home in the early hours of the morning, if he came home at all, so of course he wouldn’t know that. He simply nodded at your response, hands on his hips. He was still dressed like he’d only recently gotten home himself, and you again wondered why he was even home, but you decided that you didn’t particularly care.

He was still standing there when you exited the kitchen, flowers left in the sink. You wouldn’t worry too much about them. It was almost time for Bucky to buy you a new bouquet anyway. You barely spared Steve a glance as you made your way to the stairs, briefly pausing when he wished you a goodnight. You threw him a small frown before wishing him the same, Bucky returning to your thoughts the minute you entered your bedroom.

You were startled again when you entered the kitchen the next morning, finding Steve already there sipping on a cup of coffee. Once again, his presence confused you, but you kept it to yourself. You don’t think you had ever woken up to find Steve still in the house, and certainly not in the kitchen. You didn’t greet him as you made your way to the fridge, grabbing some lemon to put in your water.

Silence filled the room as you went about cutting a few slices, preparing your drink. It seemed a little tense, but you were determined to ignore it. You were meeting Bucky in an hour and it would take half that just to figure out what to wear. You were pulled from your thoughts by Steve’s voice.

“You never did say where you were last night.”

You glanced up at him, a slight frown on your face before you released a light chuckle. You heard him set his mug down, and when you looked up again, his eyes were on you. He was casually dressed today, a first for him. He still had on the usual black slacks, but he’d traded the button down for a simple white tee.

“Something funny?”

His voice was low, a tone he used on his subordinates you were sure, but you merely nodded your head.

“Yes. You.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to frown, eyes narrowed just a bit.

“How so?”

“You’ve never been curious about my whereabouts before,” you told him.

“Well, that was before I knew you weren’t coming home,” he said.

You sighed, setting the knife down as realization hit you.

“We were supposed to attend a gala last night, and I came home the other day to tell you, but you weren’t here. You never even came through the door, and that was concerning,” he explained. “If you hadn’t walked through the door last night, I was going to send a search party.”

“I have a phone.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, pulling said phone out of his pocket before placing it on the counter.

“A phone that you left here.”

You grimaced, sheepishly taking it. You could get so caught up with Bucky sometimes that you were positive you’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to you. Your eyes met Steve’s, apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better about keeping it with me,” you promised.

He heaved a sigh, taking another sip, eyes never leaving yours. You rolled your eyes, realizing what he wanted, before dropping your knife into the sink.

“I was with a friend,” you told him. “…but as you can see, I’m safe and sound. There’s no reason to worry.”

You slipped out of the kitchen before he could respond, determined to hurry up and get dressed. This wasn’t the first time that you’d forgotten your phone at home, it was just the first time you’d done so, and Steve happened to need you.

He wasn’t in the kitchen when you came back down, dressed and ready to go, but you could hear him upstairs. Practically itching to get out of this house and away from his cold stare, you hurriedly made your way outside. In the car, you took your time to check your phone, grimacing at the 3 missed calls from Steve. However, a smile found its way onto your face at the message from Bucky. He’d sent it last night after he dropped you off, telling you to think about it.

It was the first thing he brought up as soon as you met him at the restaurant too.

“Steve won’t even miss you. Hell, he doesn’t miss you, but I do. I miss you all the time,” he said.

“Funny, you miss me all the time when I feel like I’m with you all the time,” you commented, picking at your appetizer.

Bucky tilted his head, pretending to think.

“I’d say you’re with me about 90% of the time-.”

“90%, you don’t say,” you mocked.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “90%, and that other 10%, I’m practically dying.”

You rolled your eyes.

“How do you manage…”

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, taking your hand. “Leave him. There are a million women who could easily take your place, women who want to be in your place. He gets one of them, you get me, and we’re all happy.”

You smirked at him, attention falling to your food again.

“Why Mr. Barnes, I do believe you’re trying to wreck my marriage,” you teased.

“Hardly. I’m simply trying to start a new one.”

Your eyes snapped to his, that teasing smile falling from your lips as you registered his words. Your heart skipped a beat, and your lips parted as he eyed you, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

“…what?”

“Doll…what did you think when I said be with me?”

You shook your head, shrugging.

“I…I don’t know, but I didn’t think you meant marriage. You want to marry me?”

He took your hand in both of his, pressing his lips to the skin, a brown strand kissing his forehead.

“Of course, I do. More than anything. Wouldn’t you like that?”

You thought about it, chewing on your lip.

“…waking up to each other every morning, falling asleep to each other every night. I’d bring you breakfast in bed and we’d…work on our little family…”

Your gaze met his again, and you found that you loved the sound of that.

“Are you…proposing to me…?”

The idea was absurd, especially considering you already had a ring on your finger. Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“Not really. I just wanted you to know my full intentions, that I’m not just fooling around here.”

You stewed over what he said while he continued.

“I’m not going to pressure you anymore, but you know how serious I am now, and I want you to think about it,” he softly told you.

You slowly nodded, still in shock.

“I will,” you quietly replied.

His grin widened, and he sat back in his seat.

“After we leave here, we can go pick out a nice bouquet, yeah?”

You suddenly blinked as you remembered last night, a smile on your face.

“Yes, please, and…a vase too?” you guiltily asked.

He frowned, tilting his head before nodding.

“Of course. What happened to your vase?”

You huffed a sigh.

“I broke it. I bumped into the table, courtesy of Steve,” you complained, shaking your head.

“Steve? What do you mean?” he demanded, voice dropping.

“It was nothing. He was waiting for me when I got home last night, in the dark like a creep, and he practically gave me a heart attack,” you explained.

Bucky didn’t respond for a while, simply humming. He picked at his food, lips pursed as he eyed you.

“Why was he waiting for you?”

“Apparently there was some gala last night? He’d been planning to tell me I had to be in attendance with him but someone…,” you threw him a pointed look “…prevented me from going home the other night. Add in that I had left my phone at home, I guess Steve convinced himself that I had been kidnapped or something.”

Bucky simply hummed in response, and you both finished your lunch. Your days spent with Bucky always went by fast, and you were always sad to wish him goodbye. His proposal was taking up more and more residence in your mind, especially as you watched him drive off. You stood at your door, staring after his car with your coat wrapped around you, wondering what it would be like to go home to him every night.

With a sigh, you turned and made your way inside. You were greeted by the sight of Steve, voice low as he pressed his phone to his ear. You sent him a small polite smile before making your way to the kitchen to fill up your new vase, fresh flowers in your left hand. You were just cutting them when he joined you, and you turned to curiously look at him.

“I need you to accompany me to an event tomorrow,” he told you to which you nodded, wondering if Bucky was going to be there.

“Okay.”

You didn’t hear him leave as you turned back around, dropping the flowers into the water, satisfied. Your suspicions turned out to be correct when you turned around only to find him still standing there.

“I could’ve replaced the vase if I’d known it was that important,” he said with a small frown.

You shook your head, moving past him.

“It’s fine,” you honestly told him.

His eyes were still on you as you sat it down, adjusting it to a position that you liked. You tightened your coat around you as you passed him, ascending the stairs with a small ‘goodnight’ thrown over your shoulder.

You woke up the next morning feeling positively ill. Every inhale had your stomach churning, and you cursed yourself, trying to remember everything you ate the day before. You had planned to at least see Bucky for a little bit before this shindig tonight, but the summersaults going on in your stomach had you canceling on him. The silver lining was that he apparently was going to be in attendance tonight, and that made you feel better.

Again, Steve was home all day, but you didn’t see him until it was time to go. You had remained in bed all day, drifting in and out of sleep, fighting off every wave of nausea that came at you. You though that you did a good job of hiding your discomfort, but Steve had asked you if you were alright the minute you came downstairs. You told him that you were fine, a whopper of a lie, but your attendance was mandatory so what else could you do?

Like all of your car rides together, this one was silent, but you could feel Steve’s eyes on you every now and then. You couldn’t be bothered to question him on it, too preoccupied with keeping your food down. Your nausea only got worse the minute the two of you stepped into the building. The smell of food was heavy in the air, and there was no doubt that you were starting to look as sick as you felt.

Your eyes fell on a group of familiar faces, one more familiar than the rest. You threw them all strained smiles as you approached, head feeling a bit light. You couldn’t even be bothered to care that Steve’s hand was on the small of your back, more important things to worry about other than his unusual behavior.

You had just reached your friends and acquaintances when a server came by with a tray of food. The smell that hit your nose had your stomach clenching, and you barely had enough time to swipe a napkin before your food was coming up.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” Nat cried, hurrying towards you with a bowl.

There was some slight commotion as her husband, Bruce, and Sam hurried to flag down some help for the mess. Nat’s hand was on your shoulder, helping you towards a seat, and you could feel Steve’s hand still on your lower back.

“Y/N?”

He sounded worried, and you only figured out why when your legs crumbled. You hadn’t realized that your lashes had begun to flutter as your steps started to slow.

“Woah,” he said, catching you as you fought to straighten your vision.

He sat you down, and you could feel several people fanning you. Steve was wiping your hands clean when Bucky finally neared, brows furrowed in concern, looking as handsome as ever. Too bad you couldn’t truly appreciate it.

“I’m okay,” you told him before he could even start. “Just ate the wrong thing, I think.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, and he sat down beside you, pressing his hand to your forehead.

“You don’t feel warm,” he murmured, and you shook your head at him.

“It was just some bad food,” you whispered, trying to ease his worries.

Again, he didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyway. He stood with a sigh.

“I’m going to go get your coat,” he said, and you thanked him.

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but when you looked at him, you couldn’t make out his expression. His hand was still on your lower back, and you finally breathed better when he pulled away, standing.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to the valet, make sure the car is ready so we can go.”

Your face fell, feeling like you ruined his night.

“I’m sorry, Steve-.”

“What for? You’re clearly sick. I wish you had said something.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded upset that you didn’t tell him, but it was more likely he was upset that you had in fact ruined his night. With a soft squeeze to your shoulder, he was gone.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” T’Challa asked you, and you nodded.

His wife, Nakia, came hurrying over with a glass of water, and you gratefully took it. You were even more grateful that you could keep it down, and you sent her a small smile as you handed the empty glass back to her.

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, shaking her head. “You must be feeling awful. I’m grateful that I don’t get sick often because the only time I have ever vomited is when…well, when I was pregnant.”

She chuckled, and you froze.

“…and I love my children dearly, but I do not want to go through that again.”

You joined her, a nervous laugh escaping you just as Bucky returned with your coat. You jumped, having been surprised to feel the fur draped over you, but you allowed him to help you up. He rubbed your arms through the fabric, voice low.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Nakia’s words had your mind racing, and your lips parted because honestly? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to scare Bucky over nothing, but you also wanted to voice your sudden fears that you had never even considered before. All too soon, the two of you were meeting Steve at the door, and Steve’s grip was firm as he took you from Bucky’s hold, eyes hard.

“I got it from here, Buck. Thanks.”

His voice was clipped, and you frowned at him, but Bucky simply nodded, bidding you both goodnight before reluctantly making his way back inside. You wanted to tell Steve that he didn’t have to be rude to Bucky just because you ruined his evening, but another wave of nausea hit you.

Your head leaned against the window as soon as Steve deposited you into the car. The fresh air was ebbing your nausea a bit, the low rumble of the car helping. You hadn’t taken the limo, and you were starting to regret that because you really wanted to lie down, but fatigue still found a way to slowly creep up on you.

If only Steve had allowed it to do so.

“I really wish you had told me you weren’t feeling well. We would have stayed home,” he said.

You sighed.

“I was hoping it would go away. Our attendance was mandatory, Steve,” you whispered.

“Not at the expense of your health,” he sneered.

You rolled your eyes, realizing the root of his annoyance.

“I promise you, I’ll be in good enough health to give you your heir. It was just some bad food…”

Steve heaved a sigh, and you felt his eyes on you.

“This isn’t about a baby. This is about you. Watching you drop to the floor like that was…scary,” he admitted.

“I’m fine,” you said, feeling like a broken record.

“Well, you don’t look fine. You look sickly. Are you taking care of yourself like you should?”

You scoffed, wondering where this was coming from. The man who barely talked to you in almost 2 years was suddenly acting like your father, and you didn’t like it.

“Of course, I am.”

He exhaled.

“I just know that the house can be…lonely. It can get to you if you’re not careful.”

You rested your head on your hand, breathing through your mouth.

“I’m far from lonely, Steve, so really. There’s no need to worry…”

You could feel his eyes on you again, a soft ‘oh’ reaching your ears.

“I’m glad to hear it. Maybe you should go and see a doctor,” he proposed, quickly changing the subject.

You swallowed another sigh, not wanting to talk about this another minute.

“I told you, it was just some bad food.”

That was what you told yourself, but Nakia’s words almost made you want to hurl again. It only recently occurred to you that you hadn’t gotten your period in a while, but you didn’t think too much of it because you had never been regular. Still, you and Bucky weren’t always safe, but that was what birth control was for. What were the odds of your birth control failing you during one of the few times you didn’t use a condom?

However, the next day, as you stood in the bathroom, looking down at the positive pregnancy test in horror, you realized that the odds were great.

tags: @mcudarklibrary @sherrybaby14 @harryspet @xoxabs88xox @darkficreposter @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203 @patzammit @mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #Dark Fic #marvel fanfiction #mafia steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #mafia au

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jjheejz · 3 years

Text

What is Fate?

[Part 5/5] WOH concert and after

WOH Concert (3-4 May 2021)

- The fact that they even have a grand scale wedding ceremony drama concert

- GJ did not attend ZZH's first solo concert, but both of them have their own concert together for the first time

- Chinese have a traditional tradition of calculating auspicious dates (metaphysics). It can be calculated commonly for when to move in to a new house, bury a deceased, open a business, hold a wedding etc. 3 - 4 May were auspicious dates for Wedding and marriage registration.

- The concert was held at a stadium in Su Zhou, but the entire city was blatantly supporting everything and anything about WenZhou like it's New Year's Eve. Eg. Building, helicopter banners, bus advertising, drone show, lantern display, subway endorsement, city's official account using WOH quotes applying to safety regulations, curated photo booths, life sized figurine of WenZhou (YouKu kept it as prideful display at their office entrance after the concert), crowds of fan support and cheers etc.

Drone show snippet:

- Both of them were given the center of attention for the entire 2 days of WOH concert. It was WenZhou/JunZhe concert in disguise as WOH concert.

= This gave them both the opportunity to show what they feel for each other openly (whether as WenZhou themselves or as JunZhe)

- To have a stage to be what they are* and have fun, while being accepted and greatly supported by a sea of Mountain people (山人), no matter how one sees it, it's an extremely touching form of support for them

*Disclaimer: obviously they weren't 100% themselves, mindful of the fact that this stage was monitored by important media bodies (not exactly sure what kind, but somewhat government-ish regulators I presume), but their gaze and body language is just as natural as what they are.

= The fact that the country in general is not open to this kind of relationship, yet they were in a place where most of the people were supportive.

- Yes, there were some important bodies (or eyes) during the 2 days concert. Which was why all the actors and actresses were warned. For whatever reason they chose to continue in their own way, it's daring consensus of support. And for whatever reason the regulators didn't do anything (there weren't any big news at all from them), is also a miracle.

- They had the opportunity to sing a duet on stage, live. For the audience, GJ's singing skills started from November 2020, ZZH likes GJ's singing, and 5 months later, they have a duet on stage.

- Official acknowledgement of cpfans

= First in history where the recognition was officially verbally mentioned in-person. You can say this fate belong to the fans.

- ZZH had the opportunity to vow a promise to GJ witnessed by X million of people in the stadium and those watching livestream, that he will always be there for GJ. He did not only vow as a companion to GJ, in ZZH terms, he actually vowed "I will love you forever" [ZZH on 'love' saga]

- The in-ear mic had the voices of the backstage crew's coordination. ZZH took it off early, but GJ was still wearing them during the exchange. That itself is a stressor as the backstage coordinator must have warned extremely sternly and loudly and GJ was shakingly nervous. When ZZH was giving this vow (which in the concert BTS release, we see him say "Don't I have a segment to speak to WKX?" Note, it's WKX, not GJ), the backstage crew was cursing and swearing when ZZH went with "I have things to say to Jun Jun." (as WenZhou, they have a disguise/a shield, with direct GJ, it's just...danger danger red light) Try imagine being the backstage crew and going all mad and crazy over what ZZH said that moment.

= ZZH's daring courage to say things like these was probably built up from his sportsmanship, hot-blooded passion from his past. It's beyond my peasant mortal's comprehension.

- Supporting Cast shenanigans and warnings for them, link here

After

- After the concert was over, solo fans expect the main leads to break up even as co-workers or say, being even in the same frame. This expectation is extremely strong in the industry for years. The same goes for JunZhe despite this time many are cpfans but they do know this prevalent expectation. So imagine crying over the vow and the next moment, just hours after the concert, JunZhe is happily sticking to each other singing in the same frame as if they did nothing big a few hours ago. They sang a phrase together with this lyrics: 30% arranged by fate/god, 70% arranged by hard work. A love for perseverance will lead to success/winning.

= Debunking expectations, breaking many years of industry's common consensus successfully. They invented after after-sales CP service.

- Stage, endorsements, film scripts, major public events, variety shows, top brands etc. Poured in, and although it's all solo events, we see traces of the other half.

- Aside from that, we now see social media exchanges (almost always for the other half), brand endorsement captions (almost always about the other half), official brands partnering with each other because of them (despite being legit competitors) etc.

- The word 'support' or at least 'love seeing them together', is the general reason CPfans are fans of them. But to both GJ and ZZH, it really goes beyond the word itself. Acknowledging is just the beginning. ZZH does take LLD to heart and GJ is very interactive with LLDs in his own quirky way.

*From the [Star X Moon Saga], to the developed feelings because of this drama and actually accepting their feelings, to the fact that the pitiful budgeted amount for WOH was not well received at all before it was broadcasted but boomed records in the end, to the open shipping support by the production crew/casts/general media/fans/brands/cities, to the climbing successes and mountainous opportunities opened for GJ and ZZH overnight, everything was unprecedented and unexpected, but they all dramatically happened to the two of them in a span of one year.

Bonus

A fan went to a temple to check out JunZhe's fate. You can only check for one person and she checked for GJ. She passed her result to a Master and he immediately tell her to give up because that person is taken and turned away. The fan quickly corrected and say she's actually checking for someone else, the master turned back and checked her read again and said, everything is aligned to their favour, it's blessed by the Gods. (If I can find the full article again, will add on more but that's the gist, surfing in China made me love Google's search engine algorithm so much more).

A few other fans who 抽签 (Chinese praying tradition - simply put: draw a stick of varying luck). They all got the bestest of luck for JunZhe. (Reading the readings, I'm just...in awe...I...)

= Borrowing the meaning of another famous novel title, to me, this is a true "Heaven's official blessing" pair.

-------End of series-------

🌻To returning readers: Updated info are in purple for your easy references!

🌸Part 1 - Before filming here

🌸Part 2 - During filming here

🌸Part 3 - After filming, before broadcast here

🌸Part 4 - Broadcast/Promotion period here

🌻Upcoming: JunZhe Saga series

🌻[Ongoing updates] Will add if I remember or found new ones - last updated 220721

🌻For long posts like this, I tend to look back for grammar and phrasing mistakes (sometimes info updates), so when you reblog for future references, do keep in mind that there may be updates in the original post! :)

#shl #woh #langlangding #junzhe #lld #zzh #张哲瀚 #zhang zhehan #龚俊 #gj #gong jun

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angelsxbelle · 3 years

Text

growing up in love with you.

w/ oikawa, kuroo, and daichi

helloooo my beautiful beans:) i’m here to feed you with some more hurt comfort headcanons/scenarios since we’re all lonely and in love with anime boys :’)))

likes and reblogs are very appreciated!!!

genre: fluff and angst, hurt comfort, slice of life

pairings: oikawa x reader, daichi x reader, kuroo x reader x fem! reader

listen to: line without a hook, ricky montgomery

@moonhere i’m pretty sure this was your request with oikawa i’m so sorry this took so long omg

note: takes place during timeskip so beware of spoilers!!

warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of female anatomy and pronouns

oikawa, TOORU

oikawa tooru appears to have his life together on the outside, but in his mind he still feels like he’ll never be enough

in your relationship, he’s worked impossibly hard to better himself to the point where he’s not insecure which would cause a strain on the both of you, but he still has moments where he lets himself become consumed in his own thoughts

being with you has been possibly the best thing ever to happen to him, but at the same time he’s still terrified of losing you

when his worries start to consume him again, he can’t stop obsessively worrying over the possibility that you’ll find someone better than him, that you deserve someone better than him

oikawa can sometimes hide his insecurities by acting cocky, but you’ve gotten good at reading him so you can easily tell when he’s feeling insecure or unsure of himself

so when it springs up that you’ve been invited to your cousin’s wedding along with a plus one, he’s more than happy to accompany you as he loves fancy events like weddings

you make the preparations together, he helps you pick out a gift for the couple while you go shopping for a new dress to wear

overall, you’re both excited to make the journey back to your hometown to watch your cousin make his marriage official, you both know the ceremony will probably be amazing, as well as the festivities after

when you get there, you’re both immediately swarmed by relatives, exclaiming how excited they are to meet your longtime boyfriend and how happy they are to see everyone together

as the ceremony starts, you’re both on the edges of your seats waiting as you see the bride delicately step past you down the aisle, waiting to secure her vows with your cousin

the formalities went amazing, as all of your relatives sat in tears as the couple at the podium exchanged beautiful vows and the rings were slipped on each others’ fingers

after, everyone moved to the building next door as the wedding was help at a chapel at the edge of a forest, with the after party being a building next to it, walls made of glass so the guests could view the beautiful scenery outside

tooru is more than willing to show off his dancing skills at the beginning, and dinner goes well before your relatives and family get together to do group dances and disperse into separate conversations afterwards

as the lights get dimmer and the atmosphere of the party start to settle, tooru sits at your table as he watches you chatter away with your relatives.

he watches as you speak with such ease, never failing to coax a laugh out of even your stoniest aunts, he can’t help but think to himself how beautiful you are, and how incredibly lucky he is to have you

another man, he recognizes as the best man strolls up to you, striking up a conversation with you.

tooru knows it’s probably nothing, just a conversation, and he also knows you would never do anything to hurt him, so he’s content just watching you talk with someone else.

he watches the scene unfold like a movie, with him as a part of the background, just watching, waiting.

before, tooru would have been filled with a familiar uneasy feeling right about now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably in his body, mind filled with thoughts he wishes weren’t there.

he could only have hoped he was good enough for you.

thinking back through all the years with you, the memories, he remembers all the times you saved him from himself, the world, anything that had ever hurt him.

it was back in high school, the first day of oikawa tooru’s first year of high school, he walked around with his head held high to keep anyone from seeing how low he felt, cocky smirk to hide just how unsure he really was of himself.

it wasn’t love at first, he didn’t particularly remember the first time he saw you, but step by step as you got closer to him he realized that you had one thing his fangirls could never give him, stability, comfort, and home.

he found home in you every time it hurt too much.

the feeling that could only possibly have imprinted itself into oikawa’s conscience was the feeling of being seen for who he truly was, a feeling that he had almost never felt before.

and as you saw him, he saw you the same way in that you could always depend on each other, for every painful moment, every failure, every insecurity.

it was then that he knew he really was in love with you.

even as he cried with his face in your lap in his third year you were still there, running your fingers through his hair and reminding him that he was enough and that you couldn’t be more proud of him.

and as he packed his bags to fly halfway across the world, he watched you cry as he couldn’t believe how much he meant to you.

the final weeks you had leading up to your graduation, you spent as much time with each other as possible, desperately trying to keep hold of the fleeting moments passing between you.

as you stood together in the tokyo national airport looking out at the window over the scenery of the country he had once called home, clutching a letter for him containing everything you had ever felt for him and wanted him to know before he left.

he looked at you with tears in his eyes, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, saying goodbye for the last time.

the years you were apart as you finished university while he was overseas felt like a time of awakening, so much had changed in what felt like moments, both without what mattered most.

and he knew while he was gone there were many more people who could’ve found you like he did, and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

the trust he had in you was all he needed to keep going, that when you came to meet him you would still love him the way you always did.

when you finally, came, and all was said and done, he felt like he never wanted to let go of you as he had you in his arms again, he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have the love of his life so close to him.

sometimes he still wonders why chose him, but it’s enough for him to remember that you did, and that you’ll never let go of him.

the song in the reception hall changes, and tooru snaps out of the flashback that had taken over him for who knows how long.

you walk over to him and you look even more beautiful than he remembered, saying, “tooru! come over here and dance with me!”

he smiles and takes your hand, fingers delicately brushing the diamond on your finger he had carefully picked out all that time ago, that you had both cried tears of joy over when he stood on the top of the mountain to make things forever, thinking he was the happiest man alive.

you were always with him, from when he was an insecure teenager to the words san juan reading on his back.

he can’t even fathom how much it means to him as he holds you close to him, one hand on your shoulders and the other on your middle, round and full with his baby, how he’ll never get tired of love like this.

he kisses your forehead and says, “anytime you want baby”.

kuroo, TETSURO

despite his sarcastic and confident manner as he had grown up, kuroo was shy as a small child

he had a hard time making friends in elementary school at first, but that didn’t stop him from meeting people he would care about for the rest of his life, that he would cherish forever

on his first day of kindergarten, he only knew kenma who was also shy and mostly kept to himself during the day

but there was one other person who was there for him, the little girl who stood next to him when no one would, who asked him what his name was and held his hand on the playground

and so you and kuroo tetsuro became best friends, along with kenma, holding a bond that wouldn’t be separated even when you graduated

it felt like time had gone by in a blur, like the memories slipped through his fingers like water, and now you were all fully grown adults with jobs, with lives, with purposes

and now, it was the tokyo 2021 olympics and kuroo tetsuro was getting ready to watch the competitions with his associates and friends, ready to watch his old friends and acquaintances on japan’s national team

he felt like he could get lost in an ocean of people, but he spots you in the crowd immediately, he could spot your face anytime, anywhere

and so he meets you as you take your places, ready to watch the game begin

as he sees his old friends on the court together, he can’t help but to start remembering his high school days, when you were still young

it doesn’t help either that kuroo becomes painfully aware again of the way that he had been pining for you for all those years, even being one of the smartest people in his grade he still felt like the biggest idiot for just standing back and watching you grow, away from him

sometimes he wishes he could have turned back time, just to go back and tell you how he really felt earlier

but he let the years pass by, watching you drift slowly apart as he harbored his own feeling in order to avoid being rejected

now that you’re both graduated adults with careers and life paths, kuroo’s feelings are still very much present and if anything, he wants to try just one more time to prove he still cares

so he sits next to you, looking over at your gentle face as he takes in your features once again, watching your lips move slightly as you breathe in and out, and he remembers there was once nothing he would do in the world to give up being with you, wishing he had said something sooner

kuroo glances up as he starts to think back on all the times he could have told you how he really felt, all the times he screwed up worse than he could even imagine.

it was your first boyfriend having graduated high school, some douchebag kuroo couldn’t even be bothered to learn the name of.

but what he felt could never be forgotten, as he watched you walk away with another man’s arm around your lower back, pulling you close in a way that he had always dreamed of doing to you but couldn’t.

he was bitter, cold, in a way that he shouldn’t ever have been.

it’s your own dumbass fault, he thought, but that didn’t make him any less hurt or angry at what he had let happen. were you even happy? did someone else other than him make you happy?

he let himself grow apart from you ever so slightly, you saw him just as often and still cared for him just as much, but you could tell there was something he was keeping from you that even he couldn’t admit to himself.

kuroo thought it was over when you said yes to someone else, but here he was holding you in his arms as you cried with a bruised face and shattered heart.

all he could think about was how this would never happened if you picked him, but he was so pathetic he couldn’t even make it happen past his imagination, but no matter how angry or upset he was you still came first.

and he kept that promise as you got older, all he would do was care for you silently as he witnessed your life through the glass that separated you, that he could break but wasn’t strong enough to, no matter how much it hurt.

“are you coming tetsu- chan?”

it was the summer before first grade, he was hiding under the overhang of a bus stop with his hood over his small face, quivering on the ground in a crouched position.

kuroo’s seven year old self looked up at your small face, a hand outstretched as you held your way too big umbrella over your head, waiting for him to say something in return.

he had always hated thunderstorms, he hated the way it felt like the sound and violence swallowed him up, the same way it felt when his parents yelled at each other as he stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching from a distance.

he looked around at the dark gray skies engulfing him, the small threads of lightning painting the skies like blood vessels, wishing it would all go away.

but you still stood there as the rain poured down in your rain coat and small red boots as you waited for him to come out.

he reluctantly started to crawl out slowly, as you inched closer to where he was previously hunched, waiting for him to reach you.

as you stood just past the overhang, he stuck his hand out timidly and you wrapped your fingers around it, giving his hand a small squeeze before you started to walk towards your house together.

he shivered the whole way there, and every time you heard thunder crack in the distance he held your hand a little bit tighter.

when you got home your mother freaked out and called his family so they weren’t worried about him, and then got out warm towels and told the both of you to go take a bath so you wouldn’t catch a cold.

after you were both warm and dry and wrapped up in soft pajamas, which he had borrowed, kuroo felt oddly at home, like he never wanted to leave the safe place he had with you.

even as you had set up a futon for him on the floor, after about 30 minutes of being terrified of the sounds rattling your house he asked to get closer, and you shifted as he crawled into bed with you.

when you woke up in the morning he was fast asleep with your favorite stuffed animal clutched in his arms, a soft expression on his face, and you couldn’t help but think how peaceful he looked.

the truth is, as you made friends with the small boy in your kindergarten class you had already told stories with your dolls and toys saying you were going to marry him one day.

at 13 you had wondered why he never talked about liking any other girls, you had worried he wasn’t interested in anyone at all.

and at 19 you had tried to move on but it was just too hard.

every time you had fallen you were always there for each other, through all the scraped knees, thunderstorms, and broken hearts.

you only wished you could tell each other what your relationship really meant, what you wanted it to be.

and as kuroo sits in the stands of his friends’ volleyball game, he wonders the same thing that you do.

“y/n- chan, will you be my girlfriend?”

sawamura, DAICHI

being in the same class as daichi in your first year of high school had been interesting, he was rather ordinary looking but you couldn’t help but notice how hard working and kind he was, his energy drew others close to him and you could see why he was admired by many

you didn’t pay much attention to it as you were a bit shy about talking to new people and you didn’t want him to think you were trying to hard, so you kept your distance until you were paired together for a project

you were quiet at first as you sat next to him at your desk since he was a bit intimidating, but as soon as he started talking you felt yourself ease up around him, something about the way he spoke was comforting and it felt like you were at home with him even as you sat inside school

you had started to come up with a plan for your project, and you basfully said, “i’m not that good at english, so i hope it won’t be hard for you to deal with me or anything”, not thinking too much about it

“don’t say that, i’m sure you’re great and you should have more confidence in yourself, it will be better for you”, you hear him say firmly but gently from next to you at the desk

your cheeks flush with warmth and you look down, not sure what to say to him next, but he starts talking about your project plans so you turned around to pay attention to what he was saying

things went well with your assignment and you both received a good grade from your teacher, the school day was about to end as it was your last class and you were about to walk through the door when you felt a hand grasp yours and you turned around to face him

“u-uhm, i really had a nice time getting to know you while we were working together and i was wondering if you maybe wanted to be friends”

it was the first time you had ever seen him look flustered or anything of the sort, but you were happy to oblige since you had had just a nice time getting to know him as well

you smiled softly and walked away, feeling excited at the possibility of getting closer to sawamura daichi as he had intrigued you so much in the couple of weeks that you had known him

and so years later after that time you had first met, you were still around each other, he was one of the best things that had ever happened to you

it was a reunion between his old high school volleyball team, you had known how close they were as you were with him during his final year when karasuno had gone to nationals, and how much his old teammates meant to him and the relationship they had

and so you both made your way over to the tanaka residence with a dish you had cooked in your hands, both excited to see your old friends again and witness the ways they had all grown up and changed

as soon as you walked in the door, all the memories you had made in high school came flooding back at the sight of your friends’ faces, although it was strange seeing how much older they looked.

daichi wonders if he looks that old to them too, sometimes he forgets how much time has passed since they graduated.

it felt like it had been only a moment since he had stood in karasuno high school’s gym barking at hinata and kageyama to get themselves together, with sugawara and tanaka laughing in the background and asahi watching with a fearful expression.

and now they were all grown adults, with lives and jobs and homes, some with lovers and some with dreams that came to life.

he couldn’t be more proud of who they all became, the boys he once knew to be scrawny and mischievous would now be standing on the world’s stage and others who had followed their passions found love in what they did.

still, sometimes daichi still can’t help but wonder if you wanted more, when he saw his old teammates and acquaintances from other schools play on national teams and be watched by thousands around the world.

he wonders if you’re still satisfied with just him.

daichi knows he’s not the most flashy guy out there, but you chose him out of everyone else, right?

he remembers all of those times in high school and when you had graduated that people wondered why why you were with him, couldn’t you have found someone a little more interesting, someone special?

daichi isn’t the type to let his emotions get the better of him, but it stung.

it stung bad.

and yet, he knew he couldn’t lose himself just because of some insecurities, things that didn’t really mean anything, but still wormed their way into his head like maggots growing in a corpse.

sometimes he thinks about the boyfriends you had before him, how he wasn’t anything like them, he was unsure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that he was the odd one out.

all his life he had felt painfully....average.

he wondered why people would forget his name just after talking to him, or why they would mistake him for other people, was he really that forgettable.

it felt sometimes like he was just another face in the crowd, sometimes he wondered if that was the way you saw him at first too.

what daichi didn’t know is how you had always seen him, someone reliable, special, valuable like no one else had been to you.

that he had always stuck out to you, he didn’t seem like anyone else in the sense that he always stepped up and did what needed to be done, you hadn’t seen a heart like his in anyone else your entire life.

he didn’t realize how in every class you had together, he was the one that you stared at, that you saw as beacon of hope out of everything you had faced in your life up until then.

daichi’s friends and family had always looked up to him, he didn’t always realize it but they saw him as a hero to everyone he helped, whether he did it intentionally or not.

through you, daichi was able to see himself the way that everyone else saw him.

when you said yes when he had asked you to marry him, it was cliche but he could’ve sworn he really was the luckiest man alive.

but the truth was he wasn’t lucky, he was more worthy than anyone else could be, the person who stayed by your side when no one else would and who made it seem like you were capable of anything.

you were living proof of just how special daichi sawamura was.

and on your wedding day, tears streamed down both of your faces as you got ready to read your vows to each other, because neither of you could fathom how much you meant to each other.

he couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked standing in front of him , how he never wanted to let you go because you were worth more to him than anything else in his life.

in your vow, you told him just how much he meant to you, and how you were so incredibly lucky to have him, and he couldn’t help but let the tears slide down his cheeks because he loved you so damn much.

and as you sat on your living room couch with a pregnancy test in your hands he cried again because you made him happier than he could ever have wished to be.

it hurt him more than anything to see you in so much pain as you delivered your baby, but the amount of joy you’d bring into the world was more than worth it.

as you held your baby girl in your arms for the first time, he realized all he had ever needed in his life was right here, he wouldn’t have to search ever again.

it felt like she was growing bigger and bigger every day just in front of his eyes.

he knew one day she’d leave and grow up and have to let go, but for now she was still his and yours together.

and knew he was more special than anyone else in the world.

“honey, let’s go watch everyone in the living room, okay?”

you smiled, because the world had given you more than you could ever ask for, surrounded with beautiful people every day and given experiences you wouldn’t trade for the world.

285 notes · View notes

missmungoe · 3 years

Note

What’s your idea about Makino’s little ring in the cover of chapter 806?

So I’m not sure if you’re asking me what I think the ring means (in which case, see: https://archiveofourown.org/series/581281), or if this is a prompt, but I don’t think the ring is an accidental detail, and as she had a child during the timeskip, it’s not unreasonable to assume it’s a wedding ring. I have >1.6 million words written about who I hope wears the matching one, but until “that man’s” identity is confirmed, it’s just a tantalising possibility, alas!

But even if the ring doesn’t mean what I hope it does, it doesn’t need to for my imagination to make it so, and just in case this was a writing prompt, here’s a little something I’ve been tinkering with, originally in answer to a completely different prompt, but since they went well together, I combined them:

The thing with feathers, that perches in the soul // Shanks x Makino; rated M (part 1/?)

“Take it off?”

Surprise lifted her voice, her laugh small and startled, but then she’d been caught off guard by the request, made out of the blue one morning.

The sun was taking its time, rising from its slumber with a lazy stretch across her floors, a slight chill still touching the salt air where she’d thrown the windows open. A thick cover of sea mist draped heavily over the water, soft as chiffon where it crept up the shoreline to the foundations of her bar; a protective shroud veiling her little corner of the world, half-forgotten by the rest.

Shanks had been reading the paper while she got ready to open, a routine they’d created, bit by bit over the months he’d stayed, communicated in touches and gestures―the chairs taken down from the tables while she had her back turned; a cup of coffee placed by his elbow before he could request it―no words needed between them in this first, tender hour, and so she’d been startled when he’d spoken.

She considered him across the counter, the glass she’d been polishing cupped idly between her hands. The look on his face was unusually serious, which told her what he had in mind wasn’t roleplay. Not the kind she would have expected him to suggest, anyway.

Unease crept with a shiver up her back, and she had an inkling already before Shanks said, evenly, “If anyone shows up, I want you to take your ring off. And I’m not talking about Garp, although this is probably the only time he’d agree with me.”

“But I don’t want to take it off,” Makino said, tucking her fingers around the hand that wore it, as though that could somehow keep it there.

She saw his eyes going to it, before they lifted to hers, the barest furrow between his brows betraying a rare tension. “It would be safer.”

“But who’s going to make the connection? It’s not like it has ‘property of Red-Haired Shanks’ inscribed on it.”

His lips didn’t even quirk, which was so jarring her own smile fell. She knew him so well, it was only rarely that he ever responded in a way she didn’t expect, but it was becoming clear to her now that whatever was on his mind, it couldn’t be smoothed over with jokes.

She took in his face, his handsome features arranged in a look she wasn’t used to seeing, a hardness about him that didn’t belong here, on her gentle shores―that belonged to a different sea, one that asked different things of him, things she couldn’t ask, and she hated it now for finding him here, and for infringing on her peace as she’d made it.

Her eyes darted to the paper, open on the counter, wondering if something in it had inspired this change, but seeing the way he looked at her, behind the counter that was the only protection she’d ever needed, Makino knew it wasn’t anything in the news, but something they’d both known had been coming for a while. Ever since he’d come back, it had waited in the wings, a silent patron she could ignore most days, too happy to pay it any mind, but there was no ignoring it now that he’d brought it up.

They’d been holding off discussing his departure, even as she’d known it was bound to catch up with them eventually. But while she’d made her peace with him leaving, knowing he’d come back, the thought of giving up the tangible reminder she had of that promise met resistance now.

She’d spent ten years hinging her hopes on nothing but her memories, trying to convince herself she hadn’t imagined the promise he’d made her. Now they were married, and there was more than words binding them, and even the sea had to respect these vows, spoken on the deck of his ship, no church or mortal court to give their blessing, only that bottomless cathedral, and the ancient authority that had witnessed their union.

She felt the metal of her wedding band, warmed by her fingers. Their rings had been wrought from the chain of the anchor that had first dropped in her port twelve years ago, but it wasn’t sentimental value that made her react so fiercely now, at the thought of parting with it.

She didn’t want to take it off―to pretend she hadn’t made that vow, or that the last two years hadn’t happened. The ring was a declaration of what she was, the only way she could declare it, when the world couldn’t know she existed. She refused to give that up, and to pretend she was anything less than she was, even just for show.

“It’s not like there’s any evidence tracing back to you,” Makino said, when he hadn’t spoken. “We don’t have a marriage certificate in the records that they can dig up.” Ben had been the one to marry them; an old sailor’s tradition, shamelessly borrowed with a pirate’s cheerful contempt of the law; the flowers in her hair new as snow, and the sea their something blue. Unconventional by most standards, but she couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

Shanks wasn’t budging. “It’s just safer if people believe you’re unmarried.”

“The whole village was at our wedding, Shanks. Half of them got blackout drunk, but I think they remember.” Her own memories were blurry at best, flowers crumbling under her bare feet, and laughing as he spun her, a wedding shanty that put their vows to shame, and laughter she could still feel in the bottom of her stomach.

The following hangover, though; that she remembered.

Still no smile, but then she heard how her attempted humour faltered, buckling under his seriousness. She didn’t like what it made of his face; the one she only knew as smiling.

“Not the village,” Shanks said, with a look and a pitch that said he knew she was being obstinate, and that left her breath feeling a little faint. He didn’t use that tone with her often, at least outside of more intimate settings, and she didn’t like it being invoked here, and in this way.

Shifting her weight, she squared her shoulders, all of her five feet brandished against his six and more, although even seated, it didn’t give her an advantage, but she saw the way his brow furrowed, as she said, gently firm, “I’m not taking it off.”

She didn’t know if the look on his face was affection or exasperation. “Can’t you just agree with me on this?”

“No.”

“Makino―”

“If anyone asks, I’ll just say my husband is out working the fields,” she said. “What are they going to do, go out and check? Because I can ask one of the farmers to put up a scarecrow by one of the ploughs.”

Her stubborn levity made no headway, his hardened features untouched, but she didn’t give in, her chin lifted as she stared him down across the countertop.

Then with a sigh, “You’d at least have to pick a believable lie,” Shanks relented, after enduring a full thirty seconds of her eyes. His look softened a bit. “And make it a good-looking scarecrow.”

“It could be asleep at the plough,” Makino suggested. “If we’re going for accuracy.” Her smile trembled, before it fell when he didn’t return it.

It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat, and she heard it in her voice when she said, “I’ll tell them you’re out fishing.”

“And if they stick around and I never come in?”

“I’ll tell them I hope the sea king didn’t get you?”

This time she couldn’t even attempt a smile, and when his expression still didn’t change, she said, without teasing, “Then I’ll tell them you’re in Goa Port picking up a shipment of spirits. You’re a barkeep, but it’s hard getting orders delivered here. It’s a long way to Goa, too. You’ll be gone until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“And if they come back and I’m still not around?”

She might have made another suggestion, but recognised from the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t backing down.

His face changed then, something like regret chasing across it, there before it was gone, and she didn’t understand why before Shanks said, with a heaviness that held an almost portentous note, “Say that you’re a widow.”

She was surprised by the forcefulness of her own reaction.

“No.”

He sighed. “Makino―”

“No,” she repeated, fiercely. “I won’t.”

She saw that she wasn’t the only one surprised by her reaction. And she didn’t even know why it hit her so hard. She couldn’t claim to be particularly superstitious. Her mother had been too practical for superstition, but she’d also respected the sea; they all did here, who lived their lives beside it. It was a more pragmatic relationship than a sailor might devote himself to, which often had an air of fancy about it, but even if they didn’t read omens from the sky or pray to any gods, there was an implicit understanding among them that you didn’t challenge those forces lightly. They were thankful for fair weather and a good catch, but they didn’t invoke the Fates here, or seek to challenge them.

But the man seated across the counter from her had the authority to do that; the one who’d carved a place for himself on a sea most never lived to sail, one of few who could claim the kind of power it took to challenge that old authority.

She wasn’t like him. She knew what was owed; a debt she’d been paying for twelve years, for wanting him. She didn’t want to invoke that word, the fate that was all too common for those who gave their hearts to sailors, in case she invoked prophecy along with it.

Putting away the glass, Makino pressed her palms over the polished countertop. She saw how they shook, and the still-new gleam of her wedding ring where it circled her finger, but then she hadn’t been wearing it long enough for it to get scratches.

She didn’t want that to be their marriage, taken off when the going got tough, forever keeping its shiny new exterior. She wanted it to show signs of wear, of work, and love―of actually being a marriage, and not just when it was convenient, or safe.

“I’m your wife,” she said gently, although the fervour behind it refused to bend against her own fears. “I want to be your wife, even if I’m here and you’re not―”

The words faltered on her tongue, but then there was a reason she’d been avoiding thinking about him leaving.

Shanks’ look softened, some of the tension in his brow yielding as he said, understanding, “The ring isn’t what makes you my wife.”

“I know that,” Makino said softly. Turning her hand, she gripped his fingers. He wore his ring now, but she knew he wouldn’t take the risk when he left. But she understood that, even if part of her rebelled against doing the same. “It’s not like I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I know it’s a risk. What I’m saying is that I’m willing to take it.” To be what she was, she’d accept the danger that came with it. That was her marriage vows. Not empty platitudes about sickness and health, only the simple, unembellished truth.

Shanks said nothing, his gaze on their hands, but the look in his eyes like he wasn’t seeing a ring but a shackle, and a different kind of prophecy than the one she feared.

She decided to try a different tactic.

“If pretending is what you want me to do, I could always get someone from Dadan’s family to stand in as my husband,” Makino said, and saw him look up, the slightest tightening at the corners of his eyes betraying his otherwise unreadable expression.

Turning his hand over between her own, she traced the sword-callouses in his palm, the softer pads of her fingers catching against the rougher skin. “Magra, maybe,” she continued, and watched the barest flex of his fingers. “I’ve heard he’s quite handy. We could tell people we met when he helped me carry a keg from the storeroom.” Lifting her eyes found him watching her, but she only met his gaze calmly, as she asked him, “What do you think? Would he make me a good stand-in husband?”

His eyes held hers, her gentle challenge noted, the look in them somewhere between knowing and warning, and this time it sent an entirely different kind of shiver racing up her spine.

Undeterred, she lowered her eyes to their hands, smoothing her thumb over his knuckles, pale under his sun-darkened skin. “Maybe he could help me out around the bar. To keep up appearances.”

Flicking her eyes up to his, she went in for the kill. “He could even stay in the guest room. Just to be safe.”

His whole look darkened, and her stomach did a thrilling little flip.

“Don’t like that idea, hmm?” she asked, and tried to pretend her voice didn’t shiver, but it was hard when he was looking at her like that. “Me with someone else.” She trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand, her own so small she couldn’t even cover half of it with all her fingers splayed. “A different man in my house.” A fleeting caress to his wrist felt the tendons in his forearm, pulled taut with a strain that left her feeling suddenly short of breath, even as she said, demure, “And my pantry.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, wife.”

The pitch of his voice had goosebumps pebbling her flesh, his naturally deep timbre touched with a note of warning that stirred something deep within her, although she couldn’t tell which was the fiercer feeling, desire or relief, finding her cheek finally parried with something other than that hard expression that couldn’t be coaxed into yielding, no matter how gentle her touches.

“Well,” Makino said, and even teasing, the sincerity was real when she told him softly, her small hand gripping his, mapped with the evidence of his life, their marriage included, “I don’t mind a little danger.”

Then, this time without teasing, “I married you,” she said, and didn’t care that her voice trembled now. She wasn’t hiding her feelings. “And I’ll be careful, but I won’t hide what I am, or pretend that I’m something else. Or someone else’s.”

Bearing the weight of his eyes, she didn’t shy away from them, or from the truth as she spoke it.

“I’m yours,” she told him, fiercely, and felt the way his hand tightened under hers. “And if they come here and they already know about me, nothing I say or do will change their minds. The ring won’t matter. And there are things I can’t hide that easily.”

She glanced towards the crib behind the counter; the one they’d fashioned out of an old barrel of their captain’s favourite whiskey. She’d found the gesture both characteristically inappropriate and undeniably perfect, but then she’d spent her first years sleeping in a liquor crate while her mother worked. And their child wasn’t just the son of a pirate; he was the son of a barmaid, too.

She saw Shanks’ gaze going to it, and the baby sleeping within. And it was more than her lack of protection that weighed on him, she knew, but as long as he was who he was, there would be a risk in being associated with him. Even retiring wouldn’t change what he’d been. Not in the eyes of the current Fleet Admiral, anyway.

And since it wasn’t something either of them could change, she was determined to make the best of the situation, but then she was good at that.

She thought it was time to remind him just how good.

It was still a little while before they were due to open, and smiling, “You could always help me practice my ruse,” Makino suggested, and saw his brows lifting, bemusement at what she had planned easing some of the tension from his features.

Leaning across the counter, she trailed her fingers along his wrist, following the contours of his arm, and the distracting tautness of corded muscle under her fingertips, “My husband isn’t here, officer,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. “It’s just me: a very lonely barmaid with a very spacious pantry.”

Her face fell when he pinched his lips, before his grin shattered his whole composure, and, “Wait,” she said, drawing back to stutter, “That sounded better in my head. What I meant was that―”

A broad hand reached around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that stole what she’d been about to say, and muffling her startled laugh, although his own was quick to follow, deep and rough where it rose from his chest, the kiss breaking when he couldn’t contain his grin.

Drawing back enough to look at her, he sighed, rough fingers slipping from her neck to tuck her hair behind her ear. “God, you’re terrible at this,” Shanks said, with such a fierce affection, her heart constricted. “Completely unconvincing.”

Balancing on her toes, the edge of the counter dug into her ribs, but the discomfort was fleeting and unimportant. Her smile trembled on her mouth, inches from his, his beard brushing her jaw as she murmured, “I know.”

Closing her eyes, she kissed him softly, her hands cupping his face, no pretence this time, only the honest truth, offered with all of herself, the only way she knew how.

He’d moved before she could react, the kiss breaking only for a second, and she’d barely had time to catch her breath when his mouth claimed hers again, his arm wrapping around her as he pushed her back towards the storeroom, and the door where it sat ajar.

They stumbled over the doorstep, fumbling between sloppy kisses, like they were in that moment younger people with less to lose, her little laughing shriek muffled against his lips when he hoisted her up onto the shelf where her ledger lay open, and she couldn’t contain her giggles even as he shushed her through grinning kisses, knowing from experience how little it took to rouse a three-month old baby but unable to help herself, something wild and reckless pushing like wings against her ribcage, refusing to stay hidden, wanting out, fearless in its desire, and its will to claim it.

They hadn’t brought a lantern, and the light hadn’t reached this far into her bar, the storeroom cool and dark and the heavy shelves keeping her spirits and secrets, the crates digging into her back as he pinned her to them.

“This is very rakish behaviour for a married woman,” Shanks rumbled, releasing her from the kiss, her breath hitching when his hand wrapped around her thigh, pushing her skirt out of the way. “Someone might mistake you for a pirate.”

Makino hummed, finding her balance on the shelf, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she swung her legs, her boots and stockings impishly bared, and saw how it drew his eyes, before she eased them apart, her smile small and demure, and utterly unconvincing. “Imagine that.”

His eyes held her, his features darkened by the shadows of her pantry, making his scars look more pronounced, but the look beneath was gentle as Shanks touched his brow to hers. His thumb traced the hem of her stocking, and the glimpse of bare skin beneath her skirt where he’d pushed it up.

The feeling from before seized her, that fearless thing, like wings waiting under her skin. And maybe it was easy to be brave here, within the walls of her pantry where it felt like nothing could touch them, but even knowing differently didn’t change what she felt, as Makino told him, soft, “Ask me again.”

His look changed, a sudden intensity in it that made her glad she was sitting, but she didn’t look away, accepting the full weight of the truth behind it, unfearing of what it meant to be loved like that, and by someone like him.

Bending his head, his mouth covered hers firmly, stuttering her breath with a gasp, a command behind it that left her hands shaking where she’d curled them around his neck, and if she’d had any more clever remarks prepared about stand-in husbands or navy officers, they fled her mind now as she melted.

The big hand around her thigh tightened its grip, his wedding ring digging into her skin, as though he could imprint something that couldn’t be taken off or hidden, that was written on her skin, on her soul, and if she could have formed the words, she might have told him he already had, but they were lost when his hand slid up her thigh to part her legs, finding her with a shuddering breath that she felt in the way it left him.

And this was another unspoken language they’d made, communicated in touches―her legs parting to him in welcome, and his hand pausing, his fingers already half inside her, asking; her breath hitching as she lifted herself up to kiss him deeper, her hands threading through his hair as she gave herself, a silent affirmation that told him to take―no words needed as he entered her, carefully even if it had been months since their son, but she appreciated the restraint he showed, even with all of him unravelling under her hands, that iron-clad control included.

Her legs wrapping around his waist pulled him deeper, her gasp stuttering with a faint little plea as he filled her to her limit. And if she hoped he’d leave something in her it was a private thought, begged with her breaths as she took him inside her, each thrust a little harder, the bottles stirring in their crates as the shelf creaked, a steady rhythm growing in tandem with her gasps.

Her hands left his jaw, fumbling with the front of her stays as she slipped loose the little hooks until it popped open, and he was already reaching for her, his fingers a shock of warmth where they slipped past the low cut of her blouse to cup one of her breasts, tiny in his hand, his sword-calluses rough where he caressed it, and her shivering moan was well received, from the deeper groan that left him, as Shanks slowed his pace, touching her as he took her, until the shelves were rattling.

Bending down, he kissed her chest, his lips seeking the wide valley between her breasts, her flushed skin pearling with sweat. His beard scuffed her breast as he pulled it free, and she gasped, arching against the shelf as he curled his tongue around a painfully sensitive nipple, her lips parting over his name where it left her in a whimper.

He came like that, her skirt shoved up her hips and her silk stockings slipping down her legs, spread to him where she sat, the pages of her ledger crumpled and damp beneath her; the stereotype of the lascivious tavern wench, but she embraced it now, shockingly indulgent in her own lewdness, watching him as he finished with deep, pulsing shudders, a groan leaving him that had her toes curling in her boots.

His eyes slitted open, the grey steel muted, but even then his full attention was arresting; a single look enough to dismiss everything else in the world, as though she was the only thing in it.

She watched as they swept across her, her breasts bared to the air and her thighs spread, his cock still inside her, but she didn’t squirm or try to hide, only allowed him to see.

Bending forward, Shanks kissed the parting of her hair, his breath winded as he leaned some of his weight on her. His knuckles brushed her cheek, catching the tears that had spilled over without her notice. His ring was cool against her skin; wrapping around the back of her neck, she felt how they shook.

Carding her fingers through his hair, she felt him exhale, but he didn’t let her go, just held her like that, the protective frame of his body between her and the door, hiding her from view, and nothing could have touched her there, in that moment.

His fingers trailed down the dip between her shoulder blades. Her blouse clung to her skin, the air within the storeroom damp and smelling of them, but she couldn’t even worry that someone would stumble across them, although had enough presence of mind to think that she should probably fix herself up before their first customers arrived, but was distracted by the deep chuckle that left him, and his voice where it rumbled into her skin,

“Where’s your husband now, barmaid?”

Her laugh trembled, and her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing her nose into the hollow of his throat. She loved him like this, freed of worry, if only for a little while. And that was her power; the only one she could claim, but it wasn’t a small thing in this age, to command peace.

And she knew how he expected her to react, because he knew her better than anyone, and never let an opportunity to make her flustered pass him by.

But she knew him, too, and like him, she knew exactly how to nudge him off balance. Which was why she said, demure as anything, “He’s ploughing his wife.”

She felt the hand on her neck pausing, the slight stiffening in him betraying his surprise, before his shoulders convulsed, as Shanks bent forward with a laugh.

The sound filled her, loud and lovely, but a softness about it that was hers, that tender, half-winded thing. She thought the whole village had to hear it, and that it would wake the baby, but she didn’t care, her own laughter helpless, hearing his, and feeling the way his arm tightened around her, which said more than any other gesture or word, even as Shanks murmured roughly, “I love you.”

Cupping his face with her hands, she pressed her forehead against his. “It will be okay,” Makino said, and didn’t care that she couldn’t make that promise; that there were other forces that wanted their say. But she wouldn’t hide from her choices, and him least of all. “You’ll see.”

Shanks said nothing, only held her, but he didn’t disagree this time, which she counted as a small victory, and it was what gave her the courage to quip, “And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them my husband can’t be held down. His heart belongs to the sea. It’s just the way things are, in this day and age.”

His eyes found hers. In the dim light, they looked darker, but she knew the look in them, and like the laugh, that was hers, too. “I thought we agreed that we were going for accuracy,” Shanks said. A tender smile curved his mouth, as he told her roughly, “And that you’re a terrible liar.”

Her grin couldn’t be contained, splitting her face, wide and without shame, and his.

The sound of the bat-wing doors swinging open reached them, followed by their first customers arriving, and her grin fell as horror widened her eyes, before she scrambled to pull her stays closed.

A voice from the bar drifted through the door―“Huh? Where’s Makino-chan?”

“That’s odd,” said another, as her mortification deepened, recognising one of her mother’s oldest patrons; a man who’d seen her toddle around in diapers. “Red-Hair’s not here, either. They’re usually open by now.”

Shanks’ grin grew, and she saw the punishment for her disobedience in the gleam in his eyes, and hissed, “Shanks, no―”

But she wasn’t quick enough, as he turned his head towards to call out, “She’s coming! Or she will be.” And before her horror could fully sink in, added brightly, “Just give me a few minutes to finish; I want to make sure she does.”

Her hands clapping over his mouth didn’t succeed in muffling his laughter, but then even her embarrassment couldn’t hold out against the grin that split his face now, which held no trace of his earlier seriousness, as he nipped and kissed her fingers until her mortification dissolved with her laughter.

When they emerged a few minutes later, after she’d blankly refused to let him get her off first (although had agreed to revisiting it after closing), it was to find their regulars waiting, knowing looks exchanged above poorly-stifled grins as she with every ounce of prim dignity she possessed asked them if they wanted their usual, all the while ignoring Shanks’ eyes following her as she made her way between the tables. Although having taken their orders, she caught the fond murmur as she made for the bar―

“Married life suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does. Shame Em ain’t here to see it.”

Her smile ruined her prim composure, but she claimed it for herself, and kept her chin high as she walked to the bar where Shanks was waiting, leaning back against the kegs.

“What?” he asked, when she reached him, lifting up on her toes to steal a kiss; not something she usually did, shy about public displays, unlike him, and relished in his surprise at her brazenness, shaping his grin, a gentler thing than in the storeroom earlier.

Her own smile was small, as she lowered back on her heels, her head tipped back to look up at him, noting the dish-towel slung over his shoulder, a different kind of captain, with no sea underfoot, but a captain still.

“Nothing,” Makino said, before reciting, “One egg over easy, and―”

“―one sunny-side up, hash browns on the side of both, and a single serving of bacon, because old man Nakamura is watching his cholesterol.”

At her look of surprise, he only smiled, and bent his head to kiss her once, before he made for the kitchen, a grin thrown over his shoulder, leaving her staring after him, and wondering how he could have ever expected her to pretend to be the person she’d been before him.

The doors swinging open drew her gaze to his crew, and her smile blossomed as they greeted her, loudly and cheerfully. And there was no doubt in their minds what she was, catching their cheeky bows and tipped hats, but she didn’t shy from their reverence where it named her, and more clearly than any ring or vow.

“Hey, where’s that husband of yours?” Yasopp asked her, when she appeared at their table to take their orders. Someone had given him the baby, awake and peering up at all the faces around him. Yasopp made a face at him, and when he got a gummy little smile, asked him in a sing-song voice, “What’s his name again?”

“Keeps slipping my mind,” Ben agreed, grinning around his toothpick.

“Wait, who are we talking about?”

“Makino’s husband.”

“Oh, right! That guy.”

The others joined in, feigning forgetfulness, their laughter growing in volume, until there was nothing left of the quiet morning, dissolving like the sea mist as the sun claimed its seat in the sky.

Her playful look warned them, although her smile indulged their cheeky insubordination, knowing well just how far it was from the truth. Because she could imagine their reactions to the suggestion, however teasingly made, about a stand-in husband in their captain’s absence, endearingly protective, and not just of her. She would spare poor Magra that.

“He’s here,” Makino said, and heard in the words the fleeting truth, but didn’t care if she wouldn’t be able to say the same a month from now, or two. He’d be home again soon, with the tide. They all would.

Emerging from the kitchen, Shanks took one look at the room and stopped, a different kind of concern furrowing his brow now as every grin within turned towards him. “What did I miss?”

Coming over to where she was standing, he put the tray he was carrying on the table. The look he gave her said he had his suspicions, and that her innocent smile was fooling no one.

Then a gleam entered his eyes, and Makino knew she was in trouble even before he chirped, “Did you tell them about your plan to get a stand-in husband in my absence?”

Their grins fell, and Makino closed her eyes.

Poor Magra.

“A what?!”

She didn’t get a stand-in, but she didn’t take the ring off, either―a small act of rebellion, but it was the only thing she could do in opposition to the system that governed their world, and the laws that would punish her for her choices. And maybe there was a little pride there, too, but then loving him was her greatest crime, and she’d accept all charges against her, pleading guilty to whatever court would see her put on trial, mortal or otherwise. Those were her wedding vows, too; the ones she hadn’t spoken aloud to him.

Her bar saw the occasional new visitor, on their way to Goa or further still, who’d seen the lights from afar and decided to have a look, but there was only one who asked about the ring, and who didn’t bat an eye when she told him her husband was currently across the island signing off on a shipment. He’d only remarked positively on their bar, and said that no tavern in Goa Port he’d been to had been as hospitable.

(She hadn’t questioned his manners, unfailingly good, almost military-like; hadn’t looked closely enough at the set of his shoulders, that proud bearing she’d known since childhood, from the grizzled marine who’d ruffle her hair until her kerchief sat askew and who’d sneak her gifts behind her mother’s back.)

Garp would have seen through him, she would realise later, but she’d been so busy trying to keep up appearances, she’d forgotten to question if her visitor was doing the same.

She was getting ready to open―had just finished lifting the chairs off the tables and had gone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee when she remembered it wasn’t necessary, and had instead gone to wring out the rag to wipe down the counter when she heard the bat-wing doors swinging inwards.

Ace was asleep in his crib, safe under the counter behind the curtain she’d pulled closed, and she didn’t pause at her early visitor, as emerging from the kitchen, she called out, forgetting for a moment that she was alone, the we invoked so easily, even weeks after he’d left, “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet―”

The words cut off, as she came to a halt.

She could smell the cigar smoke from across the room, the butt smouldering like the embers in her hearth, an almost unnatural glow in its burning eye where it fastened on her like a brand.

The white coat was the first thing she noticed, but she would have recognised him even out of uniform, the straight shoulders and the flower tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, the garishly patterned kind that reminded her of Garp, but that was where their similarities ended.

He was flanked by two officers, their caps pulled low over their brows, but she recognised the one on the left, dark-haired and dimpled and refusing to meet her eyes, his hands white-knuckled around the rifle he was holding. He’d loved her cooking so much he’d asked for a fourth helping; had said it reminded him of his sister’s, who he hadn’t seen in years.

The Fleet Admiral took her in, a single sweep of his eyes across her announcing his feelings, something far more personal than simple contempt in the furrow of his brow. Judge, jury, and executioner; he’d already decided her charges, and what her punishment would be, for the choices she’d made. The only crime she’d committed, but for a man like him, it was enough.

And she’d been right. In the end, the ring hadn’t mattered.

“Arrest her.”

#Shanks x Makino #Shanks/Makino #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #Makino #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction #opfanfic #fanfiction #mungoe writes #Shanties for the Weary Voyager #sharing snippets of my WIPs helps me feel like I'm being productive #this story isn't meant to be very long mind #(and I know - famous last words haha)#but I'm hoping this might pique someone's interest!

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Rush In

Chapter 20

Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Warnings: Language and mentions of weird sexual stuff

**Thanks @burnsoslow. for pre-reading and “The Army” girls for snippet reads.

-------------------

“An email from the Countess?” Ana questioned curiously, just before hitting the video attachment that came with it. Her plush lips soon curved into an enchanted grin when it became apparent who the subjects in the video were and precisely what they were doing together. “Looks like you’re about to get your hard-hitting royal news after all.”

Having finally retrieved his phone, Donnie situated himself upright in the bed and began playing the same email attachment as his lover. By the sounds of the grunts and groans coming from Ana’s phone, it was apparent to the ace-reporter what he was about to watch -- even if the occasional horse neighs were a little confusing.

Within seconds of hitting play, the man’s jaw dropped wide open as he took in the content.

“Holy shit, dude, Is that …?”

Ana's intrigued gaze tore from her phone screen and raised a brow at Donnie. “The King’s head guard dressed like a cowboy spanking Lucretia Nevrakis and licking another woman wearing a horse mask in a barn?” She shook her head. “Yes … and did you just call me ‘dude’?”

Ignoring her question, the couple resumed watching for a few more seconds, their facial expressions morphing from one of intrigue to utter disgust when finally Lucretia went full-frontal, nudity before the camera, then spreading wide for Bastien. “Oh, God! The hell?” Donnie grimaced as Ana slapped a hand over her mouth next to him and turned her head away. “I can’t watch this shit.” He lamented, quickly shutting his phone off.

After Ana followed suit and powered her cell off too, the pair sat in uncomfortable silence, simultaneously staring blankly at the same wall across from them, neither knowing what to say or think about what they had just watched together. Eventually, Ana lifted the satin sheet covering her waist up a little higher over her breast, a sense of sleaze and uncleanliness rooting itself and sprouting throughout her body. “I … I don’t know what part was worse: Mystery horsewoman with the guinea pig in Bastien or Lucretia’s wrinkled tramp-stamp with ‘Connie’ written inside what I can only assume is a dick.”

Donnie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s be clear: there was no worse part. It was all worse! What the hell was that, anyway?”

The Trend editor just shook her head slowly with a glazed-over expression in her eyes; she finally spoke, “I … I think I’m going to go now.”

“Ana! Don’t let this ruin our night.”

Her expression turned remorseful at his pleading; it had been a great night. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brine. I need to be alone.”

Neither one could look at the other. Ana slowly raised from the bed, gathering up her scattered clothes from the floor, tearing her bra from the doorknob, and then slipped on her heels. Why the Countess sent that video to them, she’d never know, but as she and Donnie exchanged a timid wave of goodbye, Ana left knowing she would never forgive Madeleine Amaranth for ruining the best night of sex she ever had.

This had to be some kind of bizarre and insane mistake.

And usually, Donnie Brine would call this “hard-hitting” new’s story into the station and scramble for the nearest camera to report on it.

This was not something he would ever share with Cordonia, nor would the duo realize what they just watched was not the video the Countess intended to send them.

---------------------------------

A baby. My baby. I’m going to be a father. Those words were all Liam could think about as he rode through the glittery neon boulevards of Las Vegas toward the hospital. At that moment, the clear blue heavens above him could open wide and strike him down with a bolt of thunder, and he’d swear he wouldn’t have felt a thing. The King was riding a wave of euphoria unlike anything he’d ever experienced; Riley loved him and was carrying his baby. Nothing in all the world mattered anymore.

Before taking off, it was clear that Bastien likely escaped during the brother’s brawl in the front yard of Riley’s home and apparently took the keys to the Escalade they arrived in with him. The neighborly Burt, who moments prior had a shotgun aimed at the royal duo, reluctantly agreed to drive into the city to drop them off at the hospital on his way to pick up his daughter on the east side of town. He gruffly mentioned, "my girl never learned not to kick her customers in the frank 'n' beans and steal their shit," but neither of the brothers paid much attention.

Riding in the back of a truck while sitting on a spare tire through sunny downtown Vegas wasn’t the way Liam intended to get there, but he was dead set on finding his Pussycat by any means necessary. And, of course, Leo called shotgun but was nice enough to offer his little brother the opportunity to “ride bitch”.

Liam unequivocally declined.

During the bumpy 25-minute ride to Valley Hospital, Liam wondered how it was possible to get everything he ever wanted in such a brief span of time. Literally, his entire heart's desires were being gifted to him one by one; it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. All he ever wanted was to find happiness, a chance to love, and have a genuine family of his own -- Not an arrangement that would guarantee him a life of misery at worst or of mediocrity at best. When he stepped foot in Sin City several weeks ago, depressed and hopeless at the prospects of his impending marriage to Madeleine, never did he expect life and fate would throw him a twist in the tale. All it took was a weekend bachelor party, an awkwardly shy woman mistaking him for her Tinder date, and a ton of hard booze shared between them to change the entire trajectory of his life.

Once the rusted-out truck came to a stop at the emergency entrance, Liam wasted no time climbing over the truck’s wooden rail sides and rushing through the revolving doors. Leo’s heavy footsteps could be heard racing behind him.

Liam’s heart pounded as the seconds -- which seemed liked hours -- ticked by. Not since he was a young boy waiting on his mother to return from her trip in Auvernal had he been more excited to reunite with someone.

Escorted through the long, winding hallways by hospital security to the radiology department, Liam was led inside a room, where his breath instantly hitched at catching his first glimpse of Riley in two-and-a-half days.

Sitting at the foot of an exam table, dressed in a hospital gown, slender legs bare and swinging freely over the side, Riley’s head snapped up at the sound of the door opening. “Liam,” she whispered, relief dripping from her eyes before sliding off the table.

“Pussycat,” he breathed, unable to contain his emotions as she nearly sprinted the short distance between them and into his waiting arms. “I have missed you terribly, Love.”

Riley held onto him tightly, afraid to let go. “I’m so sorry, Liam. I’m so very sorry,” her strangled voice choked out. “I never should have listened to Madeleine.”

“Shhhh. You have nothing to be sorry about,” Liam assured, his hand threading and kneading through her bountiful hair comfortingly. “I watched the security footage, and I saw the way Madeleine confronted you. The way she grabbed you, the way she -- hurt you.” Liam’s face tightened before he kissed her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Riley answered meekly, “Because she threatened to release an old video of me being intimate during my first marriage. She told me if I didn’t leave, that video would get out and that it would look bad on you, and the council would likely strip you of your crown.” She squeezed him tighter. “I had to protect you.”

Liam looked down at his wife affectionately, placing both hands on the sides of her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears desperately clinging like morning dew to her eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me. The only thing you ever have to protect when it comes to me is my heart. I have guards -- although not the best -- to protect me physically. I have tradition and a birthright to protect my name and crown and a military to safeguard my country. But you, Riley ... you, have the power to destroy me. You’re the keeper of my heart. The one who makes it beat. Without your love to keep it going … well, let’s just say I don’t ever want to know what that kind of pain would feel like.” They kissed once more as if it were their first and last one ever.

Plucking out a blade of grass from his hair, Riley smiled brightly for the first time in days. “I’ll guard it with everything in me, Liam. I swear it.”

“You bet your sweet ass you will,” Liam smirked mischievously, grabbing a handful of her backside, causing her to belt out a laugh. “Besides, you took a drunken vow at the Graceland Wedding Chapel before Leo, Mongo, and Pinquee Kittee to love me tender, love me true; that’s about as sacred and binding of an oath as it gets.”

Riley chuckled. “I did. And we all know how those three are the greatest examples of loving and committed relationships. Even if Mongo did try to steal you away from me.”

“Which worries me considering he’s apparently our ‘son.’” Liam said it tongue-in-cheek, but it instantly reminded him of the other reason he was in such a rush to get to his queen. The playfulness in his mannerisms tapered off, and he became more serious. Liam leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before working his way lower to the tip of her nose, her lips, and further to Riley’s chin. Slowly sinking to his knees, sliding his hands down her body until he had a firm grip on her slender hips, Liam rested his own forehead on Riley’s lower tummy.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Riley asked softly.

Liam placed a lingering kiss onto the thin covering over her flat tummy and glanced up into her gleaming eyes, both filled with ceaseless wonder and rapture. “How you can love someone so much that you’ve never met.”

Riley blinked away a tear, her tiny fingers tracing feather-like trails through his hair. “I know, and yet somehow I’ve been asking myself that question since I met you.”

Liam’s eyes crinkled with a tender smile. “Me too.”

---------------------------------

Pacing languidly up and down the hallway outside the room where Liam and Riley were reuniting, Leo let out an exasperated huff before halting his steps to take a quick gander through the long glass window of the door. Leo smiled at watching his brother and sister-in-law embrace and seemed thrilled to be with one another again. And the prospects of -- in his mind -- becoming an uncle “again” was cool and all, but he was bored as hell. Liam was adamant about the former prince staying put and giving him this time needed to speak with Riley in private. Usually, Leo would pay no attention to what Liam asked of him, but maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to get serious and act like the adult he was. Read the room. Respect boundaries. Know when to quit.

Or maybe not.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he headed back in the direction that he and Liam had been led from moments ago, looking for something to kill time. Strolling leisurely past a set of double doors that displayed “Emergency” in big red letters next to them, a thought suddenly struck, and he took two gliding steps backward. Leo lifted a speculative brow; there was something in the inner machination of his chaotic brain that told him to follow his gut, head inside, and he wouldn’t be sorry. Never one to ignore an instinct or impulse, Leo punched the large metallic button on the wall, causing one of the automatic doors to swing open.

After stepping inside, he meandered around for a minute, not exactly sure what he was looking for but hoping he might catch a glimpse of a hot nurse walking around without a top on who would want to do naughty things to him. Or perhaps, a naked lady doctor with a nice ass who would manhandle him out of the emergency department, but who he’d eventually win over with his impeccable good looks and god-like sex appeal. He could pretend to be her patient, and if he were lucky, she’d have a bad bedside manner.

Passing a row of draped exam rooms, Leo noticed one curtain pulled open and a young brunette, with part of her thong showing, crouched on the floor, peeking stealthily through the blue drapery that divided the area from the patient on the opposite side.

Curious now to what this woman was so interested in from the next exam room, Leo crossed his arm and stared downward at the floor, lightly whistling a tune, as two doctors walked past him. When they rounded a corner, Leo edged closer to the curtain to listen in.

“Mr. Walker, do you feel any pain when I do this?”

“Ow! What the fuck do you think?”

At hearing Drake’s irascible voice, Leo’s ears instantly shot up. “No way,” Leo mumbled in astonishment to himself. “Walker is here?” The last he knew, Drake was supposed to have headed back to Cordonia the day before. He leaned in closer.

“You pinched my dick with a pair of damn tweezers. Yeah, you could say there’s a little pain there. Shit!”

Leo clamped a fist over his mouth to keep from busting out. Of all the places his naughty gut had ever led him to, knowing Drake was here and having transplanted dick problems may have been in his top 100 --Nothing would ever beat running with the bulls in Barcelona with Kanye and a very stoned Prince Charles. Leo smiled fondly at the memory before shaking his head and getting back to business.

“We’re just making sure you have feeling in your penis, Mr. Walker.”

“Then touch it with a fucking finger. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you people? You wanna take a jackhammer to my knees next and see if they feel pain too?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Leo overheard the doctor tell Drake. “I expect you’re going to be fine, Mr. Walker. I didn’t see any major discoloration aside from a deep bluish hue to your testicles --” Leo snorted out loudly, causing the doctor to turn his head briefly to the disruption outside the curtain, before clearing his throat and continuing, “A hearty ejaculation or two should clear that right up. When was the last time you --”

“I’ll take care of it,” Drake hastily interrupted in a peevish tone, not wanting the physician to finish the question.

“Very well then. You should be fine. I’ll have the nurse get your discharge papers together, and you can be on your way … And, sir ... try to avoid getting ninja smacked by hookers in the future.”

“I’ll see what I can do …. asshole.” Drake snarled under his breath.

Feeling spunky, an impish grin crossed Leo’s lips as he strolled away undetected from Drake’s doctor leaving his room. “The Drakesters not going anywhere just yet,” he snickered, heading toward a cart with blue scrubs that he passed earlier. “Paging Dr.Wolfshitz to trauma room one. Stat.”

--------------------

Still peeking inconspicuously into the next exam room, Alyssa’s gaze followed Drake’s doctor and a nurse as they exited to work on his discharge. She remained motionless and quiet, barely breathing, fearful she’d get caught. Why she hadn’t looked away yet was beyond her. What was only supposed to be a little looksie at the man, to quench her gnawing intrigue over what was below his belt, had now left her drawn to him.

And while Alyssa saw for herself that everything was normal down there, -- humungous, actually -- it was the sadness and hurt in his deep chocolate eyes that kept the perky, petite woman in spy mode.

“You can stop hiding behind that curtain, Riley’s friend,” Drake grumbled.

“Eep!” Alyssa yelped at being caught and took a quick step back, nearly toppling clumsily over her feet. He couldn’t have been talking about her. He wasn’t even looking in her direction when he said it. She had been so careful to remain hidden. But who the hell else could he be talking to? Alyssa held her breath, hoping another one of Riley’s friends was hidden on the other side.

“I saw your little beady eyes watching me. Might as well come out from behind that curtain and laugh in my face … you wouldn’t be the first one.”

There were no doubts he was talking about her now. Frozen in panic and unable to move, Alyssa’s cheeks burned, and her heart raced at getting called out. She wondered why she couldn’t have just left well enough alone. If curiosity killed the cat, Alyssa just spent all nine of her lives.

“That’s how it's gonna be, huh?” Drake called out to her again in a snarky tone, yet Alyssa didn’t dare move. “That’s fine. I know I’m just a big joke to everyone now.” He lowered his voice just slightly in self-pity. “Maybe in some ways, I always have been.”

That stung. Alyssa couldn’t discern whether he was actually upset with her about snooping on him -- he probably was -- or as the nagging feeling in her gut was telling her: he just needed a friend. Taking in a deep breath, she skittishly slipped the curtain aside, avoiding eye contact and forcing only a diffident smile. “I’m … I’m sorry.”

He smiled back. “I’m not. I’m Drake.”

---------

With Riley discovering she was pregnant, the E.R. attending opted to forego continuing with the ordered x-rays, believing she had nothing more than a bruised tailbone from her fall, anyway. With the pain she experienced since the encounter with Madeleine, the doctor wanted her to have an ultrasound to ensure everything was fine with the baby and date the pregnancy.

Riley laid back on the exam table, feet planted and legs separated. A technician gingerly moved around an ultrasound probe under the sheet draped from her waist to her bent up knees. Riley and Liam vigilantly watched the screen, anxiously waiting for the black-and-white image to produce the first glimpse of their baby.

Flashing a timid smile, Riley glanced up at Liam, who was hovering over her with his eyes transfixed on the screen. Noticing her unsure look, he leaned down and whispered, “Everything okay, love?”

She shook her head almost imperceptibly and answered meagerly with all seriousness, “What if … what if our baby has a beard, Liam?”

The bewildered king puckered his forehead, unsure what to say. “Wh--why would the baby have a beard, pussycat?” He squeezed her hand reassuringly before she yanked it away and covered her eyes in embarrassment.

She sucked in an unsteady breath, impervious to the prodding continuing below. “Because my Aunt Clem’s firstborn came out with a tiny goatee like that munchkin from the Lollipop Guild,” she began to whimper in increasing frustration, plucking at the tip of her chin.

Liam’s eyes widened as he blew out a huff of air. “Then … I suppose … we’ll stick him in a carnival or something.” He chuckled despite himself. “Or get him one of those top hats and a cane.”

“It was a girrrrrrl,” Riley cried out, covering her face again. “My dad’s family is from Kentucky … there’s gotta be inbreeding somewhere in the past. Our baby will come out looking like a mini Chewbacca, and it’s all my fault. Oh god! What have I done to our child?” She sniffled through her rant, “If you want a divorce, I’ll understand.”

Normally able to keep a stoic demeanor in any kind of situation, Liam just couldn’t do it in this instance. He turned his face away to prevent his wife from seeing the giant smirk on his face and to take a moment to regain his composure from wanting to bust out at her theatrics. He didn’t know what the hell he married into or why this woman he loved so much all of a sudden had forgotten she was adopted.

It would be an interesting nine months.

Riley frowned with a simper, “You can’t even look at me. I’ll have to raise this little hairball all by myself. They’ll have us in the ‘weird things’ section of the National Enquirer next to Drake.”

She was correct: he couldn’t look at her -- she was being completely ridiculous. Liam’s shoulders bounced against his stifled laughter. “Dear God, Riley. You’ve got to stop.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

Unaware of the pair of eyes at the foot of the exam table, glaring between the couple in absolute confusion, the technician performing the scan cleared her throat to break the tension. “I hate to interrupt … this.” She nodded between the two.”But, here’s your baby.” She tapped her fingertip on the screen to a small oblong shape on the monitor with a tiny white form in the center. Riley lowered her hands from her teary face and whipped her head around at the same time Liam did, both wholly captivated. “It’s too early to tell if there is a … goatee. But this little flicker right here --” She pointed out. “-- Is where the heart is beating.”

Feeling his wife’s hand grip his tighter, Liam stood motionless for a moment as he watched the tech pause the screen to get measurements before sucking in his lips and dropping his head onto Riley’s shoulder. “Did you see the heart beating, my love? That’s our baby. Our perfect baby.”

Blinking back a tear of joy, Riley turned her head toward her shoulder to meet Liam’s adoring eyes. “Thank you for not covering your lizard.”

-----------------------------

Blushing from head to toe in guilt and embarrassment, Alyssa took a step inside of Drake’s room, letting the curtain fall back behind her. Twirling a section of hair around her finger, she continued to apologize, feeling it was the right thing to do. “Again, I’m really sorry, Mr. Walker --”

“I told you my name is Drake. Mr. Walker was my father’s name. Please, just call me Drake,” he insisted in a softer tone that took the awkward-feeling Alyssa by surprise.

“Drake,” she repeated as she picked at the cuticle of her thumbnail, “I shouldn’t have been watching you, and I know I invaded your privacy. I swear, in spite of what this looks like, I’m not some creeper. I just thought … “ Alyssa looked away bashfully, twisting on her feet. “you’re really handsome.” It was true, even if she knew damn well that’s not why she peeked in at him.

Drake cocked a brow, calling her bluff. “Really?” he replied skeptically. ”That’s the only thing you were looking at?”

Dabbing at her increasingly perspiring forehead and feeling the blood drain into her feet, Alyssa declared, “I think I’m going to pass out now.”

Sensing she was serious, Drake quickly tapped the rolling chair next to his bed and insisted she sit down. Walking on wobbly legs, Alyssa finally plopped down on the chair and fanned her ashen face with one hand. Drake quickly twisted the cap off an unopened bottle of cold water one of the nurses had given him and offered it to Alyssa. She gratefully took it and guzzled a giant swig from the plastic container. Soon her breathing normalized, and the color in her face started to pinken again.

Drake stared at her in concern. “Do you want me to yell for the doctor?”

Alyssa shook her head insistently. “No. I’m better now. I just got a little anxious, is all, but I deserved it. I shouldn’t have looked at you.” She paused for a moment before offering a genuine smile. “By the way: I don’t think you’re a joke, and I would never laugh at you. I really do think you’re handsome.”

He could tell what she was saying to him was true, and for the first time in weeks, it felt nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t want to discuss a certain medical procedure he’d recently undergone. “I appreciate that … Alyssa, right?” She nodded her head. “You have beautiful eyes --”

“I hate to interrupt this party, -- ay,” A doctor in blue scrubs, a surgical cap, mask, and a horrible Canadian accent came strolling in gleefully, almost out of nowhere. “It’s time for your surgery, Mr. Walkersan -- ay.”

Drake shot straight up in his bed, glaring at the man. “What?” he screeched. “I’m getting discharged. That other doctor said I was fine.”

“Oh no, no, no -- ay. Doctor … Pepper … Stein, sent me down here to wheel you at once into surgery. Your test results showed a lot of icky stuff that needs to be taken care of at once lest you lose your manhood again. Ay.”

Narrowing his eyes, Drake shot back. “What bad stuff?”

“Uh, let me see here -- ay,” Leo began flipping through a makeshift chart he was holding in his hands and pretending to scan over a particular page. “Oy me. There seems to be … algae overgrowth in the upper ... sphincter of the … Dua Lipa -- ay. And thees muy crabs have set up a colony on the Los ballsackos.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Drake asked incredulously while Alyssa patted his arm comfortingly. “What the hell is a Los ballsackos?”

“Es los ballsackos is los ballsackos.” Leo hastily scolded as he eyed Drake sternly. “We shan't have no time to waste. Das ist Viener schloggin … we remove the viewer and then the scloggin or there be little la cucarachas crawling everywhere -- la vie en rose, amigo.”

“No one’s removing my viener, or my scloggin!” Drake protested.

“Excuse me,” Alyssa rose to her feet, knowing there was something off with this sketchy acting doctor. “I speak fluent Spanish and French, and I can tell you, almost none of that made sense. Not to mention the fact that I believe part of that was German and ancient English. ¿De dónde sacaste tu título, doctor?”

Leo’s bright blue eyes dulled with uncertainty as Alyssa crossed her arms, awaiting a response. Scrambling for an answer and wishing he’d paid more attention during his language lessons, he ultimately replied with a shirk, “Eh … Despacito?”

“Despacito?” Alyssa challenged before glancing over at Drake, who was still glaring a hole into the perceived physician, then returning her gaze back to a cow-eyed Leo. “Who are you, really?”

"Who am I really?" Leo replied with a smug grin as he lowered the surgical mask that was hiding his face. "I'm Dr. Wolfschitz, baby."

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bailey-reaper · 3 years

Note

Do a drabble on Barok’s and his s/o wedding day and night.

The Ring of Truth

Notes: Hmmm! This is another of those scenarios that would no doubt differ depending on S/O's gender and, possibly, their standing in society. I'm going to proceed on the assumption that the wedding is a private affair that is conducted in a rather unconventional manner.

Also, sorry anon, I didn't end up writing about the wedding night – perhaps another time!

In this instance, S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: fluff, marriage, Herlock Sholmes

"You know," Herlock Sholmes began, causing Barok to surreptitiously roll his eyes, "It just so happens that I'm a recognised member of the clergy!"

That one caused a small ripple of shock at the table, "Are you really?" Barok replied dryly, because no doubt this was going to form part of a 'witty' (and lengthy) anecdote that would drone on and on until the teller forgot what he was talking about and changed to some other inane subject.

"Yes, indeed," Sholmes said, taking a brief puff on his pipe, "I was ordained into the priesthood as thanks for my swift, discreet solving of a little matter that was upsetting Vatican City..."

"Oh Mr. Sholmes you simply must tell us more!" Susato chimed in, clasping her hands together in delight.

"Why I'd love to, my dear madam."

"Yes," Barok muttered, "There's nothing you love more than the sound of your own voice..."

"Rather a rude quip, Mr. Reaper, and from a lawyer no less!"

"At least when I talk it holds some relevance to it."

"Hmmm, I suspect what I say here will hold relevance some day down the line..."

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

And, much to Barok's disbelief, Sholme's words held true when he found himself in need of someone to officiate a ceremony between him and his beloved. He'd abandoned his faith a long while ago, when Klint died, and he did not care to rejoin a flock again.

While his beloved had never been much for faith and was similarly without a Parish Church to call theirs. In such circumstances, Barok had finally cast his mind back to the irksome detective's declaration to the effect that he was a 'member of the clergy'.

Any ceremony they conducted would be unofficial, of course, given their circumstances, but they were both keen to be married in a symbolic sense. An exchange of rings and words. It was not something Barok had thought he wanted, but a growing part of him had become deeply keen on the idea of a 'wedding' with his beloved.

So, much to his chagrin, he found himself calling at 211B Baker Street to speak to Sholmes.

"My dear man!" Sholmes exclaimed excitedly, "A wedding is a truly auspicious affair, and the wedding of a Reaper must be doubly so in some realm or another!"

Barok peered at the detective, lips drawn into a thin line, "Answer the question, man, will you officiate or not?"

"Nothing would delight me more! Now, might I suggest the perfect venue?"

". . . . You may suggest what you like, but I remain at liberty to reject your request on account of it no doubt being utterly ridiculous."

"Come now, Mr. Reaper, I'm not about to suggest you be wed in a hot air balloon or something of that nature! Though, come to think of it, that would be quite a thrilling way in which to 'tie the knot' haha!"

". . . . I'm starting to lose my patience, Sholmes..."

"Running out of wine, are we?"

"That's neither here nor there," Barok observed, taking a sip of wine, "Though it does mean that casting this hallowed chalice at your head would be a more worthwhile use for it..."

"Yes, yes, no doubt you've the right of it, sir!" it seemed nothing could affect the detective's mood when his spirits were high, not even the threat of violence from the Reaper himself, "Anyway, as I was saying: I think a ceremony, right here, in Baker Street, would be perfect. There can be no more romantic venue than the living quarters of the greatest and most famous detective of all time! And the pleasure can be yours, my good fellow, for the nominal fee of one hundred shillings!"

A long silence drew out between the two men: Herlock stood over his guest, leaning in, with a smile on his face and hands out in fanfare while Barok stared at his host, unblinking, before finishing what remained in his chalice.

"No," he finally and bluntly replied, "I have a perfectly attractive ancestral home that can serve as a venue. Naturally, I will permit you the use of one of the cottages within the estate, and you may remain for a spell afterward on holiday if you so wish... but I won't be renting your... eccentric premises. I cannot think of a more chaotic and unappealing place to host a wedding."

Sholmes sighed, "Ah... it must be quite a challenge to be so perpetually dour! Still, I admire your tenacity Mr. Reaper!"

"... Thank you, it comes naturally."

"Well, it is settled, give me a date and time and I shall be there posthaste to wed you and your sweetheart in holy matrimony? Unholy matrimony? Oh but wait... what on earth will happen when you reach the 'til death do us part' section of the vows? Being a reaper and all!" Sholmes laughed with delight as he contemplated the absurdity of a reaper being wed.

"I'll see myself out," Barok said, leaving the detective to his amusement.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

A few months later, the date of the wedding arrived.

In somewhat unconventional fashion, Barok had selected his lawyerly nemesis, Ryūnosuke Naruhodō, to be his best man. The gesture was not lost on the young man, who took to it with his usual furtive vigour.

"Would you stop looking around like with quite such a terrified look in your eyes?" the groom said, glaring at the best man as he stood there trembling, "Anyone would think it was you getting married."

"Well... uh... yes I... um, sorry," Ryūnosuke eventually managed, "... I suppose I'm still a little surprised that you would ask me, of all people, to be your best man... not least of all given that I have no idea how British wedding ceremonies work."

"Well, happily for you this is far from a conventional one," Barok replied, "Who knows what will go wrong with that idiot detective in charge of proceedings..." it was strangely freeing, however, to know that nothing hinged on this. There were no expectant aristocrats, waiting for anything to go wrong so that they could then gossip about it for years to come; nor extended relatives to have to placate. The intimacy of the ceremony meant that the only thing Barok cared about was his beloved enjoying their day, which was a good concern to have.

"And as for choosing you to be my best man," he continued, "I think you've earned at least that much... Were it not for you, I'd no doubt be dead or transported by now."

It was still sobering to think that he'd almost been convicted of murder...

"... I'm sure you would have managed your own defence, but, I'm glad that we could all reach the truth."

"Yes..." it had been deeply cathartic in its way, perhaps just a touch more so than it had been soul shattering. If not for Ryūnosuke's impressive defence and his beloved's support, Barok was unsure what sort of a mess he would have become post-trial.

The ordeal had only cemented in his mind that this person was the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life – however long that might be. He paused as he looked down at the Prosecutor's badge he'd affixed to his suit; Klint's badge. His fingers grazed the finely enameled surface. The fact that his older brother was not here to see him wed was a tragic one, but, he had come to the conclusion that he needed to move forward rather than perpetually looking back.

No doubt Klint would want him to enjoy his day, so he ought to honour that wish.

"Uh... Lord van Zieks?" he realised Ryūnosuke was speaking.

"... You may call me Barok, Mr. Naruhodō."

"Oh... uh..." clearly that had startled him, "In... that case, please call me 'Ryūnosuke'."

"... Very well. What is it, Ryūnosuke?"

"It's time for the ceremony."

Barok took a deep breath and nodded, "... Let's go, then," it had been a long while since he felt the flutter of nerves quite like this; in fact, it reminded him of the first time he stood in a court during his studies for a mock trial full of nervous energy.

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

To his credit, Sholmes was surprisingly focused and capable in his capacity as an officiator. Barok had to give him credit for that. The proceedings were conducted with an air of sobering warmth and not even a snicker at the 'til death do you part' section. Even the exchange of rings went off without a hitch.

It was all going so well, until––

"I now pronounce you Reaper and Spouse, you may now kiss the demigod."

Barok shot a fierce glare at Sholmes, but was quickly and completely distracted by his beloved's arms around him and their lips on his. He had to lift them up so that they could reach his mouth, but that was easily and readily achieved.

Finally they parted, Barok looking at his love in a delighted stupour, "... Well," he murmured after a few moments pause, "It seems we're now wed..."

"Yes," they replied, with a beaming smile and tears rolling down their cheeks, "And I couldn't be happier..."

It took him a moment to realise that his own eyes were glassy with tears as he looked down at his delighted love; his spouse, "Nor I... You have brought such light into my life, my beloved... it may sound trite, but it's true."

"I love you, Barok," they held him close while he returned the hold in kind; everything else melting into the background as he focused on the love of his life.

"I love you too..."

#barok van zieks #request #Barok x Ors #herlock sholmes #fluff

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rax-writes · 3 years

Text

Enchanted - Part I

Fandom: The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Pairing: Caliban x Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: I’ve been thirsty for this blond bastard since he popped up in the show, so it’s about time I write for him. // So this is slightly OC, because the reader is a Spellman and it gives some backstory on that, but I still tried to keep it predominantly a reader insert.

As the only trueborn daughter of Edward Spellman, conceived during his very brief, loveless marriage to his late bride, you had grown accustomed to being treated differently. Your aunties fretted over you endlessly, despite being well aware of the fact that you were an extremely proficient witch. You were given unearned, unquestioned respect by each member of the Church of Night, as well as every witch and warlock you met. Typically, they asked you endless questions, being that your father had intended for you to be his successor, prior to his untimely death and Faustus Blackwood’s treachery-ridden rise to the position of High Priest. This meant that you had been a sponge for each and every one of Edward’s theories, teachings, and creeds, as well as his extensive knowledge of spells, conjuring, potions, and other witchcraft.

You prided yourself on being a witch of above-average skill and know-how, although that did not mean you were keen on being subjected to impromptu interviews about it all. Additionally, it seemed as though every single creature you encountered knew your father, which often meant they were twice as heaven-bent on killing you, as he had not been one to take mercy on monsters. All in all, it was rare that you were treated as you – not Edward Spellman’s daughter.

That is, until you encountered a certain self-proclaimed Prince of Hell.

Of course, you had been vehemently against Sabrina entering the Netherworld to save her boyfriend. However, you were aware that her determination knows no bounds, so she’d certainly be going with or without your approval, therefore you decided it’d be best to join her endeavor. Upon entering Hell, you, your sister, and her companions found yourselves on a somber, despondent beach, and a medley of wails filled your ears – which could only mean one thing.

“Wait, so… Hell is a beach?” Harvey inquired dubiously.

“Not quite. Hell is a vast realm, full of a myriad of abysmal regions, and this is merely one of them. In particular: the Shores of Sorrow,” you explained. This new information seemed to distress him further. Theo stood, fear in his eyes as he looked to the cages standing out on the water.

“Guys, look…. What are those?”

“They’re the souls of the damned,” you responded, in unison with another voice. At first, you thought it was some sort of echo, but quickly deduced that it was a separate voice entirely. You turned to see a man standing a short distance away on the beach, and your first thought was that he was so beautiful that he looked monumentally out of place in this dreary landscape. He was quite tall, with lovely green eyes, blonde ringlets cascading around his handsome face, and a body that looked to be hand-crafted by Aphrodite herself.

The visually pleasing stranger held searing eye contact with you as he took a few steps toward your group. He seemed intrigued by the fact that you – someone who was clearly not from Hell – was familiar with your locale.

“They drown as the tide rolls in, over and over… for all eternity,” he elaborated, as your party approached him. He surveyed your sister and her friends, then returned his eyes to you with a charming smirk. “Although, I’m certain you already knew that.”

“Hi, we’re looking for Lilith,” Sabrina stated. “Uh… Madam Satan, Queen of Hell. She’s in Pandemonium, if you happen to know the way.”

“I would be more than happy to assist anyone accompanying a woman of such intellect and ethereal beauty,” the man stated, charm dripping from his voice as his eyes remained set on you. You would not deny that he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen, but you were also conscious of the fact that you were in Hell, therefore he was almost certainly a demon – not exactly ideal dating material. So, you merely met his gaze, donning a smirk of your own, crossing your arms gracefully, and giving a slight tilt of the head to wordlessly meet the challenge posed by his advances.

“All blood flows to Pandemonium. Follow the blood-red road where it flows, and there you’ll find the throne of Hell,” he responded, after your silent exchange, as he gestured toward a small creek of blood nearby.

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, nodding. “And you are?”

“We greatly appreciate your kindness, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve no time for formalities,” you interjected. It was just as well, as the man seemed hesitant of answering her query.

“Understandable. Although, I do hope to cross paths with you again,” he admitted, then took a step forward to take your hand and bring your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. He then turned to your sister. “Never step off the road. It’s clever you’re wearing dead men’s shoes, though… any demon worth his salt can smell mortal flesh a mile away.”

The two of you shared one last, lingering look, then he slowly spun on his heel and returned his attention to the nearby elaborate sandcastle.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Sabrina said, and the five of you made your way to the flowing blood.

After a not-so-pleasant stroll through the Field of Witness, and the Forest of Torment, where you searched with Theo and Harvey as Sabrina and Roz located Dorian’s pestilential flower, as well as an excursion to a hellish version of Sabrina’s high school, you found yourselves in the throne room of Pandemonium. Lilith decided to allow Sabrina to leave with Nicholas, so long as she would crown Lilith in front of all of Hell. She agreed to do so, but as soon as the ceremony began, it was evident that the Kings were still displeased.

“And who do you propose would rule?” Lilith asked.

“Ahh,” Beelzebub responded, and it was clear that Lilith had stepped right into his trap. “All hail Caliban, Prince of Hell. Molded from the clay of the pit itself. Native son of the inferno, born to restore and rule our dark domain.”

To your surprise, the good-looking blond from the Shores of Sorrow stepped forward, clad in a different outfit, one more suitable for Hell, and smiled at your sister. “Hello again.”

“Uh… hi?”

This Caliban explained that he intended to restore stability to the Nine Realms, and ultimately, conquer the Earth to make it the tenth circle. Unsurprisingly, your sister was simply not having it. She claimed the throne as her own, shut down Caliban’s refutation, and decreed that the Infernal Court be dismissed.

As Caliban turned to go, he locked eyes with you. With a small smirk, he stated, “It appears our paths will cross again, enchantress.” He left through the colossal double-doors of the throne room, and silence befell the room, before you all left, Nicholas Scratch in tow.

Upon returning to your room for the evening, you laid in bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. Although you attempted to steer your train of thought to more important matters, such as how to help the coven and what it would mean for Sabrina to be the Queen of Hell, you found your mind veering back the dashing young “prince.” Aside from the fact that he’s a demon, and that he sought to descend Earth to chaos and enslavement, he had challenged your sister – and that simply wouldn’t do. So, you conceded that you must push your unwelcome thoughts to the side, such as how his eyes made you feel vulnerable and on fire all at once, or how pretty that alluring voice of his would sound in the bedroom…. Hell help you, you were going to need to try much harder than this.

A sudden whooshing sound and a bright light brought your attention to the corner of the room, and as the vortex of fire dissipated, you saw none other than the object of your desires standing before you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Here to berate my baby sister some more?”

“No. I am here for you.”

You sat up in the bed, then swung your legs off the side, staring at him quizzically. You noticed that Caliban eyed your attire hungrily, and you briefly thanked yourself for choosing a red silk nightie with black lace trim this evening. Opting to bask in the feeling of him undressing you with his eyes, you stood and crossed your arms over your chest – both to show resolution, and to accentuate your chest. His gaze grew ever more ravenous.

“Speak your piece, then.”

“I wish to court you,” Caliban stated coolly, that smirk of his gracing his lips.

“And why is that?”

“You have piqued my interest. Your beauty is beyond compare, and your intelligence and self-assuredness are both endearing and intriguing. I am quite taken with you,” Caliban admitted, now perusing your bedroom and investigating your elaborate bookshelves. He then turned to you, and in a few strides, he was standing in front of you, towering over you as those enthralling green eyes seemingly bore into your soul.

“Allow me to court you. I vow to do my utmost to make you happy, and keep you unquestionably…” he trailed off, bending down to hover his lips mere centimeters above yours as he finished his sentence, “... satisfied.”

You did not miss the way your breath caught in your throat as a result of his actions – nor did Caliban. It caused his smirk to widen further. Nevertheless, you squared your shoulders and looked up at him with all the confidence you could muster.

“Stand down from your attempted coup d'état of Sabrina’s place on the throne, and I will gladly court you, Caliban.”

“Although my name falling so sweetly from your lips is enough to persuade me of almost anything, I’m afraid that I cannot comply with your request, princess,” Caliban responded. “But, if bartering is the ticket to courting you, then so be it. Even if I wanted to, it is impossible for me to stop the Plague Kings’ quest to unseat Sabrina Morningstar and Lilith, but I can let you in on how they plan to do so, which will allow your sister time to prepare for it. And if the Kings or Lilith ask, you didn’t hear a word of that from me.”

You pretended to mull it over for a moment. If you were being honest, it wasn’t exactly twisting your arm to go out with someone as mind-bogglingly attractive as Caliban, so having the opportunity to do so and help Sabrina certainly seemed to be a win-win.

“I agree to your terms.”

“Excellent,” he said, his smirk changing to a toothy grin, flashing a set of perfect pearly whites. He seemed genuinely thrilled that you agreed to court him. “You may inform Sabrina that the Kings intend to evaluate her progress as Queen of Hell for a short time, and if she fails to meet their expectations, they shall send she and I on a quest to find the Unholy Regalia. Whoever is the victor shall earn a rightful place on the throne, by infernal law. So, I would advise that Sabrina watch her p’s and q’s for the next few weeks, but still prepare for the inevitable quest for the Regalia.”

“Thank you, Caliban.”

“Anything for you,” he responded, taking your hand and placing a kiss upon your knuckles, as he had earlier that day, before cradling it in both of his hands. “Now, where would you like to go for our first outing, little dove?”

“I have heard rumors of a carnival coming to town this weekend. Take me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Caliban said earnestly, then sat down languidly on the ornate velvet couch immediately behind him, and gently pulled you down to sit with him. “In the meantime, I would very much like to get to know you better, if it would please the lady.”

The remainder of the evening was spent on that very same couch, with the self-proclaimed Prince of Hell. The longer you talked, the closer you grew in proximity, until you were nestled against his side with your legs tucked underneath you, his arm draped around your shoulders. Caliban listened intently as you told him about your life, and he readily told you tales of his own past and answered all your questions. A large percentage of the conversation entailed you explaining earthly matters to the Hell-born gentleman, and he was genuinely interested in all the information you had to offer. It was incredibly refreshing for someone to be interested solely in you – not your father’s legacy.

After a while, your eyelids began to feel unbearably heavy, and eventually, you succumbed to sleep, your head falling onto his shoulder. As Caliban looked down at your sleeping figure, after sharing an invigorating, intimate night of soul-sharing, he vaguely wondered of the possibility of love for a man made of clay.

The warm, fuzzy feeling now forming in his chest was all the answer he needed.

Part II

#the chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #caliban #prince caliban #caliban x reader #caliban fan fiction #caliban fan fic #caliban fic #caliban fanfiction #caliban fanfic #prince caliban fan fiction #prince caliban fan fic #prince caliban fic #prince caliban fanfiction #prince caliban fanfic #prince caliban x reader #caliban x you #prince caliban x you #my writing

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“…War often necessitated the absence of men from their families and their homes. While we have already touched on the fact that women could exercise military leadership during such an absence, the importance of their domestic role in the context of the husbands’ or sons’ military activities is worth considering, even if the women themselves were not all directly involved in military activity. For, in their men-folk’s absence, women sometimes assumed full control over the governance of the household or estate, along with all the lands which came with it – a role which took on an added significance amongst marriages of the more powerful nobles of Western Europe whose landholdings often entailed extensive seigniorial rights.

Stephen of Blois, for instance, alluded to the power that his wife Adela had whilst he was absent on the First Crusade when he wrote that ‘I send [the wish] that you do well and dispose of your things superbly, and treat your sons and your men honorably, as befits you’. This statement reveals the lordly authority which Adela maintained as regent while Stephen was absent and which she was to retain after his early death in May 1102 – right up until she took the veil as a nun in 1120. The military authority she wielded as lord is demonstrated by the fact that she once sent a large number of knights to support her lord Louis VI (c.1081-1137) while he was fighting rebellious castellans north of Paris in 1101.

But Adela was not the only women whose regency resulted from the call to crusade: when Louis IX went on crusade he entrusted the governance of the French kingdom to his mother, Blanche of Castile, who had proven herself a reliable and effective ruler during his minority. Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204), queen of France and later England, similarly acted as regent in England for her son Richard I while he went on crusade, and was involved in mediating ecclesiastical disputes in his absence as well as in matters of governance. Likewise, Clementia of Burgundy, wife of Robert II of Flanders, held his county while he was left on the First Crusade, much like Eremburge of Maine governed the county of Anjou during her husband’s absence on crusade in 1120.

In the Holy Land the wife of Joscelin the Younger, count of Edessa (d. 1159), governed the county ably after he had been taken prisoner in 1150 – ‘far beyond the strength of a woman’, according to William of Tyre. His remark hints at the way in which medieval women who did govern well were thought by their male contemporaries to have transcended the ‘weakness’ of their sex, much like other comments regarding militant women referred to their masculine qualities in order to explain their involvement. Regardless of how well they governed, though, the key point is that it was war that forced these women to assume governing roles at home in support of their husbands or sons.

Women were also sometimes entrusted with the administration and coordination of affairs in preparation for war. Thus in 1267 the earl of Pembroke wrote to his wife, who had command over the castle of Winchester, informing her that he had sent men to help her defend the castle from attack and instructing her that she had ‘power over them all...to ordain and arrange in all things according to that which you shall see to be best to do’. More striking is a letter sent by Edward III in 1335 to three women: Margaret, widow of Edmund, earl of Kent; Marie, wife of Aymer de Valence, earl of Pembroke; and Joan, wife of one Thomas Botetourt.

In this letter Edward, who was absent fighting in Scotland, commanded these women to gather trusted advisors together in London to ‘treat and ordain on the safe custody and secure defence of our realm and people, and on resisting and driving out the foreigners’ who Edward had heard were massing warships and men at sea. The women were then ordered to ‘arm and array your people...to repel powerfully and courageously the presumptuous boldness and malice of our same enemies...if those enemies invade’. Although we do not know the extent to which these women were successful in carrying out the king’s orders, Edward nevertheless showed remarkable faith in the capacity of these women to prepare for the defence of the realm in his absence – certainly no small task.

Another particularly important arena in which women could directly aid the military effort was through their efforts to help finance and raise money for wars within Western Europe and the Holy Land. Funding for military campaigns was raised in many different ways – taxation, general donations, mortgaging or selling property – and women formed an important part of this process, especially when it came to paying for costly crusades to the East. We have already seen how Pope Innocent III, at the turn of the thirteenth century, began to make greater allowances for women to accompany their husbands on crusade or take a crusade vow if they were able to take armed followers with them to the Holy Land, but what really freed up this process was the promulgation of Innocent III’s decretal Quia maior in April 1213 (which pronounced the Fifth Crusade).

Quia maior stipulated regular liturgical processions of men and women, during which the participants would hear sermons, receive some degree of remission of sins just for listening (according to an earlier letter of Innocent), and pray for God to deliver the Holy Land. Furthermore, it promoted greater financial participation by making it possible for women to finance male warriors to go in their place and also specified monthly Church collections to which men and women could contribute. Perhaps most importantly, Quia maior decreed that anyone of either sex who so chose could take a crusade vow and might redeem or commute it if necessary (in return for a monetary payment), thus widening the number of people who might contribute financially to the crusade movement.

Later papal policy expanded this practise by enforcing the payment of vow redemptions if crucesignati (the legal term used to signify someone who had taken a vow) did not leave on crusade. As far as women are concerned there seems to be not enough evidence to gauge how much they actually contributed to the overall amount of money collected from redemptions, or even how much was collected in the first place. Nevertheless, Innocent’s reforms certainly allowed women to take on a greater financial and spiritual role in supporting the crusades, even if their circumstances prevented them from going on crusade in person.

Vow redemptions were, however, only one means by which women could provide monetary assistance. Often more financially taxing were instances in which women were forced to sell their husbands’ property or mortgage dower lands, which left some destitute and others fighting in the courts for their property rights, as Christopher Tyerman has explored in the case of English women. At other times, women helped contribute funds collectively, especially in the case of poorer crusaders who had to rely more on donations from the whole family, in which case the selling and mortgaging of property was again the most common way of financing a family member for war.

Similarly, women who had control over a significant source of income could play a key role in helping finance men on crusade: Hodgson, for instance, cites the examples of Marie of Champagne and Blanche of Castile, both of whom acted as regents and sent money to their sons while they were crusading in the Holy Land, but has also noted other women whose large dower was a key financial source for crusade expeditions. Another more indirect means by which women could assist the continuing military struggle in the Holy Land came from the revenues of female convents associated with the recently founded military orders, of which part went towards financing the latter’s activities in the East (although these payments were not large and varied from one house to another depending on each convent’s financial means).

Finally, we cannot discount the role female taxpayers may have had in helping pay for war, although again it is very difficult to discern how much women contributed in this regard, since the head of the household (the eldest male) was the one who paid taxes and who thus appeared in tax records. The only women to appear were those active in an independent trade of their own or who were widowed and lived in a house in which no male heirs were also residing, though such women only seem to have made up a small proportion of taxpayers.

Thus, even if most or all tax revenue before the sixteenth century went towards financing war, as has been argued in the case of England, the percentage of the revenue that came directly from female taxpayers would have been much less than that of male taxpayers (though both sexes were adversely affected by the effects of high taxation in times of war). Considering all of the means by which women could contribute financially, therefore, it is reasonable to assume that Western European women were a substantial source of finances for military campaigns, especially for the crusades, although the precise extent to which this assistance actually contributed towards the success of these campaigns is hard to quantify.

Women’s enthusiasm for war and their recruitment efforts formed another facet of their home front involvement. This is one area where women may not have always acted in support of their men, and instead actively tried to discourage their men from leaving, hence the actions of such women are worth exploring as they could have influenced the number of men who went to war. The chances of women successfully preventing men’s involvement in warfare appear highest in the case of the crusades because, although wives’ emotional responses to their husbands’ departure could not prevent the latter from leaving, canon law stipulated both husband and wife required each other’s consent before leaving to go on crusade.

Thus women were, for a period, legally able to veto their husbands’ decision to participate. To what extent women were successful at doing so is not entirely clear – some of those who preached the crusade appear to have felt women were among the ones preventing the crusades from being successful, although after Pope Innocent III issued his decretal Ex multa in 1201, which removed the requirement for men to obtain their wives consent before leaving, they would have had little cause for further concern. These developments suggest that some women, at least up until 1201, were successful in stopping men from leaving, but it is hard to say for certain.

Emotional distress at the departure of loved ones on crusade may have played a role though: Odo of Deuil noted that there were tears on the part of women when the Second Crusade departed, as did Ambroise before the Third Crusade. Some years earlier Fulcher of Chartres elaborated at greater length on the sorrow before the First Crusade: ‘Oh what grief there was! What sighs, what weeping, what lamentation among friends when husband left his wife so dear to him, his children, his possessions however great...Then husband told wife the time he expected to return...He commended her to the Lord, kissed her lingeringly, and promised her as she wept that he would return.’

Departure scenes such as this one, it has been argued, were deliberately used by chroniclers to portray the crusades as a male affair in which women were not expected to participate. Certainly, such an account does reinforce conventional gender stereotypes: the emotionally controlled, pious husband, and the overwhelmed, irrational wife unable to maintain her composure. Nevertheless, it is not unreasonable to assume that some women would have been reluctant for their men to depart and upset if the latter eventually did, although we cannot know the extent of their influence on limiting the numbers of men on crusade.

At the same time, medieval women also seem to have encouraged and even recruited men for war. Thus the author of the Itinerarium Peregrinorum asserted that ‘Brides urged their husbands and mothers incited their sons to go, their only sorrow being that they were not able to set out with them because of the weakness of their sex’. Although gender stereotyping is again evident in the way women’s ‘weakness of sex’ is said to have prevented them from leaving, there are some actual examples of women who tried to persuade men to fight. Adela of Blois, for instance, is well-known for her efforts to persuade her husband Stephen to return to the Holy Land after he deserted and came home during the difficult siege of Antioch in 1098.

Similarly, Alice de Montfort was active in recruiting men, notably her brother (the Constable of France) during the Albigensian crusade, as was, supposedly, Eleanor of Aquitaine before the Second Crusade. Riley-Smith, too, has also discussed women, notably the Montlhéry sisters in the Île-de-France, whom he feels ‘transmitted an enthusiasm for crusading to the families into which they married’ and which can help ‘account for the concentrations of crusaders in certain kindred’ during the early crusades. Of course, whilst the genealogical preponderance of crusaders in certain families does not prove for certain that women necessarily had anything to do with recruiting or persuading men to fight, the examples given above do suggest that we should not discount their possible influence.

Lastly, it is also worth considering the role which urban women active in certain trades had in supplying various resources used in military affairs. For although most women were active in the textile and cloth-making industries during the Middle Ages, there were apparently some who worked sharpening tools and making scabbards for swords and knives, and others who even trained in arms manufacture (making chain mail and fletching strings to bows) – definitely a trade that would have thrived on war. Admittedly, the numbers of women engaged in such crafts were very few and their likely effect on military affairs slight. Accordingly, we should not make too much of their employment or we risk over-emphasising their contribution. All the same, they do at least serve to draw attention to other more indirect means by which women on the ‘home front’ may have supported the whole industry of war by supplying military goods and services.

- James Michael Illston, ‘An Entirely Masculine Activity’? Women and War in the High and Late Middle Ages Reconsidered

#james michael illston #military #crusades #history #high middle ages #late middle ages #noblewomen #medieval

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Until Yesterday

➜ Words: 10.4k

➜ Genres: 75% Fluff, 22% Angst, 3% Smut

➜ Summary: You and Taehyung are hopeless as you are hopeless romantics. But five months after tying the knot and saying "I do", you're hospitalized after a car accident with him. But upon waking up, the doctors tell you that you don't have a husband.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie The Vow (2012) and a bit of The Notebook (2004). This is purely an indulgent fic for all my hopeless romantics out there, so it’s a bit different from my usual!

cr.

Marriage was nothing like they told you. It’s true that not much has changed from when you were dating or engaged, that merely the title of your relationship has slightly altered, but you have no regrets doing it at all. They always told you to wait until the honeymoon phase was over — that you'll find yourself tired and driven crazy by him. They told you to wait a few years down the line when you’re not having sex anymore and you’ll be so sick of each other, it’ll be like living with an awful roommate-child than being a couple in love. You’ll be bored when something becomes a normal routine, they said. But it isn’t like that at all. If anything, you’re more in love with Taehyung than ever. “We should put the couch right here.” “Well, we need to buy a couch first, Tae.” “Didn’t you like the leather one we saw today?” “I mean...I didn’t love it and it’s a bit pricey, don’t you think?” “It’s fine. Leave it to me and the bank account!” The blonde grins and pats his own chest and it only garners your scoff. “I’ll take care of you. It’s the least I can do.” “I make the same as you, idiot.” It took years of hard work and dedication for the two of you to get to where you are, to have landed your dream jobs and built your dream house together. But of all the sweat and tears, you wouldn’t trade the outcome for anything else. The house was newly built in a developing neighbourhood, the scent of cut wood and paint still lingering in each room. The white picket fence surrounds the seashell home with the dark brown roof, glass windows large and bringing light into the open concept structure along with the skylights. It has the cherry wood door reminiscent to that of your old dollhouse and a swing out back tied to the tree that Taehyung wanted. It was all the two of you could’ve ever dreamed of and you’re eager to move in, to bring in your furniture and allow this home to grow with you. “Why is the master bedroom larger than I remembered?” Taehyung’s laugh echoes down the hall and you hear footsteps becoming louder against the wooden floorboards. “Maybe the construction team came in during the middle of the night and expanded the room for us for free.” “Yeah maybe,” you playfully quip back at him. “Maybe they’ll consider expanding our backyard too, so we can put that marble fountain in. It might cost more than this house, but you said I could trust in you and the bank account, right?” Taehyung peels you off of him when you glue yourself to his side and giggle. Batting your lashes at him has little effect. “Fountain is still a no-go, sweetheart.” You grin at him and waltz to the adjacent room, peeking your head into the modest space. “We still need to decide what to do with this spare room, Taehyung. If we want to turn it into another bedroom for when your mom visits or maybe an office.” Suddenly, arms wrap around your waist and you ease as your husband props his chin on your shoulder. It’s one of his many habits of his that you love. “How about we save it for a nursery?” The corner of your mouth quirks and you turn your head. “Are you sure?” “As sure if you are.” You spin around in his arms to plant a kiss against his mouth — one where Taehyung steals the opportunity and deepens it, catching you off guard. He pulls you in by your waist when you threaten to pull apart and he smiles at the whimper that comes out of you. When the pair of you finally part, you’re unable to resist the smile that spreads into your cheeks and your arms loop around his neck. “Kim Taehyung, aren’t you blessed? There’s no one I’d rather have a baby with than you.” His mouth forms into a rectangular grin. “You shouldn’t tempt me when we’re going to be late for our reservations already.” “Late?” Your lips fall and you check your watch before your eyes grow wide. Taehyung laughs and strolls behind you as you rush out, grabbing your coat and screaming at him to get the car started. It’s another one of those date nights. One where intimate conversations are shared over a candlelight dinner. Until Taehyung accidentally catches the tablecloth on fire and the candlelight is removed by an exasperated waiter and the intimacy in your discussion ends up with him doing something dumb and water nearly spewing out of your nose from laughing, and the other patrons are glaring at the ruined atmosphere. Still, with a generous tip paid, you leave full and happy. “Anything you want to watch tonight?” you ask as he’s driving. It’s peaceful with the roads emptier at this time of night and the radio playing some generic pop song in the back. You count the lamp posts that pass by. “Hmm...how about we do something else tonight.” Your head turns. “Like what?” Taehyung steals a glance at you and smirks. “I was thinking that we would drive back to the new house and break in that mattress we just got. Maybe get that kid you were talking about.” You scoff, looking straight out the windshield as you feel your face heat. Even after so many years with him, he still knew what to say to affect you. “It’s not that easy, you know, and that mattress is still wrapped in the living room.” “It’s fine. Better start now than later. And it’s our house, we can taint it however we want to.” It doesn’t take much for you to agree — and you do so in the midst of laughter. You shamelessly stare at Taehyung’s profile, the strands of his blonde hair that desperately needs a trim, his long lashes that you’ve always been envious of, the slope of his nose and his thin lips that always knows how to kiss you right. Taehyung’s thick brow cocks when he notices your blatant staring, but you don’t care. You’re just filled with joy and at a loss for words at how he’s with you. He’s yours. The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to pay mind to the car behind you. To the piercing beam lights. The wheels that screech against the asphalt. The sheer speed of the vehicle and recklessness of the intoxicated driver. So when the rear of the car is slammed into and you both lurch forward into the intersection of the road, it’s a shock. // The white fluorescent burns your eyes. It’s hard to see and you can’t feel your body. Not even your fingers that begin to twitch. You’re disoriented and delirious, not sure what day it is, how long you’ve been out, where exactly you are. It’s all muddled in your mind. All you can discern is a constant rhythm of beeping beside you and the odour of disinfect filling your senses. You’re scared — but you’re overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung. Taehyung. You jolt in your spot and the rhythm of the machine quickens until it’s like an alarm, sounding aloud and making you panic even more. But then there’s a rush of people entering the room, white coats and scrubs checking the machines and lines hooked up from you. “Ms. Y/N, I am doctor Jeon.” There’s a man looking down at you and you blink blearily at him. “You’ve been in a coma for three days now. Is there anyone we can call for you?” “M-My husband,” you cry out with a parched throat. The doctor looks to the nurse but she frowns and shakes her head. “The patient doesn’t have a husband.” You don’t have a husband? At once, sobs wrack through your entire body and you thrash despite the aches in your bones and your ankle wrapped in bandages. The doctor and nurse are alarmed and you choke out the words— “I-Is he okay? Is he dead?” “Ma’am,” the doctor calmly says, “you were the only one injured on the scene.” Before you can utter a word, a man comes from the doorway. His hair is dark, matching the hue lined underneath his exhausted eyes. His features are soft and evidently tired like he hasn’t slept in the past few days. You don’t know who he is but he stares right at you — and then a relieved smile draws upon his features, one that is too comfortable and familiar. “Y/N?” His voice is deeper than expected and he closes the distance. The nurse is visibly confused, but he quickly introduces, “I’m her partner, Min Yoongi.” You recoil back before he can touch you, even when the hurt comes across his expression. “I-I’m sorry.” You don’t know who he is. “I think you have the wrong person.”

It’s hard to cope — your entire universe has been flipped upside down and you don’t know what to think. Suddenly by opening your eyes, your entire life has been swept from underneath your feet. Everything that you loved and cared about is gone. And you’re left alone to deal with it. “I-I remember being with my husband. We were driving back from dinner and planning to take a detour to the new house, but then a car rear-ended us and we were brought out into the intersection,” you recall. But the doctor’s brows furrow. “I see. Well, I can tell you that you weren’t in a car accident, Ms. Y/N. You were injured after falling down the flight of stairs at the subway station. You’ve been in a coma for three days.” It doesn’t make any sense and you squeeze your temples. But it hurts. Everything feels like a dream, like you’re floating and not truly grounded in reality. Your surroundings are hazy and you wonder if this is just a hallucination — a very frightening one, a world where Taehyung doesn’t exist. “What year was the car accident?” the doctor asks suddenly and you exhale, trying to remember the date. “It was late January of 2016.” “Ms. Y/N, it’s 2020 right now.” It’s a shock through your system. At first, you sputter, choking on your own spit. The doctor is kind enough to give you a moment but when you press your hand to your chest, you wince at the bruises around your wrist. Then you open your mouth and close it, finding yourself rendered absolutely speechless. Your brain is melting into itself and you have an urge to get up and scream. “What?” “It looks like you have a four year memory gap,” Doctor Jeon says as if he’s prescribing you with cold medication and if you weren’t bedridden, you might just throttle him to the floor. “It’s okay, these things happen with your sort of injury. It should be fine and only temporary. You can get your memory jogging again after looking at mementos, pictures, or talking to the right people.” “Anyways, we’ll keep you here for a few more days just to monitor that head injury, but it looks like your ankle is healing nicely. There’s no cause for concern, really.” The doctor ends up leaving and you repress the urge to cry again. You don’t know where Taehyung is and you miss him. // Your so-called partner appears days later to help with your hospital discharge and pack up your belongings. You learn his name is Min Yoongi and that he’s two years older than you are. He works as a car mechanic in a shop and you’ve apparently been with him for a whole year. Yet, you can’t help but stay guarded, watching him from the corner with your arms crossed while you try to decipher his impassive expression. The man is quiet, but not in an angry or frightening way. He never asks you questions, makes demands out of you or once appears exasperated with your distant behaviour. He seems gentle somehow. You wonder what your relationship with him was like. “T-Thank you,” you murmur as he packs the slippers he had brought for you into the duffle bag. Min Yoongi turns his head and the corner of his mouth pulls into an oddly warm smile. His voice is husky when he says, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just happy to see you walking around again.” You’re taken aback. You aren’t used to receiving this kind of love and affection from someone other than Taehyung and from a stranger no less. It makes you unsettled. Conflicted. The car ride is smooth. Yoongi helps you into your seat and buckles you in without making you speak much of a word. You’re not sure where you’re going, but you spend your time looking out at the window and taking in what you’ve missed for four years, or rather what your mind no longer recalls. Luckily, it seems like the world hasn’t changed too much. The streets are familiar, lined with lamp posts and bike racks. There are different billboards and some buildings you don’t recognize, but it looks like many things have stayed the same. The street names, avenues and boulevards, the people jogging and walking their dogs — it hasn’t changed. “Hey, Tae—” Except for the person driving beside you. You turn your head and blood drained from your face, realizing that it’s not your husband you’re sitting beside. “N-Never mind.” There’s a moment of quiet. Then Yoongi’s lips part. “It’s okay.” He glances at you and your eyes meet. “It’s okay,” he repeats with a small smile that makes you even more burdened. The apartment is modest yet cozy. A living room with cushions out of place and souvenirs on the shelves next to the television. The kitchen is to the left, cups in the sink and refrigerator haphazardly filled with take out boxes. It’s lived in, full of memories that you don’t have. But above all, you notice there’s only one bedroom and there are male belongings assorted with yours. Shaving cream. Gel. Cologne. “You live here?” you ask Yoongi, coming to the living room where he was giving you a chance to look around for yourself, perhaps hoping that you would remember something. “We live together,” he corrects with a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. I’m planning on staying at a friend’s place, so you don’t have to worry about me being here if that makes you uncomfortable.” “You…” Your mouth opens before closing, startled at how considerate he is. “You don’t have to. I mean, this place is yours too. It seems unfair if I kick you out. You should...stay.” Yoongi smiles and you shy away from his attention. “I...might not be comfortable sharing a bed with you though…” “Okay.” He nods. “I can take the couch.” That night, you lay awake in the foreign bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. It feels like you’ve been asleep for four years anyways, although it’s technically only been three days. Your brain is swimming in confusion. You’re not sure what to think. One moment you were with Taehyung and the next, you don’t have him beside you anymore and you’re with someone else. Taehyung…. You reach over to the nightstand and switch on the lamp. A dim yellow light softly fills the room and you begin to truly investigate your surroundings. On a pinboard near the door are pictures of you and Yoongi, selfies taken where you’re both smiling with one another, one of you at a carnival and another at an aquarium. The vanity drawer holds jewelry that you don’t recognize, perhaps ones that Yoongi had bought for you. Your phone contains grocery lists and miscellaneous notes that make no sense. There’s nothing on your social media, no connection, nothing once you search his name up. All you discover is work-related things in your calendar, more pictures of you and Yoongi and affectionate texts between the two of you. There’s no trace of Taehyung whatsoever. But when you dig into the closet and find a box at the top shelf hidden away, your answer is found. It’s inside a box of paperwork — school awards, certificates of achievements, evidence of your first paycheck, your birth certificate, social security papers, and divorce papers. You and Taehyung got divorced in April 2018. Two years and eight months after getting married. And it’s been a year and ten months since. The paper crumples underneath your hands and you gather your knees together on the floor as quiet sobs break through you once again. You don’t know what happened. Where it all went wrong. // When morning comes, you hope the swelling and redness of your eyes from crying so much isn’t noticeable. If it is, Yoongi doesn’t say anything and only regards you with a gentle smile. “I was going to stay home today, but I thought it might be overwhelming for you,” he says before you can protest otherwise, “so I’ll be at work. Take it easy, okay? You can call me anytime you want for anything. My number is in your phone.” You nod. “Thank you, Yoongi.” His smile is sweet. “I already told you, it’s not a problem.” But half an hour after Yoongi leaves, you prepare for your own departure. Hobbling with your weight on one foot and off the one with your injured ankle, you grab a coat and the car keys laying on the counter. It takes a moment to figure out which one is your vehicle in the lot but you find it after pressing the panic button. It looks brand new — apparently recently repaired and the reason why you had to take the subway and how you got your head injury in the first place. It might be wrong to leave without giving a warning to Yoongi, especially when he’s so worried about you, but you can’t stay idle at the apartment. You can’t sit still. You need answers. You drive to the house — turning down the familiar streets and roads before coming into the neighbourhood that feels like you had been in just a week ago when it’s probably been years. But you don’t recognize it anymore. It's more developed than you last remembered. What once were empty lots have other homes built. All the sidewalks are paved, there’s an elementary school down the avenue, a new playground that shines, neighbours that have moved in. What hasn’t changed is the house itself. There’s still the white picket fence that surrounds the seashell white home, a shade you had personally picked yourself when building it. The roof is a dark brown and the front door cherry wood. The glass windows are large with baby blue curtains and you wonder if there’s still the swing in the backyard…. You get out of the car, feeling your emotions swell up to your throat and your eyes becoming watery as you gave upon the house. This was the place you had built with Taehyung. The place you both had planned to live in for years. The place you wanted to raise your kids, grow old and retire in. It was perfect. The combination of your dreams. Where did it all go wrong? You close the distance, limping up the path to the door and knocking on it. After a moment, you ring the doorbell properly. But even then, there are no answers and you notice that the Kim nameplate under the mailbox is gone. Of course. It’s been over four years after all. You cross the street back to your car again, but not before catching sight of a woman bringing groceries up her driveway and towards her own house. “Um, excuse me.” She turns at your voice, brows lifted. “Do you happen to know who lives there?” You point to what was once your home. But unfortunately, she shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. I know that house has been sold a few times and the owners have recently changed again.” “Oh. Thank you.” It’s hard to leave the house behind you, but you keep your foot on the gas pedal and drive, never glancing out the rear-view mirror in fear of bursting into tears again. You still have more questions than answers, so your next destination becomes downtown where Taehyung’s engineering firm is. The two of you had met in school, back when you were awkward and chasing after your ambitions of being a chemical engineer like your aunt while for him, he wanted to take his childhood lego dreams to the max and become a civil engineer. Your neck hurts to look at the top of the skyscraper, the many windows reflecting the bright sunlight into your eyes and blinding your vision. If there was any place where you could find Taehyung, it would be here. It’s his dream job. What he had wanted for so long and legitimately cried when he found out he got a position at. You remember that day, how proud you felt of him for achieving such a goal. But when you approach the receptionist at the lobby’s desk, her response only fires the confusion further. “Sorry. We don’t have a Kim Taehyung working here. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?” You miss him. And you wonder at what point, he wasn’t a part of your life anymore. // In an attempt to find Taehyung, you contact your friends and work your way down your list of contacts on your phone. They’re happy to hear from you, some even knowing about your accident and asking if you’re alright. But when you ask about Taehyung, they tell you that they haven’t spoken to him since the divorce. That they’ve lost contact. That the months leading up to it, the two of you were distant from them and they’re unsure of the reasons for what had happened. It was frankly unexpected. “You always told me it wasn’t any of my business, dear,” your mother says over the phone. “You actually got quite upset when I asked, so after a while I didn’t anymore. Do you want to talk to your dad? He’s watching the news right now.” “No.” You press your temples, holding in your sigh. “It’s fine.” Frustration overwhelms you. No matter where you turn, you can’t seem to get the reasons for yourself. You can’t find him. “Is the take out okay?” At once, you’re snapped out of your thoughts and you lift your head to meet kind, cat-like eyes staring at you. “It’s good,” you try to smile and nod. He seems to sense how disconnected you are. “I’ll learn how to cook. I know you like carbonara, so maybe I can find a recipe this weekend and try to make it, so we don’t have to eat out all the time.” You stare at the man across from you. How tired he seems, his dark hair shagging in front of his forehead, his downcast head facing his food as his fork scrapes against the bottom container, never quite taking a full bite. Yet whenever your eyes meet, his plump lips always tugs into a small smile and his eyes crinkle. “I’m sorry.” Yoongi’s brows lift at the sudden apology. “What for?” “For not remembering you.” Even if Min Yoongi is a stranger, you can feel how intimate the pair of you used to be by the photographs you’ve seen, by the way he still regards you. You feel guilty for not being able to return his affections. “It’s fine. It’ll come back with time, right? Don’t stress out about it too much. It won’t do you any good.” “Yoongi.” You have his attention by the way you say his name like he hasn’t heard it uttered from your lips in quite a while. “I went searching for my...ex-husband today.” It’s foreign to call Taehyung that. It’s unsettling and makes you uncomfortable. But your eyes never divert from Yoongi’s. “I need answers.” “I know,” he murmurs in a low voice, still playing with his food. As intimidating as he might appear on the surface, you’re quickly learning how considerate and soft-spoken he really is. “And I want you too. I don’t want you to have any regrets. I want you to know you’ve made the right choice by being with me.” Your heart squeezes at his thoughtful nature and you sigh lightly before stuffing your mouth with some of the noodles, trying to alleviate the tension. “You’re a good man, Yoongi.” He chuckles, gummy smile emerging for the first time that you can recall. “Maybe that’s why you chose me in the first place.” // The avenue is nostalgic, a street that you and Taehyung spent many dates at with its cheap street food and cute stores. And when you were both working, it was the halfway point between your workplaces and where you’d meet to have lunch on those special occasions. A few things have altered from when you remembered them, the stationery shop closed and that ice-cream parlor changed into a pancake café instead. But for the most part, it remains the same. You aren’t sure what you’re doing here. Of all your ways and methods in searching for Taehyung, even you know that it’s unlikely you’ll find him on a Tuesday morning at such an obscure location. But it’s where you’re drawn too, where your body told you to go and your mind followed. Otherwise, you’re not sure what to do anymore or how you should contact him. You wonder if it’s too drastic to drive hours away to visit his mom on the off chance that she’s still living in the same place after four years. If she moved, the journey would be for nothing. But even then, if you somehow found him and reached out, would he even be willing to talk to you? A sigh escapes your parted lips. You tilt your head up to the sky, wondering where on earth he is. And in your reverie, you fail to notice the strapping brunette humming to the music he’s listening to. Not until your shoulder collides with his as he’s walking the opposite way. But instead of an apology spilling from your mouth, you’re interrupted by a call of your name— “Y/N?” It's shock that has taken hold of his expression. His hand rips out his earphones and the loud music becomes silenced from his world. With the way he looks at you, it would be like he’s seen a ghost. A stranger from his past. In your mind, it’s only been a week since you’ve seen him. And you’ve been missing him so much. On sheer instinct, you wrap your hand around his wrist, afraid to let go. “Taehyung.” // It’s awkward, the stiff air almost suffocating your lungs. You’re sure that the first date wasn’t even as bad as this. But you don’t mind whatsoever, even if he’s shifting uncomfortably at the intent way you stare and how it makes him break out into a sweat. Even if Taehyung hates you now, as long as you can see him like this, it’s enough to bear. Taehyung clears his throat, diverting his vision elsewhere. “So….you look like you’ve been well.” “Not really,” you murmur. Taehyung is still a man of intense habit. His drink order hasn’t changed, a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. At the same exact coffee shop since you were dating. And he’s taken the same table in the corner of the shop too, the spot of your many study dates. It’s these habits that have led you back to him. “I heard you weren’t working at the engineering firm anymore,” you say after another tense pause. Taehyung’s brows curiously raise. “I haven’t been working there in years. You knew about it.” “Did I?” He’s wary that you can’t recall. “Yeah….” “What are you doing now?” “I’m in animation.” Your eyes widen, surprised. “I never knew you could animate— well, I knew you could draw, but you never even watched much animation.” Taehyung shrugs. “It’s a good fit. I didn’t know I’d like it either until I tried.” Your expression softens, a tender smile pulling into your cheeks. Taehyung’s gotten older but in a refined way. His hair is back to its natural colour, a few wrinkles set into his skin but his features are sharper and less rounded and boyish. He seems less mischievous and irresponsible too, a little more mature and quiet. Or maybe he’s reserved because you’re his ex-wife. The thought makes you nauseous. He sips his drink. “So...what have you been doing?” “Not great. I recently got into an accident, Taehyung.” That seems to grab his attention and his eyes become rounded while you brace yourself. “Apparently I fell down a flight of stairs at the subway station and I was in a coma for three days.” “Oh shit. That...must’ve sucked. I...I’m sorry to hear that.” “I’m fine now.” You pause, clear your throat. “But the last thing I remember is us, Taehyung. We were planning to spend the night at the new house and we got hit by that car…” “I remember.” He nods slowly and murmurs, “But the accident wasn’t that bad, Y/N. We were only bumped.” “I don’t remember that,” you tell, earnest eyes connected with his that makes him believe you. Even after all this time apart, Taehyung can still tell when you’re lying and telling the truth. Your voice raises in pitch, in frustration and exasperation. “And...and I’m trying to understand how this happened. I’m trying to understand how we…..how we ended up divorced.” Taehyung’s brows furrow and he fiddles with the paper cup. “What’s there to tell? We fell out of love.” “That doesn’t make any sense!” Your shrill voice garners the attention of other patrons, but you don’t pay mind to them. “We got married and were planning to have kids and we just built a house in a new neighbourhood—” “We lost that house.” Taehyung doesn’t look at you. His downcast head allows his eyes to stay on the floor. He looks small — shoulders slugging and frame slumped. “I lost my job and then we lost the house. It went downhill from there and one day, you couldn’t do it anymore and packed your bags. You were the one who divorced me, Y/N.” You’re stunned, unable to get a single word out at the revelation he’s given you. An answer to your questions that you had never expected. That you didn’t want to hear. Taehyung’s eyes are saddened and he never once meets your gaze. “You’ll remember sooner or later. I’m sorry this happened to you, Y/N. I really am. But it was still nice to see you.” He gets up before you can protest, leaving as fast as he came into your life again. // Yoongi arrives home visibly tired, his hair in a disarray and his navy workwear stained with oil and grease. Still, he greets you with a warm, sleepy smile that you still aren’t used to. “I saw my ex today,” you tell him during dinner, breaking the silence by deciding to be open and honest. It at least alleviates some of the guilt weighing on your chest. “I found him coincidentally.” Yoongi’s eyes flicker up, peeking at you. “How did it go?” “It didn’t help. I’m still confused.” You can’t understand why you would ever leave him, even if you lost the house and he lost his job. It didn’t make any sense. “Do you know anything about the divorce, Yoongi? Did I….ever tell you anything?” “You told me that he was pathetic,” he informs but without any malice like he’s simply stating facts. “He was unemployed for two years and didn’t get off his ass to find a job. Hey, your words, not mine.” The corner of your mouth curls even when you’re still stupefied. “Are you alright, Y/N?” An exhale leaves your lips. “I’m not sure.” That night, you find another box in the closet while alone in the bedroom. There are pictures of you and Taehyung from when you were younger and just friends, small mementos like movie tickets and keychains won at arcades while you were dating, and photographs of the wedding day, the two of you with enormous smiles and swollen cheeks. But they’re buried underneath your belongings with Yoongi. // His expression is one of repulsion, like he bit into a lemon or something bitter. But you don’t pay any attention to it. “What are you doing here?” Taehyung is incredulous to see you in the morning, standing in the same café as if you own the place. “I’ve been waiting since eight,” you complain and he repeats his question with increasing skepticism. You suppose it’s not everyday your ex-wife is waiting to run into you, so you don’t blame him for his apprehension. “I’m trying to understand how the two of us got divorced. I know this is probably really weird since for you, I’ve shown out of nowhere after two years.” “You think?” You ignore his playful quip. “But for me, my last memory is still going on that date night and getting into that car accident.” Before Taehyung can utter a word, the barista is calling him as the next person in line. “Can I get—” A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. “A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” he says without missing a beat and your mouth tugs into a smile. Lots of things may have changed in the time that you no longer remember, but the fact of how constant he is comforts you greatly. You wait with Taehyung at the counter, feeling his eyes glancing at you every so often. When your eyes meet, he realizes he’s been caught staring. “Once I remember again and make sense of the situation, I’ll leave you alone,” you say even if it hurts, but the last thing you want is to be burdensome to Taehyung. “I just want to understand and get over it and move on like you have.” Taehyung sighs, never saying a word. He picks up his drink and you follow along with him, quietly as to not disrupt the comfortable silence between the both of you. He walks down the street and enters the modest grocery store, beelining to the deli to pick up a ham sub. But he notices your quirked brow. “What?” “No.” You shake your head. “Just reminds me of uni. You used to eat those too. Same brand and everything.” The man scoffs lightly, but he knows. You’ve pointed it out to him many times in the past that he has a tendency to stick to specific habits — the odd quirks that you once said you loved about him. “Like what?” he had once asked when you mentioned it. “Like you always put your beverages on your left side and you chug half a glass of water before going to bed and you always close the entire toilet when you’re done going to the bathroom and you have the same brand of cereal every morning and after you sneeze, you always scratch your nose every time,” you had said in the midst of giggles and then lifted yourself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. They’re cute and it’s part of why I love you.” The two of you walk together down the street. The early morning air is crisp and chilly, slightly nipping at his nose. He grips his drink still steaming to warm his hand and Taehyung can’t help stealing a glance at you, wondering if you’re cold too. “How’d you get started into animation?” “Huh? Oh. Well, if you really want to know then after you packed your bags and dumped me, it was a pretty good wake up call.” Taehyung laughs as if he’s recalling a funny memory, but then his expression softens, touched with sorrow. “I decided to get myself picked back up and get a job. They liked my personality enough at the interview to give me a chance. At first I didn’t know what I was doing, but I learned and I like it a lot.” He turns his head when your silence is prolonged. But his eyes widen when he finds your tender smile. “I’m happy for you, Taehyung.” And you really are — even in spite of him not technically being a part of your life anymore. // The next day, Taehyung is not any more impressed to see you there at the café. You enthusiastically smile and wave at him. And when the barista calls the two of you in the line, you have no hesitation. “Can I get a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings? And just an iced americano for me.” Taehyung eyes you when you pay and stroll to the other counter to wait. “Don’t you have a job to go to?” “I’m still technically in recovery and it’s not like I can work if my head’s a mess.” Taehyung scoffs lightly. “What do you want to know this time?” He can tell by the look in your eye that there are questions on the tip of your tongue. And when you take out a whole laundry list like it’s things you need to buy at a grocery store, a rectangular grin plasters on his face. Taehyung wouldn’t expect any less of you. “Hey, I was thinking about it all night, alright? I was afraid I was going to forget so I wrote it down.” He leans over to look at the list but you move away. “Don’t peek.” “Okay, okay.” He laughs and gestures for you to start. “First question. What did I say before I left?” You look at him, eyes meeting his. “What were my exact reasons for the divorce?” He hums a low note, staring off into the distance. “I don’t remember well. You called me a motherfucker though,” Taehyung chuckles and becomes solemn. “Probably something along the lines that I’ve stopped trying and that you were leaving. There was a lot of crying and screaming. I…..don’t really like to think about it.” There’s a pause and you clear your throat, paper in your hand crinkling and forgotten. “Why didn’t you ever do anything to stop it?” A sigh leaves his lips and he runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m an idiot. But it’s not like I could’ve forced you to stay with me.” “I’m sure if you had said something, I would’ve stayed.” Taehyung’s smile is meek and sad, not at all like how it usually is. You wonder just how much you hurt him, how much you hurt each other. “A lot can happen in two years, Y/N.” A lot can happen in the two years they were apart too. “Have you been seeing anyone?” “No. I haven’t,” he says. It’s a question that tumbled out of you, one not on the list. // The evening comes and you hear the front door open and shut. Immediately, you call out from the kitchen, “Hey!” Yoongi emerges from the hall with another tired smile. “Hey.” “I got takeout for us,” you say while heating said food up. “How was work? Busy again?” “A little.” The man comes closer to see what you’ve bought but before he’s able to assess, he mindlessly leans in and plants a soft kiss against your cheek. You instantaneously freeze, the muscles in your body becoming rigid and tense, and Yoongi realizes. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit.” He pulls away, disheartened and guilt wells up in your throat. “It’s okay.” Yoongi nods and he shrugs off his coat, walking back towards the hall to hang it up, but you stop him before your conscience can berate you, before you hurt him further— “I saw him again. This morning.” He halts. He stands still as you watch his backside. The both of you know who you’re referring to. “How was it?” Yoongi inquires hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he even should. “It was good,” you murmur. “I got a few more answers.” His head turns, the black strands of his hair sweeping against his forehead. Yoongi’s gentle eyes are glossed over, his tone low and husky as he quietly asks, “Can’t you get answers without seeing him?” “I…..I’m sorry, Yoongi.” You divert your vision, but from the corner, you can see the way his mouth curls gingerly. “It’s okay.” But you know that it isn’t. It’s unfair to him to wait for your memories to return, for you to continuously see someone of your past as he waits for you to come to love him as you once did. The man retreats into the darkness and you feel guilt overwhelm you. // When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and expects to see you. Standing there, waiting for him as if you were the owner or a barista working full time. “Are you sure you’re not healthy enough to go back to work?” He grins, brows lifted and almost impressed at how adamant you are. “No.” You loll your head to the side. “I’m still feeling tired.” Taehyung scoffs lightly, noting that you always show up earlier than he does. “Tired, huh?” “You must be tired too. Your shirt is inside out.” “What?” His line of sight follows to where you’re pointing and Taehyung looks down to see that his shirt is indeed inside out. He groans in embarrassment as you laugh. “Did you not notice?” He doesn’t answer, grabbing his drink from the counter once the barista calls his name and he books it out of the shop. But not without you following behind him and still giggling. “Are you sulking?” You quickly catch up to him and quirk your head almost to his shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Tae. It’s not that noticeable.” “You noticed it.” “Well I’ve always noticed everything about you.” He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance and stops, making you halt on your heels. “Don’t flirt with me, woman. Didn’t you say you were seeing someone?” You scoff, continuing to walk and this time, he’s the one who follows after you. “Who says I’m flirting with you? I think you’re terribly mistaken and quite frankly, full of yourself.” Taehyung grins. “It’s not my fault I was born this handsome and have so many people regularly flirting with me.” “Uh-huh. You’re beginning to sound like Seokjin.” “He’s not half as handsome as I am.” You burst out laughing, knowing that your old friend would probably throw a fit if Taehyung openly fought him for the position of most handsome in your group of friends. “I beg to differ.” “Then why didn’t you marry him back then?” “Should’ve,” you sing-song much to Taehyung’s chagrin. The pair of you stop in front of his building, the destination of every morning journey. You know this is where you’ll have to leave him off and see him again tomorrow, wait for just these ten minutes of conversations and banter. But unusually, Taehyung doesn’t bid you farewell right away. He doesn’t run away with his tail in between his legs, shooting you a playful glare over his shoulder. Instead, he stops with you and smiles. Taehyung lingers on the sidewalk with you. “Y/N…” He gazes at you. Your eyes connect with his warm irises and something lodges in your throat, an emotion that only seems to come with him. “Hmm?” There’s held silence— “There’s a bug in your hair.” “What?!” His palm slaps your forehead before you can flail, not enough for it to hurt, but enough that you’re stunned. You lift your hand to rub the spot and at the same time, a rectangular grin spreads into his face. Taehyung laughs childishly. “Kidding.” “Are you five years old?!” you shout but it only eggs him on more. “Sorry, sorry.” He bats your hand away and his fingers come to rub the spot for you instead. “I’m pretty sure it was your face cream and not a bug.” The proximity is closed. You can feel his breath against your face, count his thick lashes, draw constellations through the tiny freckles around his nose. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks and Taehyung catches it. For a moment, his eyes linger against your lips and yours follows down to the dip of his cupid’s bow to the corner of his mouth. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, a kind of intimacy not found between a pair of old friends on a normal morning. It’s a kind of longing that you recognize in Taehyung’s gaze as it’s similar to your own… You lean in to close the distance completely. But then Taehyung abruptly pulls away. His vision is diverted to the ground. All traces of mischief are gone. His mouth has fallen into a straight line, brows knitted together as if he’s in physical pain. “What are we doing, Y/N?” He doesn’t wait for a response. Taehyung turns and walks away while the knots in your chest constrict you. But you run after him. You take three strides before he can vanish from your life — like what you found when you woke up in that hospital bed. The thought of that returning is terrifying. “Taehyung!” “No!” He turns around to face you, shutting you down before the way you call his name can affect him. You’re taken aback by the hurt etched on his expression. “It took me two years to get over you and even now I’m still not over you,” he declares angrily and your eyes widen. “And then you come out of nowhere to make a mess out of my head, playing these games.” Your brows furrow, upset at his accusations and you shout back at him, “What games?!” “I know that the moment you remember again, the moment you get over your stupid fucking amnesia, you’re going to dump me!” Taehyung swallows hard. “You’re going to make me go through all of that again. It’s downright cruel, you dense woman!” “Don’t call me dense!” Without conscious decision, tears begin to shed down your face and you shake your head. “You know that that isn’t my intention.” “I know.” Taehyung sighs. “But it’s going to happen anyway.” The pair of you look at one another and then the doors to the building open. A tall man with dimples comes out and is absolutely bewildered at the ruckus. He’s seemingly familiar with Taehyung, perhaps a colleague of his. “Is something wrong, dude?” “It’s fine.” “Who’s this?” the stranger asks curiously, smiling at you. “She’s my ex-wife.” The man is caught off guard, eyes becoming rounded. “I didn’t know you were married.” “Yeah, well, I used to be.” Taehyung peeks at you in a silent farewell and you watch his backside leave.

When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and then his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know why disappointment seems to overwhelm him when you’re not there and he wonders since when he expected you to be in the first place — standing there, waiting for him. He stands in line by himself. Makes his order by himself. Picks up his lunch by himself. Taehyung walks to work alone. And every so often, he unconsciously glances to his side and then sighs when he catches himself. He’s not sure why he keeps anticipating you to be with him. Why he allows himself to feel frustrated when he remembers you’re not here. You’ve become Taehyung’s habit. And now you’re gone.

There’s a timid knock at the door. A moment later, it cracks open. “Hey, dinner is ready….” Yoongi’s puzzled to find you standing on a stool, reaching to the top of your closet but he smiles, glad to see you lively again. “What are you doing? Do you need help?” “It’s okay.” You grab the album you were reaching for and wipe off the layer of dust that covers it. “I just remembered I kept old albums up here. Jeez, it’s so dusty.” Yoongi’s brow lifts. “You remember?” You nod, smiling at him. “I do.” The album is flipped open and you step off the stool to sit on the edge of your bed. Yoongi watches you for a moment and exhales softly. “Well, I’ll leave your food on the table.” You thank him and he takes his leave, shutting the door. You guess no matter how bad your relationship with Taehyung got, you never had the heart to throw away or burn the photographs. And you’re glad. The photographs of your wedding day are still in tip-top shape, images showing the pair of you glowing in the sunset with his arms wrapped around you. You remember that wedding dress and that suit of his that had to be tailored twice. You remember being late to the ceremony and having to run with Taehyung who snuck out to see you beforehand even though he wasn’t supposed to...… There are also photographs of your honeymoon, a vacation to the Caribbean, and another trip of Europe that you went on during your university days. But above all, there are photos of the pair of you in front of the newly built house. Proud and ecstatic. The seashell white home with the dark brown roof and large windows and skylights standing tall behind you two. Ready to house your future. Some things change but these memories won’t. // The sprinklers spritzes across the freshly mowed lawn, a sputtering hiss that leaves a mist in the air. You step up the stone path to the cherry wood door, noticing the golden nameplate under the mailbox, but you don’t dwell. In your haze, your closed fist comes to steadily knock at the door. It swings open. Inside, you find someone with warm eyes, brunette hair and a boxy smile. He encapsulates the sunlight itself, so bright that it’s hard to discern who exactly it is. But you feel like you know. Like you had known before you even knocked and the door opened. The man calls your name. And you’re shaken awake from the beautiful dream. And you wake to an empty bedside, tears welling up in your eyes. It’s the middle of the night, darkness surrounding you and weighing heavily against your body. But you fight against it and rip the covers off of your body, grabbing a cardigan off your chair and rushing down the hall. Yoongi is stirred from the noise and gets up from the couch. “Where are you going?” he asks in a husky voice, running a hand through his hair that’s sticking in all directions. But the sleepiness leaves the man as he watches you shake your head, struggling to put on your shoes with tears in your eyes. “I-I need to go, Yoongi.” But for the first time, he reaches out. Yoongi’s hand clasps around your wrist to stop you, having an inkling that you might never return. “I won’t let you.” His foot is finally placed down, but the decision has long been made. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.” “Don’t say that,” he desperately pleads. “But I am. It’s unfair to you. That I’ve treated you this badly while all you’ve ever been is patient and considerate and understanding. But I don’t want you to wait for me anymore.” “You’re not going back to your asshole of an ex-husband. He was horrible to you.” “Yoongi, what do you expect me to do?” It’s a genuine question that you ask. You’re at a loss and the words choke out of you, but you had these feelings the moment you had awoken in that hospital bed. “I love him.” The pause draws on and you lower your gaze. “It’s not fair for you to wait for me to love you instead. I’m in love with Taehyung.” Yet in spite of your words, Yoongi still pulls you into him. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight as if you might vanish between his fingertips. You come to realize that you never gave Yoongi a chance to express his love to you — you never kissed him or held him despite how long he waited. You feel him tremble against you. The man who you had woken to presses his face to your shoulder, his quiet tears staining your thin clothing. You return his hug, arms lifted around his torso and grasping him close. You remember who he is. You know well. He’s Min Yoongi, the man who you loved. After a moment, he releases you. “Go.” You nod. “I’ll always be thankful to you, Yoongi. More than you’ll realize.” // The car door slams shut. You cross the street, approaching the house that still stands tall on the quiet suburban street illuminated by lamp posts. You’re not sure what you’re doing here at this time of night and you know you’ll just be disheartened when you see another family inside, living in the space that was meant for you and Taehyung. But you needed to see it. It’s your home. What you made with Taehyung. Physical proof of your planned devotion to one another. The house is dark and you assume that the people inside are long asleep. So you take a moment to gaze at it, heart aching inside your chest, and after ten minutes, you turn to walk away and leave your home behind. But then a car drives down the road. It’s a modest vehicle and as you wait for it to pass to cross the street, it instead pulls into the driveway of the house. The headlights turn off. The engine dies. The car door opens. And you freeze, watching the person emerge. “Taehyung?!” The strapping brunette man is unmistakable. He’s dressed in his work clothes, casual sweater and black trousers, his leather crossbody bag slung across his torso. He looks tired from what you can see with the glow of the many street lights, his hair messy and eyes weary. But he still has the energy to be shocked at your sudden presence. Shocked as if he’s been caught in the act. “What are you doing here?” You speak on an exhale. “Y-You bought the house back again?” He bought it after the two of you lost it. Even when there’s no reason to. Not unless it still holds sentimental value. Not unless the memories held in there were ones he still cherishes. Not unless he still loves you. Taehyung murmurs your name, “Y/N…” You run to him, closing the distance, throwing your arms around his neck. And you kiss the silly man breathlessly, pressing your mouth against his and swallowing the groan that leaves his lungs. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close and quickly reciprocating. His head tilts and his tongue slips into your mouth, drawing noises out of you like when you were young and still exploring one another. But it’s a kiss of sadness and longing — yet still sweet even after so much time has passed. After a handful of seconds, Taehyung pulls away. “W-What are we doing?” He shakes his head, letting go of you. But you grab hold of his hand. “I still love you, Taehyung. I love you.” His earnest eyes search yours. “How….how do I know you won’t just remember why you wanted to leave me. How do I know it won’t happen all over again? We’re still the same people, Y/N. It didn’t work once.” “I don’t care,” you spit at him desperately. “To me, it feels like it was until yesterday that we were still married and in love. And right now, right now I still love you, Taehyung. I miss you. I don’t care what happened, that you lost your job, lost the house and started to feel bad about yourself and gave up on us.” Taehyung’s eyes are rounded and his lips part. “You….remember?” You nod. “I have gradually for a while now.” Bits and pieces had fallen together the longer you spent with him, the more you looked at pictures and mementos, and searched your memories. They were loose puzzle pieces, moments of time, until you fit them together to create a whole picture. To finally understand why things happened the way they did. And you can finally recall the downward spiral of Taehyung all those years ago. How he abruptly got laid off, losing his dream job that he had worked so hard to obtain, how the two of you lost the house when your sole income was no longer enough and how depressed he became about losing that home. How he sat at his desk for two years in the dark, playing games and wasting time, giving up on searching for a job and refusing to get himself help in his poor mental state. You remember how he ignored you until you felt like his mother and couldn’t take it anymore. How he pushed your sanity enough that you had to walk away before you were damaged. But in spite of all that has happened… “I still love you.” He’s an absolute shit, but you love him. Without being able to blink, Taehyung tugs you in by your waist and he presses his lips against yours, holding you close to him. You smile against his mouth before your hands lift to cup his cheeks, cradling his face as he deepens the kiss. It’s desperate, hungering to make up for lost time, fulfilling the yearning that has dwelled between the pair of you each time you spoke. Taehyung kisses you like he’s missed you more and the pair of you barely manage to break apart to stumble into the house. “I can’t believe you bought this place back.” It’s a whirlwind, nostalgia slamming into you as you step into the foyer. You’re overwhelmed with emotion, feeling a staggering urge to start crying. “Had to do a lot of negotiating, but I did it,” he murmurs proudly, happy to show you how he’s picked himself up, how he found another passion and followed the path, that he’s no longer so pathetic. “All on my own too.” “Taehyung…” He kisses you again, less gentle than before. He’s merciless, hands placed on your hips and your back arches into him until the force of his body causes the two of you to fall backwards onto the floor. Taehyung catches your head so that it never hurts and he hovers over you, leg between your knees while he peels off his coat. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, gazing into your eyes. “I never got to tell you that. I’m sorry for hurting you.” You nod, grasping at his forearms that’s next to your head and he takes the opportunity to lean down. Taehyung lay pecks against your cheek until he moves his way down to suck bruising kisses into your neck. You cry his name, writhing against him as he palms your breast and leaves his marks all over you. Taehyung eats you out on the cool tiled floors of the foyer entrance, filling the house with obscene sounds that make you embarrassed. But you can’t complain, not when you’re sobbing his name and your fingers are sinking into his hair. You end up cumming all over his swollen lips and chin, and you bat at him when he grins and says it’s delicious. Before Taehyung can completely ruin the mood, you grab him and with little warning, his cock sinks into your cunt, head poking right at the entrance of your cervix. You feel full and he begins to pound into you, satisfying that itch you’ve had for so long. Taehyung makes you look at him the entire time and as you hold him, it hits you just how much you missed him. Tears leak from your eyes and it only eggs him on to be rougher. His fingers sink into the meat of your thigh and his mouth leaves hickeys down the valley of your breasts to admire later. You cum again and then he presses his pelvis into yours and cums in you as well, painting your walls in white. Despite being sweaty and sticky, Taehyung kisses you again and the two of you hold one another. He’s sweet and affectionate until he starts to push his cum back into you with his fingers when you begin to leak. “Now you’re not even trying to hide the fact you want me to get pregnant.” The man mischievously grins. “Last I checked, it was yesterday that we wanted kids.” You burst out laughing, unable to argue with that but…. “We’re not even married anymore. What would your mom think?” “She would probably cry tears of happiness if she knew we were together again. And marriage…” He interlaces his hands with yours. “We could make it happen again. If you want.” You nod. “I do.”

It’s another chance. Another do over. You wonder if you had never lost your memories and tried to chase them down, if you would’ve ever reached out to Taehyung again and reignite the spark between the two of you. Had you not found him again, you wonder if you would’ve known that he’s picked himself again and returned to the man you fell in love with. It’s hard to say but those things are yesterday’s problems. Today, you look towards the future. “Wake up, sleepy head.” On any other day, you might kick him in the knee for waking you up on a weekend, but it’s been so long that you don’t mind whatsoever. Taehyung’s mischief is world’s better than waking up to an empty bedside or to someone you can’t genuinely love as much. “Ugh.” You open your eyes and immediately slap a palm against his mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.” Taehyung peels your hand off, grins and smooches you anyway. You laugh and quickly reciprocate. When it’s all done and over, he snuggles into you. “You know…” You’re wrapped in each other’s arms and you slowly blink awake, glad that you’ve finally woken up with him beside you. “...those brown walls in this room are going to have to change.” Taehyung laughs. “Happily.” There’s nothing been more certain of. You want to spend tomorrow with Taehyung and the day after that and the day after that. Until eternity.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung smut #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfic #throw away your logic y'all #and indulge in some hopeless romance

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onebizarrekai · 3 years

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I think that lucia di lammermoor is one of my new favorite operas not just because of the mad scene but because the opera makes no sense whatsoever

there are literally so many plot holes in the libretto. there are so many unexplained facets of the narrative, unresolved arcs, dialogues that mandate copious creative liberties, things that only happen off-stage, and some unsolvable problems that can only be fixed by cutting things or directing things a certain way. there’s so much nonsense it’s actually hilarious. if you read the source story of the bride of lammermoor the opera diverts quite a bit, but the bride of lammermoor is actually even worse, so let’s put that to the side.

let’s just start from the beginning of the opera, paraphrasing as much as possible. lucia’s evil brother, enrico, is the first lead to greet the stage, minutes after his goony normano. normano tells enrico the tale of how enrico’s archenemy, edgardo, saved the life of lucia, and he reluctantly admits that they are now in love with each other and are secretly meeting up all the time. enrico flips his shit and sings about how he’s going to kill edgardo or whatever. bide the bent (aka raimondo, but schirmir really said bide the bent, whatever the hell that means) exists and does priest stuff because he’s a priest. by the way, there’s this whole thing about how the ashton family (aka lucia and enrico) are protestant and edgardo is catholic and that’s why they hate each other and that’s why there’s a priest.

anyway they all leave, and then lucia and alice enter. lucia is, naturally, waiting for her illegal boyfriend: edgardo. she is very scared because enrico is a piece of shit and wants to kill her boyfriend. alice is like “yo man this is a bad idea” and lucia is like “where’s edgardo” but lucia is also perturbed by something else. she has a ghost story to tell about this nondescript fountain and tells alice about the girl who was killed by her lover at this fountain, and then suddenly goes like “by the way the ghost of the dead woman appeared to me” and like wow ok lucia. after singing about all of the water turning to blood in her hallucination, she proceeds to completely change moods and sing about how much she loves edgardo because she is crazy. after all of this, edgardo finally arrives and tells lucia about how he actually has to go to france to do ambassador stuff and disappear for an indefinite period of time. he says that they should finally tell enrico about their relationship. lucia completely shuts him down, and then edgardo cries about how enrico has killed his family and how she’s the only light of his life. they end up deciding to keep their relationship a secret anyway and then vow to marry each other.

act 2, enrico has ordered normano to forge a break-up letter from edgardo to send it to lucia. normano shows up to give it to enrico, enrico summons lucia into wherever he is to tell her that he needs to marry her off to some other guy in order to save their family. lucia is like “but I’m marrying someone else” and enrico is like “oh yeah? read this” and gives her the letter, and lucia naturally breaks down because it’s a big lie about how edgardo has found someone else in france. she cries about it until this big fanfare plays to welcome her new husband, arturo. at this point lucia is singing about nothing except how much death would benefit her right now. enrico leaves after being an asshole for a few more minutes, and then in comes bide the bent to lecture lucia about the invalidity of her previous marital vows. she leaves to change into a wedding gown.

enter arturo, this random loser that enrico wants lucia to marry. his lines are so cliché that he’s probably reading them off a sheet of paper (which is exactly how we staged the production I am currently doing). somehow arturo knows about lucia’s affair with edgardo because those two were actually horrible at being secretive, but also he doesn’t care because he gets to marry a hottie. enrico tells arturo about how lucia’s mother died and that’s why she’s crying about the wedding. lo and behold, lucia enters and she is crying. they hold the wedding right then and there under the Authority™ of bide the bent, enrico forces lucia to sign the wedding documents, and then everyone is like “wait who’s at the door?” and then EDGARDO BREAKS IN and he’s like “EDGAAAAAARDO” and they sing a whole sextet that borders a confusion ensemble except it’s a bel canto tragedy.

edgardo is like “yeah man! it’s my right to be here since I’m engaged to lucia!” and enrico is like “PSH” and bide the bent comes up like “sorry she just signed this Other Marriage Contract” and shows it to edgardo and edgardo is like WHAT and he comes up to lucia like BRUH YOU DONE THIS?? and lucia doesn’t even know what’s happening at this point, she’s just like “yes?? but” and then edgardo takes off his ring and hers and then throws a temper tantrum before he gets kicked out.

behold the wolf’s craig duet, the most stupid and pointless thing in this opera considering what happens later. enrico barges into edgardo’s house and they sing about how they’re going to kill each other and duel at the graveyard. that’s it. there’s probably sexual tension.

after that, there’s a wedding party, except with a Horrifying Twist. lucia goes upstairs with arturo and fucking kills him. having lost her mind, she comes out covered in blood and sings for like twenty minutes in a very impressive manor. she collapses on the floor at the very end.

there’s a random recit right afterwards where enrico, bide the bent and normano briefly talk about lucia losing her mind. while enrico is crying about lucia, bide the bent literally blames normano of all people, who did exactly nothing, for every bad thing that happened to lucia.

the final scene begins at the graveyard. now, I know what you’re thinking. edgardo and enrico promised to duel each other here, right? right! so where the hell is enrico? I dunno, not here. edgardo is here, and he’s crying and stuff about his dead father. he’s very sad and probably wants to perish. a chorus shows up mourning something. edgardo asks about it and no one wants to tell him. bide the bent appears in all his priestliness and tells edgardo that lucia is now in heaven. how did she die? beats me. she died of insanity or something. edgardo has lost the final thing in his life that matters to him, so he decides to “go see her” and stabs himself.

the opera ends.

welcome to lucia di lammermoor. now, some of these plot holes are resolvable through directing. for example, lucia’s insanity is inexplicable in the libretto. nobody is just sad about their boyfriend and commits murder–granted, her first aria had her singing about a ghost and a fountain of blood. why’s she like this, though? she’s probably not ok. so like, some people explain this by making enrico way way worse than just a big liar. in the production that I’m doing, enrico is being depicted as sexually abusive towards lucia, and like, yeah that helps do some explaining. but you know what it doesn’t help? the parts of the opera that normally get cut, like the stupidass wolf’s craig duet that exists for no reason and usually gets cut because it makes no sense. also, the scene right after the mad scene where bide the bent comically blames normano for everything even though it is clearly enrico’s fault and enrico is randomly mourning lucia even though he was horrible to her for the whole opera. unfortunately, when you have companies like the met, which do full operas with no cuts, you get the whole, nonsensical story in its full glory, not to mention the met tends to shy away from taking creative liberties with the directing.

so like, why do I say this opera is a new favorite? well, aside from it being fun to sing, since I’m doing it for the first time, it’s absolutely hilarious to consider who the real mastermind here is, since for some reason, the librettist seems to think that it’s normano. you have to make up so much subtext in this story in order to even make it begin to make sense, so how far can you take it? how much nonsense can you create?

easy mode is assuming the mastermind is enrico. he’s a horrible person. obviously bide the bent accuses normano because he’s trying to divert the blame from enrico, who may or may not kill him if he says the truth. however, enrico does not go to the graveyard to kill edgardo and tie off loose ends (which I personally think he should have). enrico just kind of disappears, honestly, in spite of being the main bad guy.

bide the bent is another viable option. he blames normano to divert attention from himself. he plays the role of the peacemaker between edgardo and enrico during the sextet, but it’s all a sham. the reason bide the bent appears in the final graveyard scene is because he’s the true villain here. he simply took advantage of everyone around him in order to make sure everything went according to plan. enrico’s bs towards lucia, lucia’s insanity, edgardo’s depression, normano loyalty, the whole deal. he wishes to rise in power… perhaps the reason enrico does not show up in the final scene is because bide the bent has already disposed of him.

what if it was edgardo? what if he and lucia devised a plan to create an opening that would allow them to run away? what if arturo was in on it? lucia pretends to murder arturo, pretends to go insane, and the plan was to finally flee with edgardo… but then they were INTERCEPTED. their plan was ruined. lucia was disposed of by the enemy off-stage and it was too late. they claim she died of insanity, but she was killed by normano under enrico’s orders, or whoever else is the designated evil one here.

in the met, for some reason, they decide to have lucia’s ghost come in during the final scene and silently “coerce” edgardo into ending his life, which sounds cool, but it was ridiculous. I just remember the blood bag being in the wrong place so he had to stab himself in the kidney and lucia actually pushed the prop knife in like she wasn’t literally a ghost. there was also a ghost during lucia’s first aria that totally upstaged her. this opens up many stupid doors for directing such as arturo’s ghost returning as well if need be. anyone’s ghost could be there. ghosts canonically exist at the met. arturo could be fortnite dancing during the mad scene.

behold, a terrible take. edgardo is having a secret affair after all, but he’s having an affair with enrico. enrico is enraged when he discovers edgardo’s relationship with his sister because he thought that THEY had a thing. he vengefully tries to break them up by marrying lucia off to arturo. enrico and edgardo sing the wolf’s craig duet as a not-tragic breakup song.

honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this goddamn cast was sleeping with each other. the possibilities are endless

during the staging period of the show, we all came up with so many stupid and hilarious ideas that we could stage an entire comedy version of this opera. maybe one day it could happen. maybe…

anyway it’s like midnight and I’m doing my cast’s performance of this opera in two days, and I just drove home a while ago from performance 1 today talking with my family about all of these stupid possibilities, so it’s all on my mind. at least the mad scene is fun to sing

#random stuff #me? going on a comical tangent about opera? more likely than you think #there's a lot of content warnings for stuff here but that's to be expected of opera #honestly I'll lose my mind for real if I have to do this show at face value #enrico isn't evil enough in just the libretto alone #see operas usually have pretty simple stories #and plot holes #but LUCIA #lucia is something else

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ciggylungz · 4 years

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Miss Ginger

Miss ginger

Blurb night- 2.5k

(request: can you plz do something about Harry being all soft with his kids?)

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Harry had always been a family man. Ever since he was a little boy he dreamed of having his own family, couple of kids, a nice family home with a big back garden for the little ones to run around in and him and his wife to attempt to grow some fruits and veg and maybe a few sunflowers or daisies. Simple, modest, pure and quaint but most of all, happy.

The day Harry met Y/n he knew she was special. She had this aura that he wanted to wrap himself in like a blanket. A laugh as pretty as song birds in the morning, a heart of gold, quick wit and full of talent. He knew she was going to be his wife someday, and he swears the day she said yes when he got down on one knee his heart grew 3 times its size.

The pair planned their wedding to be an intimate, beautiful event and with the help of Harry’s lovely mother Anne and Y/n’s combined work they were able to pull it off. They had decided to invite their parents and siblings, their closest friends- which included Harry’s former bandmates who made sure to embarrass the newly wed man during their best man speech- and all of Harry’s god children as well as their parents.

Harry wasn’t shy about crying when he saw his bride walk down the isle towards him, her dress was a simple silk fitted gown with delicate trimming of lace. Y/n chose to wear the same pearl earrings her mother had worn at her own wedding and a diamond necklace Anne had gifted her for the occasion. He really couldn’t help the waterworks making their way down his face as he took in her beauty, he stayed weepy through the entirety of their vows a huge smile across his dimpled face when he finally lifted the vail over her head giving her the first kiss as a married couple. She was his, and he was hers and the pair couldn’t be more smitten for each other even as they stand where they are now nearly 4 years into their marriage.

Over the last 4 glorious, joyful years of being fully committed to each other, sharing a surname and living as a unite the pair had welcomed 2 beautiful children into the world. Alfie who was nearly 3, he was conceived only around 6 months into their marriage yet they couldn’t have been more elated to find out they were expecting. The second was their little girl Rosana that they affectionally called by her nickname ‘Rosie’ and she was now coming up on 10 months old, she was starting to become increasingly mobile already such a bubbly happy little girl who had her dad wrapped around her tiny chubby finger.

Harry was currently on a break, just finishing his first solo tour finally getting some downtime to be home with his family and he couldn’t be happier. He loved every part of fatherhood, he enjoyed getting up in the morning and starting the little ones routines. First Harry would go downstairs, putting a kettle on while taking some breastmilk y/n had pumped from the fridge to warm up, when both of those were taken care of he’d migrate back upstairs into his sons room where he’d usually find his little guy sitting up in his new big boy toddler bed playing with one of the various stuffed toys on his bed as he waited patiently to be gotten up. Harry adored the way his son would perk up when he walked in, opening the toddlers curtains to let the sunshine in giving him a nice morning cuddle before taking him to the bathroom to change out of his pullup into his new big boy underwear since y/n and Harry are finally reaching the tail end of potty training their first born. It had been a struggle, yet every time their little boy danced around with a sticker on his shirt for going on the potty it was worth every bed wetting incident, and all the terrible two’s tears that came with the teaching. After he had him changed, he tried his best to tame the boys hair. The little tyke inherited his fathers chocolate curls unlike his sister who wore a head full of ginger ringlets.

After all of the hygiene tasks were complete, he’d serve the boy his breakfast, steeping his wife and him a cup of tea using the remaining warm water to heat the breastmilk in for when Rosie decided to greet the day. Harry didn’t mind giving his girl a bottle feed so his wife could get a little extra sleep in the mornings, opting to nurse during the day and before bed pumping whatever’s left to hold Rosie over till her mother wakes up.

Unlike some people, when Harry heard the baby monitor start to go off with the cries Rosie gives when she first wakes up he smiles instead of groans. He didn’t get angry when his kids cried, he was actually good at reading the cry’s instead of getting frustrated which always helped calm it down quickly and his little girl would always have a little cry when she’d wake up and think she’s all alone.

As soon as her daddy opened her nursery door the little girl stood up in her cot, balancing herself by gripping the railing to get a good look at who was coming towards her. once the morning light was shining in from Harry opening her curtains the tears stopped and a sniffling nose and big gummy grin was shining on her face, a contagious smile at that.

“Good morning sunshine!” the man raised his voice a few octaves, a big grin on his face as he picked her up from her bed giving her a nice hug as he swayed back and forth. “Did yeh have a good sleep, miss ginger? You look very beautiful this morning my girl, always take your shirt off when yeh sleep don’t ya’ silly girl? I get it girlfriend, sometimes you gotta let it breathe babe. C’mon think it’s time for a nappy change and a bottle hmm?” the little girl giggled at her father, bouncing in his arms and babbling incoherently whilst her dad cleaned her up and got her ready for her morning feed.

Harry set the baby in her bouncer, putting the milk into her bottle checking the temperature on his wrist before giving it to the still topless baby. It was easier to just leave it off during the morning snack, she was a rather messy little girl since she always wanted to hold her own bottle now often letting it dribble onto her tummy as she removed the nipple from her mouth to babble at her father. She always had a lot to say, even if no one but her knew what she was on about, no one had created a baby talk translation app yet so until then her passionate rants wouldn’t be understood.

Alfie was at an age where he wanted to be independent more, he reminds everyone how he’s a big boy, whenever he puts his own dish in the washer or screws the top onto his sippy cup by himself. Both his parents found it absolutely adorable and humorous as well.

When Harry heard the pitter patter of his wife coming down the stairs around 45 minutes after he’d got the kids up, a soft smile etched itself onto his face. He swears every time he sees her, no matter what state she’s in he still finds her breathtakingly gorgeous. Angelic even. Even when he had pulled Alfie out of her as she pushed, he still found her beautiful. Nothing would ever change the love and attraction he felt for his wife.

“Mornin’ love, sleep well?” the man brought his wife into his arms, giving her a warm hug and a kiss on the crown of her head. “Mhm, thank you for gettin’ up with the kids so I could get a few extra minutes of rest. Love yeh h.” she stood on her toes to peck his lips, this far into a relationship and being parents a slightly morning breathy kiss didn’t bother them in the slightest. After you’ve changed some ungodly diapers, smells don’t affect you the same anymore.

“no problem, had an easy morning Alfie was good about brushing his teeth and me and Rosie had a nice cuddle. She woke up shirtless again, I’m starting to get her vibe think I might start just being half naked all the time.” Y/n chuckled at her husband, sipping her tea slowly before responding. “At least it was just her top this time, last week when I got her up she had taken everything off. Had to do an extra load of wash after that one. Silly little girl.”

The couple could fawn over their kids for an infinite amount of time, but a thud from the living room disrupted their banter. The two wore matching raised eyebrows while venturing into the room, being met with the sight of Rosie’s bottle tossed at the wall and the girl herself holding her feet up with her little hands in a split position while still strapped into her bouncer chair.

“Hey missy, throwing things isn’t nice. C’mon time to get dressed, can’t have nakey babies crawling in the garden can we? Neighbors might think we aren’t watchin’ after yeh well enough.” Her mother unstrapped her, bringing her to her chest to kiss her cheeks, her father deciding to chime in, “I think with that chubby tummy and those chunky thighs they’ll know our girl is more than taken care of.”

y/n bounced the baby in her arms, cooing at her and mocking Harry’s words with a baby voiced ‘is that true?! Rosie are you a chunky lady?’ which got them a chorus of baby laughs from the infant.

Once y/n got both of her little ones changed as well as herself cleaned up and changed for the day, she took them back downstairs where their father was sitting on the couch glancing between his phone and the tv screen as he shoveled some cereal into his mouth.

Alfie made a b-line for his dad, excited to show him the outfit his mother had dressed him in for the day.

“Daddy! Daddy look! I got clothes on, mummy says I look handsome! Look I got turtles on my socks, daddy look!” the little boy was over the moon about his clothes. Y/n had chosen some toddler size sweatpants, Alfies favorite t-shirt- a Gucci one Harry had got him which his wife thought was insane to dress a messy 3 year old in a 250 pound shirt, but their son loved it because his father wore the same brand- and some socks with little turtles as the print on them. It was going to be a pretty chill day at home so there was no need for fancy clothes.

“Oh my gosh! Bud you look very handsome, look at my dapper boy! Gimme five, big guy” Harry held his palm in the air, his son jumping to smack his much smaller one to his fathers, beaming from all the praise he’d gotten from his doting parents.

When Harry looked over at his wife holding his daughter his smile got even bigger. There stood his beautiful bride, clad in a pair of his black socks she liked to steal, some comfy adidas sweats and a t-shirt Harry had given her years ago. Her hair was in a sloppy bun, lips slightly shiny with some lip balm and only one earring in since Rosie had snatched the other stud from her right ear and tossed it somewhere Y/n too caught up in her children to even remember to take the second one out even after 2 weeks going by now.

His daughter was in a yellow polka dot onesie and her hair was in a little whale spout on the top of her head. His girl’s looked stunning in even the simplest of clothes, they were his angels and he adored them.

“And look at you girls! Little red head, you look dashing in that onesie! Red carpet ready my girl. And you miss yummy mummy, are stunning today. C’mere I want kisses from my ladies don’t be stingy.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at her husband, even when she looked like she lived in a alley behind a gas station he still made a point to make her feel beautiful. Of course, she adored the way her husband talked to their baby girl too, they had a long talk while she was pregnant with her where Harry vowed to always build up their daughter from infancy till the day he died. No matter how old she is, what she was wearing, if she was covered in gunk from the sandbox or in her future prom dress, he promised to always let her know she was beautiful and loved. Harry never wanted his kids to feel any less than supported, validated and loved.

It was around 1 in the afternoon when Rosie woke up from her first nap, nursing while Y/n and Harry sat together on the couch playing with Alfie and his blocks. The family had a quick bite to eat, hanging out just enjoying each other’s company. Y/n handed their daughter to Harry for him to burp her so she could refill Alfie’s sippy cup and grab both her and Harry some water.

After distributing the beverages she sat on the floor, playing with both her kids and holding Rosie up by her hands so she could dance around in her mothers grip. She loved to dance, she was always on the move crawling full speed everywhere and always squirming whenever she heard her fathers music.

Today the little girl had more in store for her parents, taking them both of them by surprise when she hoisted herself up to cruse holding onto the couch before looking right at her mother suddenly taking her first steps towards her.

Harry and Y/n both gasped, eyes wide and mouths showing huge grins while starting to cheer their baby on waving their hands and praising her whilst the baby took wobbly steps to her mom flopping into her chest before she was lifted in the air and spun around, excited cheers from the entire family as they celebrated her milestone.

“You’re walkin’ now Rosie! My big girl! Oh my gosh I’m so proud of you princess!”

Y/n tossed her into the air gently, catching her then setting her back on her feet letting her walk to her dad who was now in full blown celebration mode hands waving in the air while he cheered. His little girl toddled towards him, squealing as he scooped her up and kissed all over her face.

These were the moments he dreamed about his whole life, and he swears the dream didn’t even compare to the reality now. He’s never been happier.

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