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pink-imagines · 3 years

Text

snow day

request: Hi hi! Can I get a headcannon of needy Todoroki were Todoroki is in the ~mood~ 😏but his s/o is out shopping. But when they get back he’s all on them and pretty much attacking them w kisses and cuddles.

a/n: let’s just say for this fic’s sake covid never existed!! (stay safe ppl, try to stay at home as much as possible!) also hi! i’m back, i literally have no excuse now but i’ll be posting a bit more soon hopefully. (you can probably tell that i started writing this back in january)

warnings: mentions of something smutty that might go down but no smut and no other warnings!

masterlist

requesting rules

The snow couldn’t seem to stop falling. It had already been snowing for the past few days, but the weather didn’t change. It stayed the same and the snow piled on and on. You quite liked this kind of weather, somehow seeing people wrapped up in their scarfes with beanies dragged far over their ears made you feel warm - despite the cold weather. Today was your day off work, so you had a wonderful lazy morning with a bath and eating breakfast while watching TV. The only thing you could think of that would make this better was if Shoto would be here. He was, unlike you, out doing work. You remember teasing him lightly about it yesterday, that you got to spend the day at home while he had to be working out in the snow. In reality you worried that he’d become sick or catch a cold, even though you knew he stayed safe. Either way, you decided to treat yourself today with some shopping. It had been so long since you could actually go out to shop, so despite the cold you wanted to go outside.

You took the train to the mall and walked through the stores. The only thing you were planning on buying was a sweater, considering that you had been frequently stealing more and more of Shoto’s hoodies so you should probably get some of your own. When you saw the little jewlery shop you stopped dead in your tracks. Knowing that your wallet would start screaming if you walked in there you decided to keep it to window shopping. Earrnings, necklaces, bracelets... but most importantly rings. The memory of your mom straight up asking Shoto when he was planning on proposing came to mind. A smile grazed your lips, he had been so flustered that he choked on whatever he was eating. You had been trying to tell your mom off when he put a hand on your thigh and lightly brushed his thumb across your skin there. “No, it’s fine.. we’ll see in the future.”, he had said and had given your mom a soft smile. If it weren’t for the fact that people were around you would’ve started giggling, but you held yourself back and kept glancing over the rings. One in particular caught your eye, a simple silver one with a smaller diamond. You knew you couldn’t wear a lot of jewlery for your line of work so it seemed so perfect. For the sake of the memory that your brain decided to pull out from the dust, you took a picture of it and sent it to Shoto. -So... when’s it happening? :P You snickered to yourself and started walking again but your phone buzzed quicker than you expected. -You’re starting to sound like your mom A laugh escaped your lips at the message. However, it did surprise you that he could be texting you back so quickly since he was at work. -I was just joking.. aren’t you supposed to be working right now? The text bubble that indicated that he was typing appeared immediately. -Not on patrol today and I just finished my paperwork. I’m about to go into a meeting though -Is that a warning or a challenge? -Y/N. Do. Not. Yet another laughed made it’s way up your throat and you put your phone away again. He usually sounded cold over text, but you could always see right through it. Maybe that’s what four years spent together does to you.

The hours passed by as you walked around in the mall. It was actually quite pleasant, as not many people were there considering the fact that it was a weekday. As you were trying on clothing in yet another store you found a sweater that you really liked. It was an oversized black sweater that went down you your mid thigh and the collar was a bit wider, almost creating an off the shoulder look. You smiled at yourself in the mirror. Under the sweater you had the black bralette you had tried on moments before. Both of the items fit you perfectly and together it created a very cute look. Without thinking you sent a picture to Shoto, asking him if you should buy it. Thinking he probably had his phone off during the meeting, you put your phone down and changed back to your clothes. When you had just finished up putting your pants back on you looked at you phone again to see Shoto’s messages... you forgot his messages are connected to his laptop as well. -Y/N I told you I was in a meeting! -I mean you look very pretty, I like the sweater.. but if you’re going to send me pictures while I’m at work please put pants on. This was not a funny situation, is what you tried to tell yourself... but that didn’t stop you from smiling at the thought of his ears going red in the meeting room. -Sorry, I forgot! I’ll make it up to you by making you soba, okay? It took a while for him to answer so you went out of the dressing room and put away the things you weren’t going to buy. -... fine. I’ll be home after this meeting, so maybe around 5. -See you then ;) Were you being cheeky? Yes, but it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t dealt with before.

After making your purchase you looked at your phone and saw that the clock was nearing 4:45 pm, this meaning that it was time for you to go back home. You went over to the trainstation only to see that the train you were taking home was delayed by 20 minutes due to the snow. With a sigh you sat down on the nearest bench and took out your phone. Because of the 20 minutes it would take to arrive at your home station and the 5 minute walk home, you’d be home in about 50 minutes. Knowing Shoto, he’d probably already be home by now as he most likely managed to cut the meeting short - what was the meaning of staying longer when you had already gotten to the point? Even so, you decided to not call him just yet in case he actually still was in the meeting.

Time passed and as soon as the clock struck 5:00 pm you got a call. “Hey, are you okay? I’ve been waiting for a few and you’re still not home...”, Shoto’s voice was slightly distorted over the line due to your bad connection but you were still relieved to hear his voice. “The train got delayed, can you believe it?”, you sighed heavily. “Yes I can actually, it’s been snowing all day.”, he said calmly, “Do you need me to pick you up? I can be there in 10 minutes.” “No it’s fine, the train should be here in 5 and then I’ll be at the station in just 20 minutes.”, you stood up and looked by the track for the train. “Are you sure? The train’s probably gonna be packed.” “It’s fine, I have headphones with me so I won’t even notice.”, you smiled at his tries to come get you, “Besides I can practically see the train by now.” “Okay... then I’ll meet you at the station.”, he answered, as if it was nothing. “No, baby, you don’t have to do that. You’ve been at work all day just rest please?”, you reasoned. “I’ll see you in 20 minutes, sweetheart.”, he hung up on you. You were taken aback by the usage of the nickname, he barely ever called you by petnames. Before you could think to much of it the train arrived and you put in your earbuds and got on quickly to find a good seat.

The train wasn’t as packed as Shoto had thought. Though there was a crying child in your cart. The mother who frantically tried to calm her baby down gave you an apologetic smile. You made sure to look friendly back at her to make sure she understood that you didn’t mind. The poor woman was trying to keep her child from screaming while also balancing groceries and a stroller at the same time. “Do you need any help?”, you asked and took out your earbuds. “Please.”, the woman gave you a relieved look. You took her grocery bags and balanced them against some empty seats. Then you took the stroller from her hands so that she could properly care for her baby. “He’s just a bit hungry...”, she said and took out a bottle to give to the young boy. “... I’ve never understood how parents always know what their children want like that.”, you said mostly to yourself but the woman answered anyways. “I guess it’s an instinct.”, she said with a warm smile, “Thank you for your help. My husband’s working late so he couldn’t take care of the groceries tonight.” “Ah... I understand.”, you nodded. “Are you married?”, she asked and when she saw your shocked face she quickly apologized, “Sorry I didn’t mean to pry, I was just trying to make small talk.” “It’s alright.”, you stifled a laugh, “I’m actually not married... not yet at least, my mom’s been pressuring my boyfriend for a while now so who knows.”, you joked. “Oh, you have a boyfriend. Have you two been together for long?”, her demeanor had changed back to the kind and warm one from before. “A few years, actually.”, you nodded, “He’s a very sweet guy and-... that’s him actually.” Your phone started buzzing and Shoto’s caller-ID flashed up on the screen. His picture that you had chosen was of him holding a puppy husky that you had been thinking of adopting. Sadly, you ended up not doing that since you were both to busy to take care of a dog - let alone a puppy. You excused yourself to the woman next to you and answered. “Hi, babe, is everything okay?”, you asked. “Yeah, I just wanted to say that I’m by the station. Was the train packed?”, he spoke softly, which made it clear for you that he was in fact outside. “Not at all actually, it’s quite roomy. I told you that you didn’t have to wait for me though...”, you sighed. “I wanted to. It’s fine.”, he said and then added in a whisper, “Then I get to see you sooner.” Your face flushed up in all shades of pink as he said that. He was never usually this affectionate, but you couldn’t deny that you absolutely loved it. “You’re cute, Shoto.”, you chuckled. “Don’t laugh at me.”, you heard him huff slightly. “Sorry, sorry.”, you smiled, “I’ll be by the station in a few minutes if I’m lucky, okay? Thank you for waiting for me.” “No problem... see you soon.”, he said and hung up again. When you turned back to the woman sitting beside her you could tell she was holding back her excitement. “That was the sweetest conversation I’ve ever heard. That sounded like it was straight out of a story!”, she realized what she said and quickly apologized again, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to eavesdrop!” “It’s no problem, we all do it sometimes.”, you tried to control the blush that was creeping across your face but it was near impossible. “I bet he’ll propose to you soon.”, she said and looked back at her baby, “I hope he does.” “Thank you.”, you smiled and looked down at the baby, who was staring back up at you. You waved at the child and he let out a gurgling laugh that had your heart melting. Today was certainly a special day.

You and the woman just happened to get off by the same stop so you helped her get her grocery bags out of the cart. When you saw Shoto standing by himself you waved and called his name. He turned to you and smiled softly, almost longlingly. “He’s handsome too... wow, you’re lucky.”, she smiled to you, “Thank you for the help, miss.” “No problem!”, you smiled back and watch her walk away before turning your attention to the man walking towards you. “I haven’t seen you all day.”, he embraced you with a sigh. Hugs were normal for the two of you, but absolutely not in public. Your body stiffened in shock before settling in his arms and hugging him back. Eventually he let go of you and took a step back. “Who was that woman? Do I know her?”, he asked. “No, I just met her on the train. Let’s get home, it’s freezing out here!”, you said and took his arm in yours.

The two of you walked in silence, as you usually did, but there was one thing that was running around in your mind. “Do you ever think of having children?”, you asked out of the blue, your breath forming white clouds in the cold air. Shoto stopped in his tracks and looked at you. It wasn’t until then you had realized what you had said, maybe not directly but the question was floating around your heads. “Children, huh?”, Shoto took a deep breath. You peered up at him through your eyelashes, afraid that he’d look disgusted or even scared. He didn’t. His mind was somewhere else, you could tell by the far away look in his eyes. Shoto’s face was dusted pink but, just like yours, you couldn’t tell if it was because he was flustered or cold. “I’ve never thought about it, actually.”, he looked at you which made you look away, “Not against the thought of it though. Let’s talk it through some other time.” He said it so casually. As if this was obvious and not a huge step in a relationship. Then he just kept walking. If it wasn’t for your arm that was still wrapped around his, you would’ve forgotten to walk along with him. “Don’t be embarrased about it, please.”, he said suddenly, “It’s good to bring up these things.” “I just thought about it... you know... the woman on the train and everything...”, you muttered. “Sweetheart.”, there was the nickname again, “I told you not to be embarrased about it.” After a few years you’d think he wouldn’t be able to make you weak in the knees anymore. That was wrong. You hummed in response to what he said and leaned your head against his shoulder. There was an urge in you to feel a sudden intimacy between the two of you and that was the first thing that came to mind. “Are you cold?”, he asked. “Not extremely...”, you looked up at the clear sky, “... maybe it’s not the best time for cold soba though.” “It’s always a good time for cold soba.”, he answered, completely serious but you still laughed. You laughed because it sounded like him. You laughed because it would ease the excitement stuck in your stomach from what he had said before. You laughed because at that moment you felt so incredibly wonderful - and who wouldn��t laugh at that?

When you got home you made yourself a cup of tea while Shoto stuck to heating up by the radiator. “Are you sure you still want cold soba? We could always make warm soba.”, you suggested as you poured the hot water into your cup. “I say we make cold soba.”, Shoto shrugged as he kept his hands on the warm radiator. His nose was still red from the cold. “Then we make cold soba.”, you nodded.

After eating and cleaning up you sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Since you usually sat with a bit of space in between the two of you, you did so. However, this time Shoto scooched closer to you and put your head on his shoulder, only to then wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Is this okay?”, he asked quietly to not disturb the show playing. You could care less about the show, your heart was beating loud enough for you to not even hear it. No words would come out of your mouth so you hummed as an answer to his question. He had been acting very lovingly the entire night, something that he didn’t always do. “Are you okay, Shoto?”, you asked suddenly, “Did something happen at work?” “Why do you ask?” “You just seem... more cuddly?”, you looked up at him, catching him staring but he didn’t look away. “I just missed you then I guess.”, he said, “... and you sent me that picture and that wasn’t very fair.” He looked away and now he couldn’t blame the cold on his reddened face. That’s how you remembered your sweater that you had bought. “Right the sweater!”, you exclaimed, “Can I show you?” “Sure.”, he said and watched you get up, “You seem very excited about this sweater.” “Yes! And you should be too, because now I won’t be stealing yours anymore!”, you took your bag and walked over to the bathroom. “But I like it when you wear my clothes...” “Then...I won’t be stealing your clothes as often anymore!”, you smiled before closing the bathroom door behind you.

You walked out of the bathroom, dressed just like you were in the picture, and walked up to him. He looked over at you, looked you up and down, and then stood up. “What do you think?”, you smiled as he pulled you closer by your waist so that you could wrap your arms around his neck. “I like it more when you wear my clothes... but this is also very nice.”, he leaned down and kissed you quick, “Let’s go have that talk about having children...”, he whispered and started guiding you to the bedroom.

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flooffybits · 3 years

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Carry On

Idol: Handong (Dreamcatcher)

You were once forced to continue with the absence of one member. Now the girls are once again forced to face the same predicament.

Warning: angst and character death

Seeing the amount of people that were commenting on their performance, Minji sucked in a deep breath while she gripped the microphone tightly in her hands. “Hi everyone.” Her voice, although loud, carried the weight of the news that they were carrying for the past week.

“I know you’re all concerned. We had to perform as seven before, and now we have to do it again.” Her voice cracks at the end of her sentence and she sees Gahyeon from the corner of her eyes, head cast down and fighting back tears while Yubin held her by the shoulders. Yoohyeon is beside Handong, gripping her hand while the other was used to wipe the tears that managed to escape her eyes.

Bora and Siyeon stand on either side of her, both with somber expressions on their faces and she can tell that if they tried talking, they would be no different from her.

But she was the leader and she had to do this.

“Y/n is... she will no longer be present.” She paused, feeling the lump forming in her throat while Siyeon gently squeezed her arm. “We told you that the concert was delayed due to personal reasons.”

Bora squeezed her friend’s hand before deciding to take over, knowing that Minji was not able to properly speak out on her own. “The concert was supposed to be canceled, but at Y/n’s request, we pulled through.” She breathed out while lightly dabbing at the corner of her eyes. “We were all fighting for something we weren’t sure we could win but in the end...”

“Our Y/n has been battling cancer for two years and, four days ago, it seemed that she’s finally taken a break.” She finally admits and it hurt so much more to say it out loud.

The rest of the girls were doing their best to hold back from crying, but the moment the screen behind them popped up, they had to brace themselves with the video you had prepared before your departure.

“Hello!”

Seeing your smiling face had caused majority of them to break down into tears. Yoohyeon held Handong close to her and rubbed her back as she felt her tears falling on her neck.

“I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” You say with a light smile. They could see you in the hospital, but even with that, you looked as free as always despite how thin and pale you’ve gotten.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen our InSomnia’s, but I’m incredibly happy to see even some of you during our performance for the Drive-in, and that I was able to perform with all of Dreamcatcher.” You say with a content look on your face.

They could see you looking somewhere off camera and they wonder if this was shot during one of their visits.

“I know that a lot of you have been disappointed with how badly my performances have been, and I admit, that was my fault. I was hoping that I could show you all the best performance I could give.” You can’t help but sigh regretfully before shaking your head and pulling the smile back on your face.

“I know that this may be sad news for you, but please, never let this be a reason to lose your smile or happiness. You’ve shown us love and support from the very beginning, and all I ask is that you continue to give Dreamcatcher that same amount of love even in my absence.”

Your eyes shift again and your smile becomes a bit softer before you’re speaking again. “Jiu unnie, Sua unnie, Siyeon unnie, Dong unnie, Yoohyeon, Dami, Gahyeon, I’m sorry for having to leave you so soon like this, but I hope you know how much I love and cherish each of you. Being a part of Dreamcatcher has to be one of the best gifts I’ve ever received and everyday I thank the universe for blessing me with seven wonderful girls as my members, my friends, and my family.” A lone tear falls down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away.

“Keep aiming high and keep fighting. I know you can do it.” You finally say before waving your hand. “This is Dreamcatcher’s Y/n. ‘Til we meet again!”

When the screen goes blank, the rest of your members are back in their line, all of them wiping their tears away, though Handong and Gahyeon were covering their faces after getting to see the whole video you’ve left for them.

“Y/n never stopped fighting. Even when people were being mean to her, she always told us ‘it’s okay, they don’t know. Just forgive them’.” Siyeon spoke up despite her trembling voice. “She didn’t want us to focus on the bad things people said.”

“Remember what Boca is about, she would tell us.” Yubin said while she tried to blink away tears, but just this once, she couldn’t seem to stop them from falling. “Y/n unnie has always been very thoughtful. She’s caring to those around her and I think that was what made her so unique. It didn’t matter who you were because she’s able to ease herself into your life without issue and makes things seem lighter.”

“Unnie is-” Gahyeon tried to say something, but she struggled to get words out without sobbing. “She’s one of a kind and I don’t think there will ever be anyone who can replace her.” She managed out, failing to keep her own tears at bay.

“Y/n has been keeping everyone together. She knows when someone is feeling down and she won’t hesitate to be a shoulder to lean on or a listening ear. She acted as though she was our personal therapist sometimes.” Bora shared with a little smile when she recalls the few times you decided to stay up with her when she wasn’t feeling her best.

“It worried me when she would do that. I didn’t want her to take all the burden to herself and we sat down to talk. I think that was the first time we really saw Y/n cry. She told us she was used to comforting others, but never the other way around.” Minji explained as she shifted her microphone to her other hand. “Y/n has been a joy to the people she’s come across and I know that there’s no forgetting someone like her.”

“Unnie always says she wants to leave a mark in people’s lives. She said it was her dream to inspire others.” Yoohyeon said in a small voice. “I think my only regret would be... not telling her that she was able to achieve that dream.” She says while shutting her eyes. “Everywhere we went, people remembered her and called out her name. She’s met thousands of people and I’ve seen some people online leaving comments about her, sharing stories from when she was still in school or those she befriended in her hometown.”

“Her patience was so long and I don’t know how she could stand all of us, but when I saw the good things people said about her, it was no doubt in my mind that unnie really was Dreamcatcher’s angel.”

There was a bit of laughter to lighten up the mood, but when Yoohyeon turned to the person next to her, she gave her a small squeeze as an act of encouragement, telling her that it was going to be alright.

“Even though Y/n said she would no longer be part of Dreamcatcher, I don’t believe it. For me, we will always be an eight member group and she’ll always be there as long as our memories together last. Dreamcatcher won’t be here without all of us and I think that’s what we have to keep in mind. Y/n wanted all of us to keep fighting, and I’ll be sure to do my best to keep her dream alive.” Handong managed to say while looking at the camera and the rest of the girls smiled at her.

When the concert wraps up, the girls are all consoled by their staff, their managers, and even the director as they thanked everyone for helping them make the event and for looking after them throughout their career.

Many have expressed their condolences and reached out to the girls for your passing, and their families have sent yours messages as soon as they found out.

Your parents were able to fly all the way to South Korea, deciding that it would be best to have you buried there just so you would still be close with your members and all the people who were close to you. Since they believed that it may have been something you would want, they had no troubles coming to the decision.

The director of HappyFace also decided that it was appropriate to give everyone a much needed break after finally letting the news out and the girls were all able to rest and absorb everything that happened.

“Can I come in?” Handong looked at the door to see Yubin poking her head through the door and then beckoned the younger girl inside. “You haven’t left the room today and we were hoping that you weren’t shutting yourself out.” The rapper explained as she took a seat and Handong sighed softly while shaking her head.

“You know I wouldn’t do that.” She muttered as her hand gently ran over the letter you had left for her. Yubin took a quick glance at it and hugged the older woman. “Are you still upset?” She asks softly and Handong pats the top of her head while staring at your familiar handwriting.

“At first, I was. None of you told me when I should have been there for her. It took her passing out in front of me for you all to finally say that she was sick.” She mumbled before she placed the letter on one of her pillows.

She could remember the night well. After your first performance since her return, she saw your body slumped up against the wall and your manager assisting you just to bring you back to your waiting area.

“She was so stubborn.” She said with a laugh, tears building in her eyes as she recalled what you told her as soon as she found out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The blue haired woman demanded when you were finally left alone with all of your members and they had explained to her what happened in her absence.

You gave her a slight shake of your head, smiling despite the pain that had washed over you. “I know that I won’t be able to stick around long enough so I wanted to at least perform as a complete group one last time.” You rasped out and Handong felt her tears finally break free while shaking her head and gripping your hand.

“Don’t say that. You’re going to be fine!” But the smile you showed her was proof enough that you were telling the truth. Minji explaining what the doctor told them during your last check up only further proved that you would not be reaching winter.

But they didn’t think you would be gone so soon.

“I know you’re upset, but don’t blame the others. They only found out a couple months after you left and I begged them not to tell you because I knew you would come back home.” You reason. “I couldn’t take away your opportunity of reaching your dreams.”

“Even then, she thought of you.” Yubin mumbled and Handong nodded her head. “But she was right. If you had told me while I was in China, I would have dropped out of the competition.” She admits while thinking back on everything.

“Still, I wish I had noticed sooner. I was worried because every time we were on call, she looked thinner and I thought she hadn’t been taking care of herself.” She tells the younger woman and Yubin nodded in agreement. “It was hard keeping it a secret from you. We wanted to tell you, but Jiu unnie reminded us to respect Y/n unnie’s decision.”

“I appreciate that you were all there for her. I know I couldn’t physically be there, but it’s assuring to know that she wasn’t alone.”

“In the end, you were still there for her when she needed you the most. I think that was all that mattered to her.” Handong nodded her head while inhaling deeply. “She’s okay now, she doesn’t have to be in pain and no one is going to hurt her.”

Right after their short break, the girls pushed through with finishing the third part of Dystopia. Your message to each of them had been their source of motivation and the girls were driven in showing you that they would be okay, even if you weren’t physically there.

Day and night, the practices went on. They recorded the songs and rehearsed them again and again, each girl participating in all parts may it be the songs or the choreography. Yoohyeon had even given her own suggestions during the filming of the music videos.

January of 2021, HappyFace was able to announce the group’s comeback and all seven of them were feeling both excitement and anxiety as they waited for the video to finally drop up until promotions rolled in.

Being nominated once more for winning an award, all of them did their best, having each performance full with more energy than the last with you in mind. While they weren’t too confident with winning, they were more focused on sending out their message that they are heard and that they are here to stay despite all the downs.

“And the winner is...” Watching as the numbers flashed on screen, everyone watched with bated breaths before they finally stopped and their picture popped on screen while confetti exploded everywhere. “Congratulations to Dreamcatcher!”

Hearing the announcement was a shock to all of them and they looked to one another, slowly becoming teary eyed as Minji shakily accepted the trophy and microphone. Turning her head, she saw all of her members in tears, all overwhelmed by finally achieving the one constant wish you’ve all been holding on to.

“Thank you so much. We...” It looked like none of them were capable of saying anything, each girl holding on to one another as Minji tried to compose herself. “We’re very thankful to our staff, our director, our InSomnias and our family. Thank you for your never ending support.” She sobbed out before looking back to her friends. “Most of all, we would like to thank our shining star for being our reason for pushing forward and for believing in all of us.”

“Y/n-ah, we finally did it!” Handong said into the mic, smiling despite her tears as all of them huddled together, taking one another’s hand while setting the trophy by their feet and then bowing deeply.

In the space between Handong and Siyeon, they made sure to leave a bit open where you could most definitely fit despite their locked hands and various other artists who watched the display and even fans could feel their own eyes fill with tears.

#girl group #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher jiu #dreamcatcher sua #Dreamcatcher siyeon #dreamcatcher handong #dreamcatcher yoohyeon #dreamcatcher dami #dreamcatcher gahyeon #handong #handong dreamcatcher #handong scenarios #handong imagines

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nimmy22 · 3 years

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A Mistake: Chapter 11

Breaking the group apart, several guards escorted each participant to their rooms. Cara lost the comfort of being in a crowd, feeling exposed like a specimen on a microscope slide being scrutinized. The white sterilized hallways were suffocating, leaving a bad taste in the mouth. The people around her stopped talking to her. Now they talked about her as if she wasn't there, not a human being glaring at them and their fancy clipboards.

She lost track of the many security doors they passed, each one requiring a key card for access. Her eyes kept darting back to the door they came through, painfully aware of how much farther away it shrunk with the growing distance. Her gut screamed. Any further, and she felt she may never see the exit again.

"Boy, this was a bad idea," Cara mumbled under her breath, fidgeting with the loose seams of her collar. Of all the times she was stupidly impulsive, this was the worst. She should have never trusted a shady advert at a bus stop.

Cara never spent much time in hospitals. She was never sick enough for her parents to even consider taking her. God knows she needed it in the past. The point is, maybe this was simply a phobia of the white coats. Fear of the unfamiliar triggering all these emotions and the bad taste in her mouth.

This situation reminded her of when her parents left her five-year-old self in a car on a record-breaking heatwave. She was stuck with the windows closed for over an hour, delirious from the heat and struggling to breathe. Her trip in the oven ended when her parent came finally came, casually going about their business without a look at the back seat. At least her torture ended then when her parents returned. But here, there was no one to help her. She neglected to tell Claire and all her friends what she was up to. Looks like all the lies are catching up to her.

Cara had no idea where her worry came from. She came here by free will and had yet to see anything illegal. The money was within reach, but the nerves couldn't be soothed.

Cara started walking slower than the guards, hoping to give them the slip. Of course, they noticed, grabbing her arm tightly. She was shoved forward hard and almost stumbled face-first onto the white tiles. The hair on her nape stiffened, and she raked her fingers through her hair, clenching her jaw.

"Hey, what's your problem? I was trying to follow you. It's not my fault you were walking too damn fast," Cara snapped, scowling at the men. She didn't like how they manhandled her, throwing her around like an object, physically steering her this way and that like an infant who couldn't take direction. Three grand wasn't worth this treatment, or so she told herself. She was, Afterall, very, very desperate for money.

"Don't you want the money, little girl? It's super easy paper. In fact, the checks are already signed and ready, sitting in a drawer somewhere. They just need to be distributed by the good doctor," Tilting her head, Cara watched the knowing look shared among the three guards. Their smiles were anything but friendly, looking more like a wolf than a human.

Crossing her arms, Cara narrowed her eyes. " If the money was so good, why don't you join the study?"

"Why would I do that when I could be helping poor, unfortunate, folks just like you get themselves out of poverty. I'm all about the charitable work."

"Oh, of course. Thank you so much, sir. I was so desperate for help. I'd be homeless if it wasn't for your generosity." Cara patted her eyelashes, grabbing onto the front of a guard's bullet vest. "It's getting cold again, and I only have the clothes on my back. How could I live-"

"Shut the fuck up and keep walking. Don't even think of causing trouble. We have a special place for such folks." shoving Cara away, the guard placed his hand on his gun holster. She received the message loud and clear.

So much for the charity work.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," her smile turned into a scowl as soon as the men's backs were turned. She dragged her feet as she followed them, racking her brain for some sort of plan, mentally willing time to move slower. She needed time to think.

The alarms in her head rang louder. Beads of sweat collected on her forehead despite the frigid air of the hospital. She needed to get out immediately. But how?

She was shoved into a room and forced into what resembled a dentist's chair. With one final warning look from the guards, they exited the room through the automatic sliding doors. She sprang out of the chair as if it burned her. She felt even more trapped, her eyes darting around for an exit. The door was the only way out, and she didn't have the key card. She was utterly fucked.

A woman's voice sounded over the speaker system sending Cara sprinting to the corner of the room, her back pressed to the wall. Heart hammering against her ribcage, it threatened to jump out of her throat. Realizing the voice was recorded, she still couldn't relax even as the standard messages about handwashing and proper coughing etiquette played.

If only washing hands could get her out of this situation, she'd scrub her skin raw.

Two researchers, a man and a woman in white hazmat suits, walked into the room. Cara inhaled sharply when she noticed the syringe filled with a neon green fluid. It was carefully contained in a glass case held by the woman. Cara's eyes stayed glued to the syringe as they came closer, barely listening to what was said about her and to her. Their questions fell on deaf ears. In a trance, all she saw was neon green.

She absolutely knew that the contents could end everything as she knew it. Death in a bottle, or in this case, a syringe no wider than her pinky.

"It's easy money, kid. Relax, it'll be over before you know it." the woman holding the syringe said, slowly approaching Cara as if she were a cornered animal.

Cara's preparedness to fight for dear life disappeared when a taser struck her in the stomach. Waves of pain shot through her body as her muscles turned to jelly (the liquid kind). She was on the ground, and they were on her before she even realized what happened. she couldn't lift even a finger.

Her mouth refused to work, and all she could do was whimper pathetically. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes pleaded with whatever tiny speck of humanity the two had left. All she saw was desperation for results at all costs, greed, and over-ambition for recognition, a cold and calculating look.

Cara thought it was all over, or maybe it was simply her fear of needles blowing all her emotions out of proportion. Either way, she will find out very soon.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to relax, hoping for a quick end. She tried to imagine herself back at school getting a vaccine like all the other kids in her grade. She was usually called to the nurse last due to her last name. It always left her waiting and dreading until every last kid received the shot before it was her turn. By then, many kids would make up stories about the pain and how they found needles stuck in their bones, inflating her terror.

Cara hissed as the needle broke through the skin of her neck, clenching her eyes even tighter. She refused to look, scared of what she might see. The woman's finger moved over the plunger, ready to apply firm pressure.

A pager went off, screeching. It startled everyone, and the woman holding the needle suddenly jerked her hand. "Shit! The needle broke," she snapped, examining the shortened tip. She not so gently forced the broken tip from Cara's neck, squeezing and pinching until it emerged.

Boiling over, the woman yanked out her pager. She was going to make whoever interrupted her experiment pay very dearly. As she read the message, her face paled, and she stood abruptly.

"Who paged?" the man asked, quickly glancing between Cara and the woman.

"you 'know who', wants to see me, something about a possible security breach." the woman answered with a warning look after giving Cara a once-over. She understood why. Names implicate people, and whoever is on the other end of the pager does not want their name casually used.

"Fine, for now, take the girl to her room until I deal with this. They are too damn paranoid around here."

Only then did he remove the taser, and Cara inhaled with greed. Finally able to use her muscles for more than gasping for breath.

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

Seeing her body quivering as she walked, he didn't see a need to call for escort guards. He didn't see the kid as a threat and was sure he could handle her on his own. He never knew anyone get so lucky, but it won't happen again. The inevitable was temporarily delayed. Pretty soon, her heart will pump not only blood but a very valuable virus. Dying for umbrellas ambitious is an honor.

Taken to another room, Cara struggled to keep up, her body exhausted from the endless shocks she had endured. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the bare twin-size bed and metallic toilet. Cara knew she had to do something quickly. A chance like this won't come again.

With an idea forming, Cara hoped she still had a dab of luck because what she was about to do was incredibly stupid. Leaning against the wall, she clenched her stomach and cried in pain.

"The fuck's wrong with you? The man approached her cautiously, and her eyes flickered to her target.

Once he was close enough, Cara grabbed the taser clasped to his belt and jabbed him in the neck with the highest voltage. His body went slack, and she grabbed his head, smashing it against the metallic toilet with a loud crunch. She repeated it for good measure, watching as the body lay limp on the floor.

She wasn't sure if it was the adrenalin, but she barely remembers donning his biohazard suit and pocketing his key card before rushing out of the room. Cara had to remind herself to behave normally, to slow her breathing to avoid inciting suspicion.

The suit fit her poorly, hanging on her frame awkwardly, clearly meant for someone taller. But the headpiece helped conceal her face a little. If anyone looked at her from behind, they wouldn't immediately think it's a run-away test subject. It was a tiny bit of comfort.

Surprisingly, no one stopped her. The researchers, assistants, and guards ignored her. If they gave her a second glance, she wouldn't know because of the helmet. They were each in their own world, fussing over clipboards and busy yelling at assistants for every little thing. The air was thick of tension, putting everyone on edge.

The place was a maze, full of endless hallways of white. She thought she would fuse with the white walls in her white suit before she was ever found.

"Cara," someone behind her growled her name, and she froze, holding her breath. The voice was thunderous, and she couldn't focus enough to hear their next words.

She didn't need to turn around to know Wesker stood less than two meters away.

The voice was unmistakable. She'd know it anywhere. But how did Wesker recognize her from behind? The suit left only her face visible. She had no idea why he was here and why he was angry. Well, she did steal a biohazard suit and injured a researcher. It wasn't hard to connect his overtime activities to a hospital run by Umbrella. Now he really might kill her, clean up a mess long overdue. Especially now that she likely pissed off his employers.

Cara pretended not to have heard him, attempting to casually walk away with her head down. Hearing his thunderous footsteps behind her, she broke out into a sprint.

She sprinted into a crowd of researchers, taking random turns in hopes of losing him. She ran until she no longer heard his steps and became even more lost in the maze-like building.

The room she ducked into contained several workbenches lining the walls, complete with microscopes and other high-tech appliances. Thankfully, no one was in the lab.

A jar caught her attention containing something between a cross of a human baby and a lizard. It neither moved nor breathed, and Cara concluded it must be a dead experimental specimen. Things like this must be illegal.

Approaching a workbench, Cara peered into a microscope. While she found the cells colorful and interesting, biology was not her strong point. She had no idea what she was looking at. But it definitely wasn't a plant cell. There were too many tentacles. Maybe it was-

Grabbed from behind, Cara screamed as she was yanked hard by her arm. She kicked and pushed but could free herself. Her voice died in her throat when the headpiece of the suit was yanked off her head. She was left gaping at Wesker, barely noticing when the headpiece was thrown across the room, taking down an office lamp with it.

"I knew it was you," Wesker spoke in a carefully controlled tone, but the edges were jagged.

"I-I can explain!" Cara stammered, feeling the edge of the desk cut into the back of her legs as Wesker cornered her, their chests touching.

with a curl of his lips over his teeth, his smile did not match his eyes. "Oh, please do go on. Explain what you're doing here." He seemed like a different person; eyes warped into a miserable pit of ice.

"Why are you so mad?" her voice quivered under his piercing scrutiny. Cara knew she fucked up but didn't want to admit this to him. "They said the drugs should be-"

"Safe?" Wesker said with an ominous smile and threw his head back, laughing without humor. "Half the participant won't make it out of this experiment alive. Even if they survived, there is no way they would be allowed to leave."

"What?" Cara shook her head vigorously. "If they knew it'll kill people from the start. Why the hell are they going through with it? Why? This is a hospital for god's sack."

"Simply because Umbrella can. They do what they want, and the locations of the experiments are irrelevant. It could be in an orphanage or a sewer, and they will still get their results."

"They are fucking monsters. How could someone so evil run a fucking hospital?" Cara swallowed, thinking about how she almost became an experiment. How many of the participants were already injected? Were they already dead? How important were the drugs for someone to be willing to kill unsuspecting people for data? The cure for cancer? What a fucking joke.

Her questions were endless, but Wesker had his own.

"It's called business, sweetheart. Now, why are you here?" He asked again, but she knew he already had an idea. What was the point of putting her stupidity into words?

"I... got evicted. They were offering money and-"

"Why didn't you tell me? you could have come to me,"

Cara gapped at him with wide eyes, feeling a loss for words. "Why would you help me? wouldn't this help you get a problem off your hands?"

"Sherry cares for you." she didn't know if she had imagined it but, something flickered in the depths of his icy blues.

"Sherry, right? Is this really about her? are you sure it's not you feeling something in your cold dead heart? But how could you feel anything? you're a monster covering up the work of other monsters."

"Watch yourself, Cara. I make one phone call, and you'll be the next body piled on the others sent for incineration after the good doctor gets what he wants from you. This could all happen in less than an hour." He hissed

Something snapped inside of Cara, letting loose a current of emotions too fast to control. She was too tired, exhausted from clutching the bar with all the weight dragging her down constantly. No matter how much she had told herself to hold on a little longer, she didn't see an end to the stress. Her problems only seemed to grow heavier. Her blistered hands and broken arms couldn't hold on for another second. she let

"How long are you going to threaten me for? You know what? I am sick of it. I'm done! I'm done!" Cara shoved at his chest, her voice rising in octaves. "I'm here! Come, and get me motherfuckers!" she screamed, Choking on her sobs. She didn't care what happens next. All she wanted was for the stress and the fear to end.

Spreading his fingers through her hair, Wesker pulled hard. He tilted her head up, his eyes setting her ablaze. Cara swallowed, running her tongue over her chapped, dry lips. She felt as if she was looking down a cliff. One step forward, and the jagged rocks below would greet her.

Cara's eyes widened as his chin tilted towards hers in one fluid motion. Her words were lost the moment his mouth came down, claiming hers. Her gasp was stolen, along with her ability to breathe.

In moments of confusion, she would lean into his touch, remembers who he worked to protect, and she would rack her nails over the skin of his arms. He let her hurt him, pulling her even closer, and she would let him.

This was so wrong. So very wrong and so was how much she wanted him to continue. Her lips moved on their own accord, responding to his touch. Her fingers slid over his chest, feeling the engraving of his badge. The moment she kissed him back, Wesker pushed harder into her.

She tried to focus as Wesker's lips brushed her own, hungrily devouring everything. His hand left her hair, sliding down her neck while his other hand snaked around her waist, fisting into up the material of the biohazard suit. She let him lay her back on the desk, his body quick to cover hers like a warm blanket. She anchored a hand into his belt, tugging blindly. She wanted- no needed too many things and didn't know where to begin. She wanted the suit off her scorching body and his damn belt undone, but her shaking hands could do neither.

Shoving her away, Wesker abruptly turned around.

In a moment of clarity, Cara could finally think clearly without the cloud of haze Wesker brings. She couldn't believe what had just happened, staring at his back, dazed and speechless. She touched her swollen lips, feeling them tingle.

Wesker's jaw was tense, and it took him extra moments to steady his breathing. While Cara still sat flustered on the table, Wesker had recovered his well-kempt appearance just as three guards burst into the room, guns raised.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He answered in his usual tone, completely unaffected, and Cara hated him. He was quick to wear the mask, too damn good.

A look of recognition crossed their faces, and they immediately lowered their guns, taking cautious steps back. "Captain Wesker, what business do you have here? Dr. Stanford was not notified about you taking a tour of the wing."

"I sent one of my employees to test the security, and she made it all the way in here and escaped the test room. Let the head of security know that I would like a word with him...soon." Wesker said before grabbing Cara's arm. "Have a good day, Gentlemen. You may go now. There is no threat to Umbrella in this room. Go spend your efforts where they are needed."

Reluctantly, the men followed each other out of the room, leaving Cara alone with him. Her heart pounded in her chest, feeling the room shrink. She couldn't look him in the eye. Instead, busying herself with unzipping the biohazard suit. The clasps and zipper kept slipping away from her clammy fingers, refusing to open. After multiple failures, she aggressively tugged on the plastic material to rip it off, but its thickness taunted her. Of course, these scientists only worked with high-grade materials.

Feeling long fingers slid up her back, Cara's hands froze. She held her breath, every muscle tense. Warm hands covered her cold ones, dropping them to her side as they took over the task. With a few clasps undone, her neck was exposed. The hair on the back of her rose as the cool nipped at her skin. Something soft touched the base of her neck, and she gasped, realizing they were a pair of lips. Slowly, they spread featherlight kisses towards her throat, then her chin. Her face was on fire, steadily gaining degrees.

"Relax, I'm not going to eat you, dearheart," Wesker whispered against her skin.

Cara pushed him away, desperate for some distance. "We shouldn't be doing this. This was a mistake. I-"

"I don't make mistakes," with one firm tug, the suit dropped to the ground, pooling at her feet. Cara felt all the warmth migrate downwards and shivered, feeling her stomach play host to angry butterflies. She still had her clothes on, but she felt naked in front of him and yearned for the scorching suit to cover her again.

"Come, it's time to go," Wesker turned to leave, and she exhaled, her body losing its tension. She couldn't bring herself to move, glaring at his back. She chewed her lips and sighed at the confusing thoughts now occupying her mind. There was enough stress in her life, and this was the ripe cherry on top.

Noticing her lack of movement, Wesker paused at the door, "I know you want to continue, but this is not the place nor time. wouldn't want anyone thinking they could join in,"

when she thought her face couldn't glow any hotter, it proved her dead wrong. "You go ahead. I'll take the bus. It's safer." Cara rushed to the door, but he hooked a finger in the back of her shirt, pulling her back.

"Nonsense. a young lady like you shouldn't take the bus this late at night. wouldn't want you falling into the wrong hands."

"Like there are worse hands than yours." Cara retorted, slapping his hand away, but they just went on to wrap around her waist. She was ready to munch on some fingers when the hand suddenly disappeared just as a couple of researchers passed them in the hallway. They all greeted him as 'Captain Wesker' before making quick strides out of sight.

"Oh yes, there are. Ones holding scalpels over your skin as you lay paralyzed,"

"Have you... have you dissected before?" Cara swallowed, glaring at his hands as they continued stealing touches. Those hands hurt and killed innocent people, yet she couldn’t fully say they were unwelcome.

"I was a scientist before I was ever a cop." she hated people who dodged questions, skirting around the sinkhole but never falling to the bottom.

"So... you did? Or not?" she frowned, failing to read him. his long strides made it harder for her to keep up, forcing her to almost jog after him.

"Give me the badge you stole from the researcher. I don't want it leaving the building."

"Come on, it's a simple yes or no,"

Stopping suddenly, Wesker extended his hand, palms up. " The badge, now." The order was clear, and she struggled to do the opposite.

Huffing loudly, Cara ignored his outstretched hand and shoved the key card beneath his bullet vest before walking away.

"Cara," He called out to her, and she couldn't help but pause. His voice had a way with people, lulling them to do his bidding.

With arms crossed, Cara glared at Wesker. "What is it? I already gave it back. It's not broken. I just used it."

"Since you know your way around the hospital so well, why don't you give me a tour?" He smirked, leaning against the wall, his eyes following her movements.

"I'm your employee, right? I Gotta do my job properly. I was checking for security threats over there, but it looks like the hallway is clear. I'll be checking this way next" Cara turned around and began walking down another hallway, her hands over her eyes like binoculars.

"you're still going the wrong way dearheart, it's this way. I ought to demote you for your lack of direction," Wesker smirked, nodding in the opposite direction she was going.

Cara followed, admitting that she had no clue where she was going. She pretended he wasn't walking ahead of her trying to focus on everything but him. it was hard, given how she nearly let him have everything. No matter how many times she forced her eyes away, they kept soaking in the way his muscles moved beneath his uniform as he walked. How was she supposed to behave around him now? Pretend it didn't happen?

With his words fresh on her mind, Cara nibbled on her nails. ' I don't make mistakes.'

What was she supposed to do now?

#claire redfield #resident evil #albert wesker x oc #albert wesker #oc

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Fic: Your Move (Chibs x fem!Reader)

A/N: Unsuprisingly, I’m writing for SoA. It was just a matter of time until this new obsession caught up with me. This is my first attempt to write an accent phonetically, so I apologize in advance for the mess.

I also wanna thank @toomanystoriessolittletime and @penwieldingdreamer for beta’ing this for me and @ly--canthrope @wishuhadstayed and @chibsytelford for welcoming me to the SoA fam and encouraging me to write for it.

Summary: When you returned to Charming after your father passed away, you planned to only stay long enough to settle his affairs, but memories of the past and the prospect of a certain Scot in your future made you stay longer than planned.

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and inebriation and that’s it.

You knew the Sons of course.

There was no way to live in Charming your entire life and not know about them or at least some of them. You went to school with Jax and Opie and you remembered having such a crush on them, like most girls your age. They were the cool guys with their air of danger and the prospect leather cuts they wore every single day.

Your father warned you to stay away from them, as most parents would. The thing about the Sons was that they were a necessary evil to your small town, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Your father made sure to steer clear of them unless he absolutely needed it. You watched him seek out Clay Morrow once in a while if there was a problem in the diner, but it always pained him so much to do so.

You could see in his eyes, the exhaustion and barely contained shame whenever he had to have a sit down with the President of the MC. Always at the diner because he refused to go anywhere near the Teller-Morrow Garage.

He invested every cent he had to make sure you had a good education and could leave Charming for good. Do something he could never do in his own life and you appreciated that with all your heart but once he passed away and you had to come back to settle his affairs, sell the diner and the house and everything else, you found yourself caught up in the memories and the charms of the small town.

Everyone seemed to know you. Sometimes by name, most times as Allan’s kid. They paid their respects at the funeral, even the MC. You saw Gemma and Jax at the back and when your eyes caught the bright blue of the man Jackson had become, his lips tilting into a small, sympathetic smile in your direction, you didn’t feel the same butterflies as you used to when you were a teen.

He and his mother came closer after everyone else was gone. He still had that same sad smile placed in his face as Gemma pulled you into a hug that you didn’t really feel comfortable with, but didn’t know how to refuse.

“Allan was such a good man,” she said, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you could feel the lipstick imprint Gemma left behind. “Anything you need, sweetheart, just give us a call.” She handed you a Teller-Morrow business card, her number scribbled on the back.

“Thank you.” You nodded as they stepped away letting you go back to your grieving.

The diner was quick to sell. Your father, once he got sick, already found a buyer on call, you just needed to finalize the deal. The house was harder to do so. Not because you didn’t have people interested in it but because you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on the market. Not when there were so many childhood memories in it. This was the house you grew up in, where your father raised you to be the woman you were now. It was hard to let go of that, so you found yourself searching for reasons to delay your departure.

Separating possessions that would stay, be donated, sold, or thrown away. You started doing small repairs around the house, just like your father taught you because he wanted you to be as independent as possible. Taking off old, worn-out carpets and wallpapers, fixing the yard and clogged pipes, and closing off holes in the plaster walls.

Before long, a month had passed and you were still in Charming, only making weekend trips back to your apartment to bring more of the essentials with you. Even your cat had found residence in your father’s house, taking long naps in the porch bench, apparently much more comfortable with the small-town life than you expected.

Still, you had a hard time admitting that you didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Being in the house was a constant reminder that your father never wanted this life for you but at the same time, after spending the last 10 and something years in a big city, you had never felt more at home than when you got back here.

You were even painting again, something you haven’t done since you settled for a career as an art teacher. You were even more surprised when you opened up the yard sale and a couple of people ventured into the garage while you were distracted and asked about your paintings.

“They’re not really for sale,” you replied to a woman around your age, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and she was so familiar, but you couldn’t place her in your memory.

“You should really think about selling them. Maybe even opening a gallery? They’re gorgeous.”

Her words stayed with you after the sale was done because it had always been your dream but in a big city, renting space was expensive and there were tons of small art galleries other there. It was hard to compete. In a town like Charming? It would be a place one of a kind.

The next morning, you found a small store for rent in the main street as you walked through the wide-open space, the morning bright light filtering through the half-closed blinds from the window, you could already see your works hanging around, the small counter with the cash register to the left and the backspace for your studio so you could work during slow days.

“I’ll take it.” The words were out before you could even think it through but once they passed your lips, you knew they were the right thing to do. You just needed officially move back to your hometown after so long away.

You took a week to go back to the city, pack up your belongings, and put in the moving truck. A few boxes of more personal stuff you loaded in your own battered old Chevy to bring with you on the drive back.

The car gave out in the middle of the night, still on the highway, miles away from Charming. The engine coughing and spluttering but refusing to start, no matter how many times you spun the key in the ignition. You had to settle for your fate and call a toll truck.

It was almost like destiny that when you pull out your phone from your pocket, the TM card fell out too and you didn’t even realize it had been there all this time. Gemma’s number in pen was washed out but the printed one for the garage was still visible so you dialed it. It wasn’t like you had another garage’s number on speed dial.

You waited at the side of the road for about 50 minutes until the headlights of the toll truck lightened up the night before pulling by your car and you couldn’t help the nervous flips of your stomach as the man stepped out of the car, in tight jeans and leather cut. His longish dark hair combed back, peppered with grey strands at his forehead and the goatee gave him such a distinguished look that you had a hard time not staring. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this attracted to someone at first sight.

“Ye called for a toll, lass?” he asked in a smooth drawl and thick accent that made shivers run down your spine, and for a second you couldn’t find your words.

“Uh… yeah, yes. I did,” you finally managed, glancing back to your car. Seemed to be the safest thing to do. “The old piece of junk died on me. Sorry for the hour.”

“No problem,” he waved off your apology, setting up to get your car secured in the back of the truck, before opening the door for you. “Come on, I give ye a lift.”

He helped you into the truck’s cabin, taking your hand in his gloved one like a perfect gentleman and closing the door behind you before he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Nah, lassie. No mister required,” he offered you a soft smile and from this close, you could see the pale line of the scar in his cheek. “Chibs is fine.”

“Alright. thank you, Chibs,” you replied smiling too as he pulled into the road and turned the radio into a classic rock station.

You remained in silence for most of the ride, sneaking glances at the man next to you. Had he been in Charming all those years ago? Before you left? Why didn’t you remember him? How many times had you seen the Sons riding through the main street in their Harleys and leather cuts? You would probably have seen him before. Then again, back then your eyes tended to seek out Jax’s slender form due to your stupid teen crush. Maybe that was why you missed him.

“Mind if I smoke?” Chibs asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning your face as you tried to ignore the way his lips closed around the cigarette and how his long fingers operated the lighter.

The flame lit up his face for a brief second, reflected in his deep, dark eyes and you had to look away, clearing your throat. You never felt this awkward and uncertain in the presence of man, so you raked your brain for something to break the tense silence.

“Why Chibs?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself and he chuckled, the sound low and husky and it went straight to your center, making you press your legs together as discreetly as you could.

“It a Scottish slang,” he started, glancing your way as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “For knife.”

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, mulling over his words. “Because of…?” Unconsciously, you reached for your cheek and froze in shock at your own insensitive action. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, love,” he chuckled again as he slowed down the truck and you didn’t even notice he was dropping you off at home until you recognized the construction in front of you. “I dinna mind. And yes, that’s why. Bu’ Filip works too.”

“Thank you, Filip,” you spoke softly, meeting his eyes and he smiled around his smoke and nodded. “I’ll drop by TM tomorrow morning to settle everything?”

“Aye. I’ll let Gem know.”

You hesitated to step out of the truck, and you didn’t even know why. You just didn’t want to leave. Not yet, but there was no reason to stay. So you resigned with doing what needed to be done and watching as he drove away before finally getting inside the house.

Next morning, you took your dad’s old Jeep – and how lucky it was that you hadn’t sold it just yet – and headed to TM to settle payment for the toll and get the cost for the work.

While Gemma was ruffling through some papers trying to find your invoice, you let your gaze wander through the open side door towards the garage, noticing the men in overalls talking and joking while working.

“He’s not here,” Gemma said, startling you to turn back and meet her narrowed eyes. You wondered how she could possibly know. “Jax.”

“Oh!” Relief washed over you and you managed a timid smile. “I wasn’t…”

“And he’s back with Tara.”

There was a clear warning in her tone, almost as if saying you shouldn’t dare to try and intervene between the couple, not that you would want to. She finally handed you the paper so you could sign it, authorizing the service.

“How soon can I expect the car?”

“Maybe a week? Might be more,” Gemma replied, pulling the paper back and giving you a long look. “There were some boxes in the truck… You’re uh, staying in Charming, then?”

“Yeah…” it was the first time you said it out loud and it felt almost like a confession. “I am. The moving truck should be arriving soon so can I drop by later to pick them up?”

“I’ll get one of the prospects to bring them to you,” the older woman declared after an assessing look. Like she was measuring you up, making sure if you were worthy of her town.

You just offered a quick thanks and headed off, resisting the urge to glance behind your shoulder at the men working on the cars or the side building that housed the club. Even if you could feel the baby hairs in your nape prickling due to an intense gaze at your back. If it was Gemma or someone else, you didn’t find out.

The entire thing slipped from your mind by the time you got home and found the moving truck already waiting for you. The rest of your day was spent moving boxes and furniture to their designated spaces, making sure the movers didn’t break anything with their careless demeanors.

It was late afternoon when they finally brought everything in and took off, leaving you to sort out the mess. Just the sight of scattered boxes all through the wooden floor of the two-store house was enough to make you regret your decision. It would take you days to get everything in order and that on top of making sure your gallery was up and running too.

“Better get to it,” you whispered to yourself, tuning in the radio and letting the melodic beats of Pat Benatar set the tone for your work. And if you sang along and danced around the house through it all, well there wasn’t anyone around to see it, even if no curtains were covering the windows just yet.

The knock on the door made you jump midway through setting the cutlery in place and you lowered the radio before making your way through the maze of boxes, your lips tugging into a surprised smile when you found Chibs standing outside, cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Hia, lass. Gem asked me to deliver some boxes?” he explained, and you smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you examined the biker in front of you.

“Gemma asked you?” you repeated, brow arched. “Sounds more like a prospect job…”

“Might ‘ave volunteered,” Chibs admitted, his smirk matching yours. “Memory’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

With a chuckle, you stepped aside to let him in offering quick instructions of where to put the boxes while you watch him move around. This time, there was no leather jacket below his cut, only a sleeveless shirt, and you could appreciate the flexing of his muscles and the ink adorning his skin as Chibs worked.

“That’s the last one,” he said, setting the box down by the door and meeting your gaze.

“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”

He waved off your gratitude and silence fell over the two of you, thick and heavy like a blanket of all the things unsaid. In your brightly lid living room, you could properly see Chibs’ face and his dark eyes watching you as if waiting for something, a sign maybe, but you didn’t know what to do. Had you always been so bad at this? Or was just his presence that seemed to strip you from all functional reasoning?

“I, uh…” you looked around, searching for what to say or do. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.”

Chibs followed you into the kitchen and you were very aware of his presence behind you like a shadow as you stopped by the fridge, pulling out two beers and offering him one. You drank in silence, watching one another and you wished you could explain why this felt so strange. You wished you could make the tension and awkwardness fade away, but you didn’t really know how and Chibs didn’t seem inclined to help.

Then again, he did take the first step, coming all the way here with your boxes to see you and he wasn’t even trying to hide or deny it. It was your move but just his mere presence made you freeze and you didn’t know what to do, how to show him you were glad he came and wanted him to stay a little longer.

All you could do was watch him, the way his lips fit around the tan glass of the bottle as he took a gulp of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You wondered if Chibs knew how effortlessly sexy he was. How just having him leaning against the counter watching you with that heavy-lidded gaze was enough to make your knees weak and your breath speed up.

“I should head off,” he finally broke the silence, setting his empty bottle on the counter and you felt your heart sink. “Get out of yer hair…”

“Right…” you followed him to the door, hands in your pockets. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, love.” Chibs paused outside, his eyes lingering on you. “Ye know, the clubhouse has a bar. Ye could stop by some time.”

“Yeah,” you hurried to say with a nervous smile. You almost thought he had given up on you but here he was, throwing you a line. “Sure.”

“Good,” he smiled too. “‘Night, love.”

You watched once again Chibs driving off from your place until he disappeared around the corner before you stepped back inside, leaning against the closed door. It was your move and knew. You just had to figure out a way to actually take that step.

A week passed since Chibs’ invitation and you had yet to find the courage to meet him at the clubhouse. At first, you told yourself it was because of the move. You were busy getting the house in shape and then your gallery but you knew you were lying to yourself.

You were just afraid. Torn between wanting to learn a little more about the mysterious Scot that didn’t seem to leave your mind and knowing that going there, getting mixed with the Sons was getting yourself involved with a crowd your father worked so hard to keep you away from. Those two sides seemed to be at war, and you didn’t know what do to.

You knew, however, that the longer you waited, the more you made it clear to Chibs that you might not be interested, even if you were definitely were. So you needed to make a decision. Soon.

When you finally worked up the nerve to go to the clubhouse, you spent hours deliberating on an outfit. You wanted to look good but not like you were trying too hard because you knew what you were going to find there.

Several of your high school friends had sneaked in at some point to check out the Sons’ official hangout and report back. You knew there would be the club members, of course, and other friends, but most importantly, there would be other women, croweaters.

The expression always made you grimace in distaste, the implications clear in the pejorative tone used and it made you stop and consider if you weren’t exactly like them, chasing away a biker you knew nothing about.

The thought was almost enough to make you give up, turn around and go back to your car but you were already there at the garage, might as well bite the bullet and do this. With a deep breath, you crossed the parking lot, the heel of your boots crunching the cement as you walked toward the clubhouse, hands in the pockets of your jacket, out of sight so no one could see them tremble with your apprehension.

When you walked into the smoky room, you were almost expecting to see all eyes on you, the outsider in their territory, but no one paid you any attention as you surveyed the space, searching for Chibs. He was nowhere in sight and the longer you stood there, awkward and afraid, the urge to flee grew in your chest. You shouldn’t even have come.

Turning around to walk out, you ran straight into the solid chest of the man you came here to find. Chibs held you steady with a hand on your elbow, watching you with curious eyes.

“Leavin’ so soon, lass?” he asked, his voice a smooth drawl and it set your body on edge, in a good way.

“Yeah, I, uh,” you glanced around at people dancing and drinking and making out in front of everyone, verging on indecent exposure. “Didn’t really seem like I belonged.”

“Give it a chance, love,” he said with a smirk and offering you a hand. “Ye might actually enjoy yerself. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Ok,” you accepted after a moment’s hesitation, taking Chibs’ hand and letting him lead you to the bar.

A drink turned into several and before you knew it, you were playing pool against a guy named Tig, barely being able to stay upright but still managing to be the better player of the two of you to Chibs’ great amusement and loud heckling.

“You’re sure he’s not just letting me win?” You asked Chibs as he brought you another shot of whiskey, chuckling as you winced and pulled a face after downing it the shot. You had just won yet another round against Tig and his annoyed, barely conscious face was very amusing.

“‘M surprised he managin’ to hold on to his cue,” he commented as he took your cue and handed it over to the first person around. “How ‘bout some air? Sober ye up a bit?”

Chibs led you into the cold night air of the yard and to the picnic tables outside. Out there, you two were completely alone except for the stars and the random passing car but it was late enough that the town was mostly silent, the only sounds coming from inside the clubhouse, the music leaking out muffled due to the soundproof walls.

There were just the two of you, sitting side by side as Chibs lid a cigarette, and before he could even take a drag, you snatched out of his lips, bringing it to your own, making him smirk. The alcohol had dissolved most of your reservations, leaving only you desire for the man next to you.

“Bigge’ men 'ave lost fingers stealin’ ma smoke, lass,” Chibs commented, turning his body towards you.

“Good thing, I’m just a little lass, then,” you teased, trying to mimic his Scottish drawl as you shifted your position until you were straddling the bench and facing him.

“Wee lassie,” he corrected, watching intently as you took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

You liked this, being alone with Chibs. Having his dark eyes focused on you and only you. Being close enough that you could smell the whiskey, leather, and the heady sweat of his skin. Feel the heat of his body. You reached over to trail the black Reaper etched on his biceps, daring to touch without asking permission first.

As Chibs allowed the touch, you grew bolder and moved closer, letting your fingers travel higher, over his shoulder and on his neck, until your thumb brushed his jaw and cheek, touching the rough stubble beginning to grow there.

His own palm had settled over your clothed thigh, large and hot, making you acutely aware of how close you two were and how it would barely take a move for your lips to find his. You wanted that more than anything. Chibs had to know that, right? He had to see it in your eyes.

“Ye should head home, lass,” he said instead, pulling away from you and you felt the loss of his heat. “'t’s gettin’ late.” Then you felt the burning shame as he refused to look at you.

“Yes,” you croaked, eyes darting around at anything other than him. “You’re right.”

You had put yourself out there for this man and he was shipping you off like unwanted cargo. You didn’t even know why.

“I’ll get one of the prospects to drive ye, just…”

“It’s fine,” you didn’t let Chibs finish, getting to your feet and stepping back. “I brought my Jeep. I can drive myself.”

You walked away before he could say anything else because you could feel the familiar lump in your throat and the burning behind your lids. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. You already made a fool out of yourself enough for one night.

You were almost at the car when you stumbled on your own feet. Fortunately, you never met the ground as a strong arm surrounded your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against his strong chest. You could feel his breath tickling your nape as both of you stood there, neither daring to move.

“If I ‘ere a good man, I’d let ye walk away,” Chibs sighed and you sagged against his warmth, letting him inhale your scent on your neck before you turned around to face him, hands resting against his chest.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be a good man,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Maybe I just want you to kiss me.”

His lips were softer than you expected, just a gentle press against yours the whiskers of his goatee tickling your skin. It was almost as if Chibs weren’t really sure if he should do this. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away and change your mind.

Your fisted his vest, pushing closer to him, pressing harder against his lips in search of more. Letting your own lips part in invitation and soon enough, his tongue was exploring your mouth, tangling with yours, bringing forth the taste of whiskey, nicotine, and something dark and addictive that you could have for the rest of your life.

One hand on your hip, the other on your nape, adjusting the angle of your head so he could better deepen the kiss, Chibs pressed you against the cool metal of your Jeep, his body crowding yours, one of his thighs between your legs as he devoured your mouth.

Everything seemed to fade away then but the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands on your skin, burning a bright fire within you as his calloused hand sneaked under your shirt, exploring your back, his rings catching lightly on your skin, making you shiver as he nipped at your bottom lip and allowed you a second for breath.

“Go home,” Chibs grumbled, his lids even heavier than usual as he peered at you with what you could only describe as bedroom eyes. “Before ye do somethin’ ye might regret at the light of day and without the haze of alcohol.”

You paused, considering his words, licking your lips as if to chase the aftertaste of his kiss.

“And if come tomorrow morning, stone-cold sober, I still want this?”

“Ye know where to find me.” Chibs let his lips brushed over yours one last time, just a small temptation of what he could offer before he took a step back and pulled the car door open for you. “‘Night, lass.”

“Good night, Filip.”

xxx

#sons of anarchy #chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford x you #sons of anarchy fanfic

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caxsthetic · 4 years

Text

In Circle

Type: Short Clip (Blurt Drabble)

Cast: Suna Rintarou

Storyline: Not everything will fall into places. At least, not by its own.

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life

Bzzt bzzt~ Bzzt bzzt~

You let out a groan the second your phone vibrates. Hands mindlessly searching for the said item as you don’t even budge from your bed. Your alarm is not even ringing, so who will it be that calls you when the sun still hiding from the horizon?

You squint your eyes when the light from the screen attacks your vision, making you hiss like a vampire. Right now you really want to curse anyone who wakes you up. But when your eyes finally adjust with your phone, you can’t stop a smile to grace on your lips.

Rintarou

His name works wonder in your life, as if by just hearing or seeing the name that you have known since high school — is enough to boost your entire day. Without wasting another second, you slide your phone and pick up the call.

"Don't you know that this is a fucking 4 am?" You coat the excitement with an exasperated groan, rolling into the cold sheet of your bed as your eyes stare at the ceiling. "What do you want?"

Ever since high school, you always give him the snark side of you. Every word that rolling down from your lips is something that supposed to make him go away, or maybe just some distances. But even after years had passed, even when the two of you are now having a steady job and can take care of yourself — he never leaves, not even taking a step backwards.

"It's cold you know?" His voice is a little raspy, a sign that makes you wonder if he just wakes up like you. "To have no one by your side." But the statement makes you raise one of your eyebrows, wanting to snort because you are sure your best friend will never say something as melancholic as this. At least not when he is sober.

"Rintarou, you are drunk aren't you?" Now you are worried though as you sit upon your bed, back leaning towards the headboard. "Where are you right now? Can you send me the address?"

You wait for him to say anything, to maybe give some hint for his whereabouts. But nothing comes out from his lips for seconds, and right now you can’t help but wear your jacket to cover the thin pyjama that you wear, ready to search him. "Rin, please tell me you are at least with—"

"But it's warm now." He chuckles all of a sudden, making you stop whatever you are doing right now as you focus on his voice. You try to hear anything from the other line that can give you a hint of where he is right now. Though, there’s nothing but his fading breath. "It felt so warm, I love it here."

You swallow a huge lump. Is he perhaps inside a hotel or something? Maybe he’s with someone — a gorgeous model which he always caught being together with for the past few days. Is that why there's nothing but silence? But then again why? Why did he call you when he already in the accompany of someone?

"She is pretty." You snort, very unladylike as you try to coat the pain that starts to seep into your heart. "Such a beautiful creature." Like yourself, Rin? You really want to blurt that out, but as if it can change something. "She made me feel like home."

This is like a routine to you, to hear him ramble about all of his lovers or hookup as he wants to find the one. You are the kind best friend who will always be there through thick and thin, you are the best friend which he can trust. The very same best friend, that support him on every step of the way.

Even if someday he stood on the aisle to kiss someone, you still would be there — always.

"Yeah?" You lean your body on the wall, trying to steady your breath. "So I guess you are safe right now, right? You are with her, she will always keep you safe after all, isn't she?" You promise yourself that no matter how the stories unfold between you and the professional middle blocker, you will stay anyway.

But why your soul screams at you, begging for you to hang up the call and say goodbye?

"Maybe, I hope so. But I don't know yet." You grit your teeth, listening to his low, sleepy voice. "She never says anything, but I am pretty confident she loves me too." How lucky. You let your hand falls to the side for a moment, preventing him from hearing you — sobbing, as your heart is being tested at this very moment. How lucky to be loved by you.

You know at a certain point he will belong to someone else, someone that can replace your existent as he will find comfort from them instead of you. He’s never yours in the first place, but for years he never settle down completely, he never utters the word love.

So now when he finally found them, the reality reminds you that there is no chance for you to make him yours. From the start, there’s always a line between you and him, and no matter how many flirty words being thrown, no matter how many cuddles and affection that you two shared, at the end you and him is just a best friend.

"So where are you right now?" You ask one more time, at least you want to know that he will be safe and sound, in the arms of someone that probably he will share his life with.

"I am home." His voice becoming more distance. "With her, I am home. I have always been." Peaceful, the love that he harbours for the mysterious woman is something that can make him; Suna Rintarou — the silent yet a sarcastic man — head over heels and so much in love.

You bite your lips softly, lids fluttering close as you try to erase the tears which pleading to escape from the corner of your eyes. You should be happy, to know that he will no longer become your parasite, no longer clinging into you as if his life depended on it.

Yet every second pass, you wish that you are back in high school days and stuck at the moment. The time when he would come to you every day, asking silently for your attention. And you, you would always comply, running your fingers on his strands that smell so sweet like strawberry.

But time changes and you have to wake up.

"I hope she can make you happy, Rin." It’s a sincere declaration, coming from you. "I hope she can give you the warm, never once lessening as time goes by." Because no matter how much you want to rip your heart apart, you only wanted the best for him.

Somehow you can see him on the other side of the line, having a lovely smile that shaped on his face, just like how it always been. Just like how he always looks — beautiful. He chuckles softly around ten seconds after, a little bit delayed processing your words, maybe due to the alcohol that he consumed.

“I am sure she will.”

You breathe out, sounds a little bit wavered as you compose yourself. It is the last thing that you heard from him, the assurance that he will be alright from now on. That now, he will have someone that can be his home, giving him the warm that once was your job.

And just like that, you are left alone as you still standing in the dark of the room. Leaving you with just an empty feeling. Perhaps your heart fills with regret, with the wonder of what if. What if you dare enough to confess, or what if he’s bold enough to say something between the two of you.

Looking down, you just realize that you wear the familiar maroon track jacket. With black line adorned the side of the arms, the size that’s unfit with yours — it’s easy to recognize that this jacket belongs to him.

It is the only remnant of the warm that you can have. Nothing else but just a piece of clothes. You don’t want to cry, you are an adult and well matured. There is no reason for you to give in to the petty crush that you have for him. But even then you can't lie to yourself. Since you know your feelings are not just puppy feelings.

You love him, you love him that even at one point, you declined every date because you know how pouty he could be. And for him, you never once complained when he came to your house unexpected, scented with feminine expensive perfume that always made you feel so sick.

How come anyone else could touch him so intimately? How come a stranger could plant a kiss on his plump lips, tracing their fingers on the places that you never reached? While you who was always there for him — only got a taste of the softness of his dark brown strands.

Knock. Knock.

You really want to scream right now when you heard the soft knock. You had enough for today, so you ignore it. You don’t want to meet with anyone, you are not ready to show yourself to the world as you still have tears running down your cheeks.

Knock. Knock.

But whoever it is in front of your door is one persistent person. They knock, just twice, yet it continues for every few seconds.

You groan and furiously wipes the tears from your face with the jacket. So rough that it stings a little. You have enough, you don’t care anymore at this point if they end up pitying your state. You just want to be left alone, and if that means you have to face them for a second, then it will be the price that you are willing to pay.

Your feet stomp to the hardwood floor, hearts thummering as you breath out. It’s enough for your heart to be treated like this at one fine morning, it’s enough emotion for you to handle, you don't need more. Your hand unlocks the keys with such force, taking one last deep breath before you open up the door and show them your usual friendly smile.

Yet like as fast as the smile emerges on your face, it falters within seconds when your eyes catch the familiar green orbs. You swear you can feel your heart stops when you see him, maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks. The intense love that you feel for him makes you become delusional.

It feels so real though, as his face illuminates by the light that shines from your living room. The strands of his hair sway softly as the wind moves past him. A little puff of air slip from his lips due to the cold temperature.

His cheek is even producing a pinkish hue, notifying you that he is indeed, under the influence of alcohol.

But you don’t want to believe it. You can’t believe your own eyes as he takes some steps closer. Just like always, he never asks for permission. Just like always, he immediately goes inside your house, closing the door and face you. Instead of dropping his bags and search for some waters or snack though, he just has his eyes on you.

There is this smile that only appears when he wins something, the smile that only emerges on his face when he feels contented. He doesn’t say anything as he just let his gaze that fills with adoration fall on your face. It’s always like this, round and round without end, without a confession or any explanation about why he gives you such looks.

“I am home.”

Just three words, three words that he whispers under his breath. It can be platonic, it can be just his drunken state telling you that he is indeed home since he’s inside your house where he crashed a lot to for the past years.

Though somehow, those three words are enough to replace the sorrow on your face from before as your lips now turn into a smile. He chuckles, snorting a little. And you chuckle too, rolling your eyes as you shake your head in amusement.

Your eyes finally lock on each other, he gingerly raise his hand and cup one of your cheek. As if he’s asking you if it’s alright, if it’s alright to touch you first — since for the past years it’s always you who lay your hand on him.

And the second you give him a nod, a sign that you are alright with his sudden appearance, he have you fall into his embrace.

“With you, I am home.” He mutter softly under his breath, pulling you even closer. He’s now the one who initiate the affection. He want to show you that he already found the one, and he will no longer searching for the last destination. “I have always been.”

Because even though it needs years for the two of you to round around in circle, maybe this time, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Since now, everything start to fall into places.

Requested by @sredamancy I hope you like it👉👈

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #rintarou suna #suna rintarou imagine #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintarou scenario #suna x reader

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viscountessevie · 3 years

Text

To Lady Paige, With Love [Part 2]

Main Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x FemOC! Paige Crane [Reference to Past! Marina Thompson x Paige Crane]

Series Summary: A WLW Rewrite of To Sir Phillip, With Love - featuring my OC Paige Crane, Phillip's twin sister. What happens when Eloise Bridgerton writes to Phillip after the death of his wife but her letter gets intercepted by his twin sister who loved more Marina than he ever did?

Chapter Summary: After corresponding with Eloise for over a year using her brother's name, Paige is mourning Marina's first death anniversary. All Paige wanted was some peace and quiet but little does she know, she's in for a rude awakening

Trigger Warnings: Grief, Brief Mentions of Previous Death/Suicide Attempt, Depression & Anxiety

Part 1 - Prologue: Take Me To The Lakes

Chapter 1: Right Where You Left Me [February 1823]

5:48pm. That time would haunt Paige for the rest of her life.

'Time of death: 5:48pm.' the doctor had said. The moment Marina was officially pronounced dead, Paige screamed. She could still hear the echoes of her own scream every night she spent in Marina's room, sobbing herself to sleep. It had been a month since she died. Paige truly understood what Marina felt and went through.

The grief, pain and sadness was all consuming. She was drowning in her own emotions. It made her want to throw herself into the lake and join Marina. At least drowning in the lake was tangible. It was a tangible way to match the melancholy she was feeling. Through the pain, Paige had learnt that when people take their lives, they don't get rid of the melancholy, they simply pass it on. Paige had become a victim of Marina's pain being passed onto her.

She knew that everyone was dealing with the loss on their own but she was just so angry with Phillip and the children and even the staff. Pretending like Marina was never there. The worst part is, she couldn't fault them for it. Marina wasn't there, at least not mentally present. The last month has eased off her anger. She nearly bit Phillip's head off when he came back from his business trip the day before she passed.

"You should have been here! I may love her but she's still your wife!"

"I had a very important specimen to pick up, you know that, Paige." He said gruffly. She was so sick and tired of him using his experiments as an excuse to neglect his family.

"I know that!" She snapped at him, "These trips are getting ridiculous. You can't keep using them to run away from your responsibilities. You made a commitment to her and your children. You completely abandoned them!" Her voice cracked with anger. Now Phillip was getting frustrated with her and snapped back at his twin.

"Do you think I wanted to carry those burdens? I had no choice in the matter! I had to be the one to clean up the mess George left behind!"

She stepped back at her brother's outburst. He never yelled. He refused to be their father. She knew she had crossed the line. She softened her expression.

"I shouldn't have yelled, I apologise. But so help me God, you will not repeat that to her or the children. They are our family, Phillip, 'not a mess George left behind." Her voice was low, laced with a cold fury.

"She's resting now but you should go see her. I'll give you two some privacy." Paige made her suggestion sound like a demand. There was absolutely no reason why he should neglect his duties as a husband now. She wasn't going to let him off the hook for it. She quickly slipped into the room to kiss Marina's forehead. She allowed Philip in and headed off to tend to the children.

Then there was that dreadful conversation where Amanda openly admitted that she was glad her mother was gone. Paige knew on an intellectual level that's not what Amanda had meant. She meant she was happy her mother was happy even if it meant she was gone. But emotionally, it destroyed Paige to hear that.

It was exhausting to feel like the only one who truly cared for Marina. She had all these emotions welled up inside her, screaming to be let out. Yet she felt like she couldn't talk to anyone. The children played and carried on as per normal. While Phillip had stopped taking his trips to avoid the children, he has hidden away in the Greenhouse more often. He refuses to talk about her. What else could she expect from her twin who represses the slightest hint of human emotion. God forbid he let himself feel sad.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that everyone processed grief in different ways. She needed something to get her mind off things. On cue, Miles came in to deliver the mail. She gestured for him to hand them over and he took his leave.

She flipped through the envelopes, none addressed to her. Of course no one would write to her and the only person who would, died. She was about to put down the pile when a name jumped out at her.

From: Eloise Bridgerton No. 5, Bruton Street London

She remembered Eloise like it was yesterday. They spent some time together during their first season. She came as a package deal with Penelope Featherington. So when Marina had struck up a friendship with Penelope, Paige found herself spending a lot of time with the two of them. The four of them were quite the formidable group during that first season. Paige remembered how many suitors Marina had received. Unable to deal with her jealousy in a healthy manner, she did what she did best, ran away from her emotions. She poured herself into a friendship with Eloise. Somewhere along the way, she had developed feelings for the clever Bridgerton. She recalled how she did her best to repress those feelings. Even though at the time, Marina and her were nowhere close to courtship, Paige still felt like she was being unfaithful to her.

There was just something about Eloise that had drawn Paige to her.

She shook her head rather violently, as if trying to shake those memories away. How could she be thinking of that when she's supposed to be grieving Marina? She set down the letter, leaving it for Phillip to read it later when he finally comes out of hiding.

She stood up to head to Marina's room to mope. It almost seemed like she had taken Marina's place as the Romney Hall's living ghost. What was the point in living your life when the person you wanted to spend it with was gone?

But rising questions about Eloise's letter stopped her. For one, why was it addressed to Phillip rather than her? She knew it had been well over a decade, but had Eloise forgotten her already?

Her plan to mope for the day had been abandoned and she picked up Eloise's letter once again. She picked up the letter opener and impulsively ripped it open.

Sir Phillip Crane —

I am writing to express my condolences on the loss of your wife, my dear friend Marina, I remember her fondly and was deeply saddened to hear of her passing .

Please do not hesitate to write if there is anything I can do to ease your pain at this difficult time .

Yrs,

Miss Eloise Bridgerton

***

Oh. She was just as lovely as Paige remembered her. This was too kind of a letter to delay it's response. Paige went to her room and sat at her desk. She pulled out her stationary kit and fetched herself some parchment and a quill. She quickly penned down a response.

Dear Eloise —

I hope you remember me from your first season. Marina was a dear friend to me as well and I thank you for your kind note on behalf of Marina. It was thoughtful of you to write asking after us.

I offer you this flower attached as thanks. It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet.

Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

Sincerely -

She stopped short before she signed it off with her name. She had finally stepped out of her moment of impulsivity. Insanity more like, she thought to herself. She felt awful for invading Eloise and - by extension - Phillip's privacy.

She couldn't send this! How was she going to explain it?

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

I am absolutely mad and stole my brother's mail because I used to fancy you when we first debuted together in our first season.

Yours Sincerely, Paige Crane

That would certainly go over well. She would be lucky not to be locked up. She stared at her original letter and ripped it up. She detested the thought of Phillip striking up a friendship with Eloise. Deep down she knew if he became as enamoured with her as she once was, he'd make her his wife. It might have only been a month but she knew her brother. He needed a mother and wife for the children. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he was already planning to look for one.

He had already taken Marina from her. As twins, they grew up sharing everything, starting from the womb. Everywhere Paige went, Phillip was there. They even had parallel careers. She just wanted this one person to herself. It was selfish she knew but she wanted to keep her London past for herself. Even if it meant never letting Phillip see the letter and responding on her own.

She rewrote another note without a second thought:

Dear Miss Bridgerton,

Thank you for your kind note on behalf of my wife. It was thoughtful of you to take the time to write to a gentleman you have never met. I offer you this full bloom flower as thanks.

It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet. Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

When it came to signing off, she hesitated for a moment at her dishonesty. Then the anger of having lost most of her life and identity to Phillip came up. That was motivation enough for her to scribble the last line of the letter:

Sincerely, Sir Phillip Crane.

***

Letter Correspondence From March 1823 to March 1824 Between Paige Crane & Eloise Bridgerton

Dear Sir Phillip -

Thank you so very much for the charming flower. It was such a lovely surprise when it came attached to the envelope. And such a precious memento of dear Marina, as well .

I could not help but notice your facility with the flower's scientific name and seemed to be knowledgeable about its properties. Are you a botanist?

Yours, Miss Eloise Bridgerton

Eloise’s response had come quite quickly in a week. It was no easy feat hiding the letters from Phillip. He was the Lord of the house after all. Paige was lucky enough to have a friend in Miles. She had been the one to stop Phillip from being let go. She had named him her personal assistant instead. She coyly asked Miles for a favour and requested that all of Eloise’s letters be directed to her. He looked at her with utter confusion when she asked.

“Whatever are you up to, Miss Crane?”

“Miles, you know you can call me Paige. We are friends, aren’t we?” She had a mischievous shine in her eye that told him she was up to something.

“I suppose… that doesn’t answer my question, Paige.” He said her name pointedly. She chuckled at him, he was hilarious. She knew she made the right choice keeping him employed.

“Friends trust each other. I promise I will tell you everything down the line.” She shot him a look of promise. That fixed the issue of being found out was solved easily. All she had to do now was enjoy the correspondence.

She still had not been able to break her habit of crying herself to sleep in Marina’s room every night, but these letters took her mind off the grief momentarily. She couldn’t thank Eloise Bridgerton enough for that. She read back Eloise’s response and grinned. Eloise was as charming and eloquent as always. She was clever enough to pick out Paige's interest in plants just by her rambles. Paige also noticed how Eloise was clever enough to end her letter with a question. What a sneaky lady, now Paige had to reply. Not that she was complaining. She was rather happy to have revived this old connection.

She pulled out her stationary and penned her reply. She stuck close to the truth while using Phillip's qualifications. Just because she wasn't allowed a formal education at Cambridge didn't make her any less knowledgeable than her twin. She devoured his textbooks during his University days. She most likely would have beat him to an honours degree in Botany had the fairer sex been allowed to study in Universities.

She followed Eloise's lead and ended her letter with a question as well. She vaguely remembered Eloise’s interest in humanities but she wanted it confirmed from the lady herself.

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

Indeed I am a botanist, trained at Cambridge, although I am not currently connected with any university or scientific board. I maintain my own garden at Romney Hall, in my greenhouse. Are you of a scientific bent as well?

Yours , Sir Phillip Crane

The reply came another week later. She smiled at being correct in her assumption. They started going back and forth every week, until a year had passed.

Dear Sir Phillip —

Heavens, no, I have not the scientific mind, I'm afraid, although I do have a fair head for sums. My interests lie more in the humanities; you may have noticed that I enjoy penning letters .

Yours in friendship,

Eloise Bridgerton

My dear Miss Bridgerton —

Ah, but it is a sort of friendship, isn't it? I confess to a certain measure of isolation here in the country, and if one cannot have a smiling face across one's breakfast table, then one might at least have an amiable letter, don't you agree?

I have enclosed another flower and a book for you. This flower is Centaurea cyanus, more commonly known as the cornflower. They are a personal favourite of mine, especially for its vibrance in colour. They are actually grown as a weed in cornfields, hence where it derives its common name from. Quite beautiful for a weed, wouldn’t you agree?

As for the book, I would like to share a piece of my literary heart with you. You will find a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in the package. I regard it as a brilliantly complex novel that tackles the existential questions of creating life in such an nuanced manner. I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

With great regard, Phillip Crane

Even though it was a friendly exchange of letters, Paige considered sharing her favourite flower and novel a way of elevating the friendship. They were a part of her identity. A part that she was willingly giving away to another to cherish and hold. It was a big step for her and that terrified her. She was scared of developing feelings for someone else. She could not bear to go through it again.

She knew no sane woman - despite being a child of Sappho - would give up the security of a husband and run off with another woman. Most of the sapphic women Paige knew were far too caught up in the social norms to ever step out of their comfort zone into a realm of possibilities of a free life with her. She knew she got lucky with Marina and that Phillip didn’t care enough for Marina to be bothered with their love affair. He also loved his sister enough to be happy with his wife, even if he didn’t understand how she could love a person who seemed to be made of sadness. Paige knew he never understood, but he didn’t have to. Marina and her understood each other and that’s all that truly mattered until the end.

While Eloise has never stated whether she felt that way about women, she did seem like a child of Sappho. The way she had interacted with potential suitors during that first season, or rather the way she didn’t. She hid away from every suitor that came her way. At times, she would pull Paige away to the lemonade table to avoid them, whenever Penelope was too busy dancing with Colin. The way she scoffed at marriage. She just seemed content in her independence. Paige had admired that about her.

As always her next letter did not disappoint:

Dear Sir Phillip —

Thank you for the book and flower, I truly appreciated them. I have always found sharing books recommendations with companions is like giving them a piece of yourself. So I thank you again, for gifting me a piece of yourself. I promise to cherish it.

And I have read Frankenstein before! It truly is one of its kind. I could go on for hours on end about how much I love this book and how brilliantly crafted it is. Perhaps, should we ever meet, we could discuss it over tea one day.

The cornflower was wonderful, thank you. I do love how it seems to shine a brighter blue in the sunlight. I think it might be my favourite flower as well.

Yours, Eloise Bridgerton.

A dreamy sigh escaped Paige’s lips as she drank in Eloise’s latest words. Paige had never felt more seen and understood. Eloise expressed the sentiment of Paige’s intent with the book and flower exactly. Paige might have used her brother’s name, but she knew in her heart Eloise knew her - even if it was not by her given name. She found the line about meeting and discussing the novel over tea, a rather bold choice. Was Eloise inviting her to tea?

She sighed when the sobering truth hit her. Eloise wasn’t inviting her. She was inviting her brother. She knew what she had to do - politely shut her down.

Dearest Miss Bridgerton —

You took the words right out of my quill. Those were my exact intentions when I thought of sending my favourite flower and book over to you. I am very much honoured that you cherish an important part of myself. I truly appreciate it. Truth be told, I appreciate you and our friendship.

Perhaps, one day. Tea does sound lovely.

What mischief have you been causing as of late? I am always excited to read your recounts of your daily adventures.

Yours as always, Phillip Crane. * Over the next few months simply flew by for Paige, the letters giving her a reprieve from her grief. They talked about anything and everything under the sun. She learned everything there is to know about Eloise Bridgerton. They exchanged childhood stories, more books between the two of them - Paige found out that Eloise’s guilty pleasure was Jane Austen’s romance novels - and held full conversations of various academic subjects. Her most prized possession was Eloise’s old copy of Persuasion filled with Eloise’s notes and thoughts on the book. Paige’s heart soared the moment she received it. It was Eloise’s version of giving Paige a piece of herself. She hadn’t read Persuasion before so she was glad for the recommendation. The botanist couldn’t help but laugh as she read the novel. Anne and Captain Wentworth’s story seemed to mirror hers. Their 7 year separation felt rather familiar to having not seen Eloise since their first season.

Before she knew it, a year had passed. She was startled when she saw the calendar on her desk when penning her latest letter to Eloise. 14th February 1824. It was the day Marina attempted to kill herself a year ago. Tomorrow would be a year since Marina’s last good day. And two days from now, on 17th February 1824, Paige would have to be met with the sobering reality of Marina’s death anniversary.

The holidays had been hard as it could be. The empty chair Marina had previously occupied was staring at Paige while her family carried on with their jovial Christmas dinner. She couldn’t understand how they could simply get on with their lives while she felt like a piece of her was missing. Yes, Marina was not much for festivities but sitting beside her and enjoying the food they cooked together was the highlight of Christmas. It was the only time Marina felt well enough to help Paige prepare the feast.

Marina’s birthday had been the hardest to deal with of course. She would have been twenty and eight then. Paige visits Marina's grave at least once a week. It calms and soothes her intense moments of grief. Sitting by the grave on Marina's birthday was a new kind of pain. Knowing that she was taken from the world far too early. Knowing that she should have been there right beside Paige. It was the hardest Paige had cried since Marina had died.

She had no idea how she was going to deal with her death anniversary.

She just knew she needed time to herself. She looked down at the letter she was going to write and found big splashes of tears all over the parchment.

"Blast it!" She cursed and crushed the paper, tossing it into a nearby bin. She was furious with herself for forgetting. For allowing herself to be happy when she didn’t deserve it. She wiped her tears angrily and quickly scribbled one last letter to Eloise.

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

These letters have brought me such comfort over a very difficult year. I cannot thank you enough for it, Eloise Bridgerton.

I do regret to inform you, I would like to pause these letters for the month. I require some time to process and mourn Marina's first death anniversary. I'm sure you can understand it will be a rather difficult time.

Thank you for understanding and do take care, Miss Bridgerton.

Yours, Phillip Crane

Paige could barely get through the letter without feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for abandoning Eloise so abruptly. Feeling guilty for using her as a distraction from her grief over Marina. Most of all, she hated how she can't seem to remember the smallest things about Marina. She was forgetting her love's memory and it was driving her mad. She tried her best to conjure up how she smelled, the sound of her voice, how she was. Paige found the little details escaping her. Memories slipping through her fingers. She detested this. She didn't know how she had gotten to this point.

She had allowed her corresponding flirtation with Eloise to soothe her pain. But her pain was the one thing she had left of Marina. Letting it go meant letting go of Marina. Paige absolutely refused to do that. If she forgot Marina, there was no one else to keep her memory alive. Phillip and the children certainly didn't care for it. Marina would be lost to history.

After delivering the letter to Miles to be mailed out, Paige found herself in Marina's room. She laid on her bed, aimlessly and feeling vacant. She was sure if someone walked in they might mistake her for Marina herself. Paige felt her melancholy creeping up her throat. It threatened to choke her, snuffing all the light out. She sat up and tried to breathe. She was feeling an unusual amount of panic rising within her.

She got out of bed and looked out the window. The lake was in perfect view. Of course, that’s where Marina had gotten the idea, She thought to herself bitterly. She looked up at the sky, imagining her lover was up there somewhere happier. Somewhere calmer, where she had found peace.

“I’m right where you left me, Rina.” She whispered softly. It had been a while since she spoke out loud to Marina but it had brought her so much comfort in the early days of dealing with the grief. For a moment, she could pretend Marina was still there. Then she didn’t have to deal with the all consuming guilt and loneliness that came with losing the love of her life.

Marina might have been the one who died but Paige felt like the ghost. Spending most of her days in Marina's room, sitting still in a corner, almost like she was the one haunting it. She heard what the staff said. Something along the lines of, "What a pitiful sight." And "She deserves better than to replace Lady Marina's disposition." They were valid in their concerns but Paige couldn't care less. This was the way she knew how to grieve and mourn and she'll be damned before she lets anyone dictate the way she feels.

Looking into the reflection of the lake from the window, she could still remember the day Marina walked into the lake. It was terrifying how crystal clear the memory was. It felt like she was frozen in time - forever cursed to be twenty and seven - forced to relive the last few days of Marina's days. The memory of her walking into the lake, Paige having to rescue her, staying by her side the next three days and the moment she died. They swirled around Paige's mind constantly. It was particularly worse since it had been a year.

She was paralysed, unable to find the will to do anything else. So she went back to bed. She sat there, silent and frozen in time. The servants walked past all day to ask her if she was alright. She barely managed a nod.

She swore she could hear a hair pin drop at how silent everything was. Deep down she knew her life stopped the moment Marina had died. Eloise's letters may have made her feel like she could move forward. However, the gaping hole in her heart today proved otherwise.

Everybody moved on. She couldn't. So she settled and stayed there, dust collecting on her pinned-up hair. She knew everyone expected her to find a new purpose or a fresh start. She could have tended to her own garden like Phillip was doing in his Greenhouse on this day.

Yet all she found the energy to do was sit and stare out at the lake. She stayed right there for the next two days. She just wanted the next worst few days of her life to pass her by so she would not have to deal with them. Just until the 17th had passed.

Of course as the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked. All Paige wanted on the 17th of February was some peace but little did she know, a certain Bridgerton would be making their way to Romney Hall.

It started out like any other day. Except for the Crane household, there was a somber remembrance of Marina’s first death anniversary. Paige was relieved that she didn’t have to share the burden alone and that her brother had the decency to acknowledge it. He didn’t bother reminding the children but they were young so she let it slide.

Since the staff had honoured her request of being left alone, around noon Paige dragged herself out of bed to get herself some lunch. Marina would have wanted her to mourn respectfully, not join her up wherever she may be. Paige was on her way back to her room after picking up her meal of roasted mutton with rice and gravy - Marina’s favourite dish - when she overheard a curious conversation between Gunning and her brother.

"Sir Phillip," Gunning said, clearing his throat. "We have a caller." "A caller?" Phillip echoed. "Was that the source of the, ah..." "Noise?" Gunning supplied helpfully. "Yes." "No." The butler cleared his throat. "That would have been your children." "I see," Phillip murmured. "How silly of me to have hoped otherwise." "I don't believe they broke anything, sir." "That's a relief and a change." "Indeed, sir, but there is the caller to consider."

Phillip groaned and Paige immediately knew what he was thinking. Romney Hall hadn’t received callers in years. He was probably wondering who on earth would be calling on this day of all days. Paige didn’t think much of it until she passed the front door on her way up to her room when she spotted a familiar face on the other side of the door.

Eloise Bridgerton.

What in the devil was she doing here?! Paige mentally screamed to herself. Gunning and Phillip’s conversation had faded to the background, drowned out by the mental grind of Paige’s mind. She snapped out of her melancholy and had to come up with a way to cover up the consequences of her actions. Just when she needed it, Miles walked past her. She immediately grabbed him. He looked surprised and a little violated if you asked him.

“Miss Crane! What on earth?” “Miles, how many times must I repeat myself? Paige is perfectly fine. I apologise for grabbing you, I am in need of your service.” She said guiltily, looking over at the front door.

He gave her a curious look, “What did you do now, Paige?” He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

She shot him a glare, “I would snap at you for that but you are quite right to ask. I think one of my letters to Miss Bridgerton might have been misinterpreted as an invitation to come over to Romney Hall.” She gave him such a pitiful pleading look, he had to help her.

“How can I be of service, Miss - Paige?” He corrected himself the moment Paige shot him a murderous look. “I need a plan. If the truth comes out, neither of them will forgive me.”

Miles had never seen her so panicked and scared before. For someone who detests her brother, she really did love him. Her blooming feelings for Miss Bridgerton had become apparent over the last few months. He gave himself a moment to think of a plan.

"Yes, sir. She's here to see you, after all." They both heard Gunning say to Phillip.

Paige looked at Miles with wide eyes. They had officially run out of time. This was sealed by the sounds of Phillip’s footsteps making their way to the corridor Paige and Miles were hatching a plan in. Before Paige could push Miles to distract him, her dear brother had brushed past them and opened the door. She cursed to herself and watched helplessly as the two strangers who had technically never met interacted. She made her way to stand quietly behind her brother, listening to every word. Paige's heart nearly stopped when she heard Eloise's voice after all these years.

"Sir Phillip?"

#Bridgerton #TSPWL Rewrite #Bridgerton AU #Bridgerton fanfiction #OC: Paige Crane #Marina Thompson #Eloise Bridgerton #Paige Crane #Phillip Crane #TW Grief #TW Mention of Death #TW Mention of Suicide Attempt #TW Depression #TW Anxiety #Spotify

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pain-somnia · 4 years

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ssm 2k20 day 1: stuck with you Title: us and these walls Rating: M (for sexual content) Disclaimer Day’s Notes: this prompt was selected by my patrons on Patreon and I decided to make it a modern au...a quarantine au lmao so here’s a smutty quarantine au for y’all I hope it’s enjoyable. As a heads up SasoObi is mentioned often throughout the fic and it’s a minor pairing...well it’s Sasori/Obito/Third Kazekage but they’re background. I mostly put them in there for Kitty who made me fall in love with SasoObi lol this is super late but I hadn’t planned on any of my entries to be long and I failed ‘cause this is long. This fic was almost longer than it is.

us and these walls

It started with a couple of White Claws. And it ended with Sakura in the wrong bed and severely under dressed.

Sakura woke up with a start, giving an unattractive snort before clutching her aching head. The throbbing around her eyes delayed her in realizing that there was an arm slung around her waist and something hard poking at her ass.

No, Sakura grumbled inwardly. No no no no.

She already knew exactly who was in bed with her. There was only one person that she had been stuck with for the past two weeks in her cousin Sasori’s house.

Obito, Sasori’s husband, had a younger cousin that she was always grouped up with at family events because he was the closest to her age, only being eight months older than her. Other than sitting next to each other at brunch or at holiday meals, the both of them didn’t really talk much to each other. Not that Sakura didn’t want to.

Sasuke Uchiha just made it so difficult to get to know him as anything other than Obito’s ridiculously hot cousin.

Two weeks ago, Sasori had asked Obito to call Sasuke over to fix the sink in the kitchen. Sakura wasn’t sure what it was exactly that Sasuke did for a living, only that he had remodeled parts of the house before Sakura moved into her cousin’s house and he may or may not have also been the bartender in the blurry photos Ino had sent her one night many weeks ago.

Because Sasori was the way he was, Obito had called Sasuke at eleven at night and for some reason the man had responded and was awake at the time. Instead of letting him go home, Obito begged Sasuke to stay the night in the guest room.

And then the quarantine order was issued.

Somehow, Obito was able to convince Mikoto Uchiha that it was best for Sasuke to remain at his house for the quarantine. Somehow it had worked and of course Sasuke had no choice but to listen to his mother. And somehow the two of them ended up stuck living together alone because Sasori had packed his and Obito’s bags and took off.

Whoever the fuck the man that went by the moniker “Third” was, Sakura had to assume he was loaded. The morning of the second day of quarantine all she had was a note left by her cousin about where he and his husband went off to and three days later there was a post to his Instagram about how he and Obito were living it up by the pool at their boyfriend’s mansion.

It was no wonder Sasori had ditched her. She wasn’t that surprised he had. Sakura felt more betrayed by Obito.

Warm breath fanned against her temple and the arm slung around her waist pulled her in closer. Sakura adjusted herself so Sasuke’s cock nestled between her thighs instead of digging into her behind and Sasuke released a content sigh, curling around her more.

God.

This wasn’t like her. She didn’t have casual sex. Sakura had been suffering from a three year dry spell ever since she had ended her last relationship. Sakura wasn’t the kind to go out and find someone just for the sake of hooking up. She could almost hear Ino and Karin chanting in her head, “One of us. One of us. One of us.”

“Anything we need to do today?” Sasuke mumbled into her hair. Sakura tensed up. She hadn’t noticed that he had been awake.

“We already went shopping yesterday for groceries and the essentials.”

She and Sasuke tried to stock up on everything they needed the day before. They had almost ended up going home with nothing when a middle aged man without a mask on got too close and Sasuke opened up a disinfectant spray they were going to buy and sprayed him in the face.

They had also stopped at the liquor store because nothing said essential like alcohol.

Which is exactly how they ended up in their current predicament.

Sakura wasn’t sure how to take Sasuke’s behavior. He didn’t seem to mind that they had woken up naked and spooning and was even nuzzling her hair. She wasn’t opposed to the bit of affection but she would have preferred it happened when she wasn’t feeling nauseous and had a headache.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Sakura mumbled, disentangling herself from Sasuke’s hold and rushing to the hallway bathroom.

She was dry heaving and spitting up bile for all of a few seconds when she felt Sasuke’s presence next to her on the floor. He stroked her hair, pulling it back away from her face until her heaving stopped.

“Thanks for putting pants back on.”

“Yeah. Here.” Sasuke handed her a black shirt that must have been the one he had been wearing the night before. Sakura pulled it over her head and tugged it so it covered her until midway down her thighs.

Sakura was grateful that Sasuke had the mind not to turn the light on in the bathroom; the open bathroom door casted a strip of light from the hallway.

“So…” She opened the conversation, not entirely sure what it was that she was trying to say. She blanked out, not having an actual thought beyond her ass being cold from the tile floor and so she shifted so she was sitting on the fluffy bathroom mat.

“Do we, uh, need to get anything?”

Sakura scrunched up her nose in confusion. She was too hungover for conversation. Sasuke looked at her pointedly, raising a brow and it finally dawned on Sakura what he was getting at.

“Oh, no. No. I’m on the pill.” Sakura averted her gaze, chewing on her lower lip in discomfort. “And I’m clean.”

“Same.”

The both of them sat on the bathroom floor in silence for an awkward amount of time before Sasuke cleared his throat and said he needed to make a call.

Well, this is shit, Sakura groaned inwardly, pulling her knees to her chest and running her hands down her face.

Sakura kept herself busy with preparing orders for her online store. She was fortunate enough to be self-employed but there was going to be a delay with her orders because the mailman kept missing her scheduled pickups.

“Do you think Sasori would kill me for this?” Sasuke asked her, putting down his drill.

Sakura looked up from her sewing machine and up at the racks Sasuke had made for her bolts of fabric. He wasn’t able to go to any of his jobs and ended up using his free time on small projects in the house. Sasuke had helped her organize everything by creating a proper work studio in the spare room that was originally Obito’s exercise room. Sasuke had moved all of the equipment into the garage.

“Oh, definitely.” Sakura went back to stitching the pair of tulle panties with an embroidered butterfly motif. “But you put a nifty set of cubbies in his mud room.”

Sasuke moved around her to measure for a set of shelves she had wanted.

“You’re making panties?” He raised a brow at Sakura’s current project.

“Yeah they’re a parallel set to that dress.” She pointed at a mannequin with a tulle sundress with the same butterfly motif. “My shop’s name is Naughty & Nice. That’s the nice and this,” she lifted the finished pair of panties, “is the naughty.”

“Those are too cute to be naughty,” Sasuke scoffed.

“Well I also have those.” Sakura pointed to a different mannequin dressed in a custom leather harness.

“Huh.”

“Yup.”

That was how the past two weeks had gone. Sakura would work and Sasuke would exercise or keep busy making improvements to Sasori’s house. Sometimes Sakura would find him playing video games, speaking to his friends over his headset.

Sasuke had to break his lease with his landlord. It was the loudest Sakura had heard him as he argued with the man about granting him an extension to pay his rent the following month. It hadn’t sounded good and the man couldn’t be reasoned with.

Unfortunately for Sasuke, his parents thought it would be better if he continued to stay at his cousin’s house. Due to the kind of jobs his parents had—police captain and nurse—they thought it would be safer for Sasuke to stick to the house where the only other occupant didn’t leave unless she absolutely needed to.

Sasuke had placed a majority of his belongings in storage and brought over his cat and anything he thought he would need and the guest bedroom became his.

At some point Sakura became curious about his finances. He had no job that she knew of that he could do from home, but he still had money for all of the takeout that he had been ordering until Sakura had put an end to it and told him that she would cook enough for the both of them as long as he helped provide the groceries. She was used to cooking for three anyway and Sasuke ate enough to make up for Sasori and Obito.

They were the only two occupants of the house and had to work around each other. It forced them to communicate beyond the uncomfortable small talk they were accustomed to.

Sakura found it easier to carry discussions without the presence of their family members, especially that of Mikoto Uchiha who always gave her soft yet sly smiles whenever she stood or sat closely to Sasuke. It was a calculative expression she was used to seeing on her older cousin whenever he wanted something and knew he was going to get it.

As much as she wouldn’t have minded to get to know Sasuke better, Sakura was sure that whatever his mother wanted to happen wasn’t what Sasuke wanted. They had worked well together and cohabitated amicably, but the closest they got to anything beyond that was a drunken tryst that she wasn’t even sure was going to be repeated sober.

He fucked up. He had fucked up.

It started with simple boredom. Sasuke had been stuck living with his cousin’s husband’s pretty cousin because Sasori couldn’t be bothered staying in his own house during a quarantine and had blackmailed Sasuke into playing babysitter.

They had been watching a marathon of slasher films and decided on turning it into a drinking game. Sakura curled up on the small extension of the L shaped couch with her pack of White Claws and Sasuke laid out on the other end with a pack of Ithacas. Somehow that had ended up with Sasuke joining Sakura on the extension and his fingers curled inside of her panties, stroking her as she clutched onto his arm and released high pitched cries of joy.

He’s not sure how they got to a bed, but he wouldn’t doubt it if he had just thrown her tiny body over his shoulder and carried her to the guest room that had become his temporary room.

That wasn’t how Sasuke had planned on dealing with Sakura and his ridiculous crush on her that wouldn’t go away.

It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to come fix the kitchen sink in the middle of the night. Besides Sasori blackmailing him because of his OnlyFans account, Obito had sweetened the deal by mentioning that if he stayed over he would be fed a free breakfast. Obito was a mediocre cook but free was free and he would be able to spend some time in Sakura’s company without his mother hovering with her knowing smiles.

He hadn’t expected to wake up to the smell of something cooking and walking into the kitchen to find Sakura wearing nothing but a baggy cream colored button down cable knit cardigan that hit mid thigh and a pair of black thigh high socks.

Sakura hadn’t expected him either. She had thought she was home alone because of a note from Sasori explaining that he and Obito had taken off to their boyfriend’s place. Sakura had called Sasori immediately for answers, but he didn’t pick up his phone.

At least, that’s what her flushed face and drawn down brows made it seem like. He hadn’t been paying attention to the phone calls she was trying to make but to the curve of her pert breasts that peeked from the v-cut of her cardigan. Sakura hadn’t been wearing a bra and he just wanted to drag his tongue up her sternum.

He was distracted from those dangerous thoughts when he received a phone call from his mother about the quarantine orders and how Obito had already told her that Sasuke was staying at his house. Sasuke didn’t have much room for an argument, especially considering his landlord Kakuzu wouldn’t give him an extension for his rent and Sasuke had had enough and broke his lease.

He cursed Kiba for moving out to live with the blondie he had been dating for the past few months and had only made it official a month ago. Kiba had been mostly staying over there and using Sasuke’s and his place for storage so it had made sense for him to officially move in but that had left Sasuke with paying the full rent on his own because he refused to move.

That decision was biting him in the ass now that he couldn’t bartend or go do some jobs as a contractor. He was heavily relying on his not safe for work accounts where he posted nudes for pay.

And speaking of not being safe for work…

It was three days after the drunken bedroom incident and Sakura needed help taking photographs for her online shop.

When Sakura had told him what she did for work he had been impressed that she had owned her own business and at how talented she was. When she told him that usually Sasori modeled her prototypes and she took the photos for her site, he was slightly disturbed. Looking at Sakura wearing her dresses and her lingerie, he couldn’t imagine Sasori wearing the same things and it looking as well as it did on her.

There may be some bias though. He was actually attracted to Sakura and he and Sasori were more enemies than they were friends and unfortunately related because Sasori was married to Obito.

“Move your arm back like this,” Sasuke instructed Sakura as she posed in a tulle panty and bra set that left nothing to the imagination. The butterfly patterns tastefully covered her nipples but didn’t do much to completely hide the small, pink thatch of hair between her thighs.

He was supposed to be focusing on showing off the lingerie to advantage, but his eyes kept drifting to the small bruises scattered on Sakura’s inner thighs and the red blooms of kiss marks that made her body look well loved.

“I can edit those out,” Sakura remarked shyly when she noticed where his gaze was directed. “I do it for Sasori for my site. He prefers keeping them though for his personal collection of photos.”

“I didn’t need to know that about Sasori.”

Sakura laughed at his discomfort and took her camera back from him. “Thanks again for the help.”

“Any time,” Sasuke muttered, watching her walk through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom.

Sasuke had the terrible━wonderful━habit of going without a shirt and exposing his tattoos when he was stuck inside all day.

It had been barely five days since their drunken mistake and the hickeys all over her body and bruises on her inner thighs and hips from the rough pounding she must have taken had yet to completely heal. Which also meant that the scratch marks on Sasuke’s shoulder blades, the hickeys all over his neck, and the bite mark on his left shoulder were still visible as well.

They hadn’t discussed what had happened. They spent the first day in an awkward state of avoidance and kept to their respective areas in the house. The second day had them going back to normal and just silently agreeing not to mention it.

But the curiosity was there now. It was there when they shared meals. It was there when he walked in from the garage after working out. It was there when he lazily strummed his guitar aimlessly. It was there when she finished her yoga routine and he was waiting to use the living room to watch or play Call of Duty.

It was there when they sat around reading in the living room and drinking tea. It was there when he made sure she took proper breaks instead of keeping herself hunched over her sewing and embroidery machines. It was there when she randomly heard his drill or hammer or the dragging of planks of wood and other materials into the house when he found something to fix or improve.

The curiosity became a yearning when she found him laid out on the couch, watching some aquarium building show. Sasuke just looked so cozy and she just wanted to curl up with him. Or straddle him.

Straddling him was definitely a favorable option.

Sasuke was immediately on alert, body stiffening under Sakura as she settled herself over him, straddling his hips. His hands slid across the sides of her bare thighs and over her small cotton shorts, until he gripped her hips through her thick oversized pullover.

He watched her warily as she pressed her hands on his stomach. His abdominal muscles twitched under her fingers as she slid her hands up his stomach.

“I was thinking…” Sakura’s cheeks heated up as Sasuke’s hands slid under her sweater and he took hold of her waist, his thumbs massaging circles on her skin. “Do you want to try it sober?”

Sasuke sat up faster than Sakura had expected him to move. In lieu of an answer to her question, he gripped the back of her neck, fisting her hair still damp from her shower, and pulled her closer to slant his mouth over hers.

There had been heated stares and what Sakura had hoped were looks of longing. Here was proof that she had been right.

Sakura sighed contently as Sasuke palmed her breasts, squeezing and fondling her with his large hands. Pulling back for air, Sasuke laid his forehead on hers, looking her directly in the eye as he continued to massage her flesh and tug at her nipples and roll them under his thumbs.

“You sure about this?”

“Absolutely.” Sakura cradled the back of his neck with both of her hands and pulled his mouth back to hers. Using her hold as an anchor, she fell back slowly, guiding Sasuke to follow her and nestle in the cradle of her thighs.

Sasuke pulled back, giving Sakura room to remove her sweater. It had barely been tossed aside when he returned to her, pressing kisses to her stomach and trailing his mouth up to her breasts, sucking on the underside of them before rolling her nipples with his tongue.

While Sasuke laved at her nipples and sucked on the flesh of her pert breasts, he worked on sliding her shorts off. When he didn’t find anything under them except for skin he looked up at her, head cocked quizzically.

“I planned to be out of them so why bother putting on undergarments?”

“Next time,” Sasuke pressed a kiss to her knee and then the other, “let me take them off.”

“Next time,” Sakura’s breath hitched as he gave her clit a flick of his tongue, “huh?”

The look Sasuke gave her was all heat as he sucked one of her nether lips into his mouth before working her with his tongue. Sakura sank her fingers into his thick, black hair and wondered if he had done this for her the other night. If he had it was a shame she couldn’t recall it or had a heads up to just how wonderful Sasuke’s tongue was. Her fingers tightened their hold on his hair, keeping him in place as her thighs trembled around his head. She cried out, high and sharp, when Sasuke pressed deeper into her, his tongue working harder as he alternated between strokes and suckling on her hardened little nub as if it was his reason for existing.

Sakura’s ankles locked behind Sasuke’s shoulders as her hips grinded against his mouth to chase the wave of her orgasm. With a keening cry she collapsed back onto the couch, her chest heaving from exertion. As she tried to control her breathing, Sasuke made his way back up her body, pressing kisses and nips to every bit of skin he could. Humming with satisfaction, she cupped his face in her hands and pulled him back up so she could kiss him hard, tasting herself as she rolled her tongue against his.

“Take off your pants,” Sakura panted, sliding her hands down to the waistband of Sasuke’s sweatpants.

Sasuke shook his head and licked up her sternum with one sure lick, pressing his tongue hard between her breasts. “Turn around.”

His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against her breastbone, and causing a shiver to run down her spine. He used a hand to guide her to turning around until she was stomach down on the couch. With her back exposed to him, Sasuke pressed open mouth kisses down her spine. She flinched when he reached the center of her back, the spot surprisingly sensitive. He palmed her ass with both hands, massaging the cheeks before biting down on a fleshy area.

“Hey!” Sakura squealed at the sensation. He chuckled against her, sliding a hand between her thighs to where she was softest.

“I think you liked that.” He stroked her with his fingers, spreading her folds and dipping his middle and ring fingers inside of her. “I know you liked that.”

“Hmm, maybe I did.” Sakura pressed her cheek to the couch cushion and lifted her rump higher in the air and rocked her hips from side to side teasingly.

Sasuke sat up on his knees and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her closer to him. He pressed his hips against her and rocked back and forth, his clothed, hardened length digging against her core. Sakura moaned softly against the couch cushion as Sasuke grinded against her in alternating rhythms.

“Just put it in already,” Sakura pleaded.

“Fuck,” Sasuke hissed as she rocked back against him. “Do you want me to go get a condom? I think Obito has some in the master bedroom.”

“Don’t bother,” Sakura panted. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Alright.”

Sasuke stood up and pulled his sweatpants and boxers off. He helped her turn back around and settled himself between her legs. Bracing himself on one forearm, Sasuke licked his fingers and rubbed the tip of his cock before taking himself in hand and gave himself four quick pumps before guiding himself inside of her wet heat.

Sakura moaned at the fullness as he stretched her pleasantly. She cupped his face in her hands once again and kissed him wherever she could reach with her mouth—his chin, the corner of his mouth, his upper lip. She hadn’t realized how empty and aching she was feeling until this moment.

“You good?” Sasuke asked, keeping still but adjusting her legs around his hips for her comfort.

Sakura nodded, wrapping her arms under his armpits and clutched his shoulders. She tilted her hips up and rolled them until he began to thrust.

She didn’t know if this was how they did it the other night, but she was enjoying it. Sakura expected him to grope at her breasts and her ass as he pounded into her, but Sasuke kept to a steady pace and with his forearms caging her head, he wrapped her hair around his fingers and kissed her languidly. It was so warm and affectionate she almost forgot that it started as her just wanting a fuck on the couch to figure out if it was as good as she had thought it would be and to make up for being robbed of the experience by her inebriation.

“Harder,” Sakura demanded and without missing a beat Sasuke gave her exactly what she asked for.

He sat up on his knees and lifted her legs straight up so that her ankles crossed behind his head and he thrust harder, holding onto her knees to keep her in place. One of his legs slipped onto the ground so that he could brace himself with his foot and make sure they didn’t fall off the couch.

“You feel so good,” he praised her, kissing her left inner ankle.

“Yeah?” Sakura smiled mischievously up at him and squeezed the muscles of her core, causing Sasuke to falter in his movements. She giggled at his expense but choked on air when he readjusted his footing and thrust particularly hard into her.

Sasuke pushed her knees up into her chest and held her there as he set a punishing pace, hitting her repeatedly in a spot she liked. Her staccato cries of joy filled the room, drowning out the sound of the television.

She fell apart again and Sasuke slowed down his thrusting in favor of feeling her flutter around him and kissing her lazily. They lay like that, him still inside of her, and they exchanged kisses.

“Your turn,” Sakura murmured against his mouth as he stroked her side, brushing her ribs with his knuckles.

“Flip over,” Sasuke ordered, voice low and causing her stomach to clench in anticipation. Settling behind her, Sasuke chased his finish, his chest pressed to her back and panting in her ear.

They both collapsed on the couch and Sasuke turned on his side so that he could pull Sakura against him. They lay in a boneless sort of manner and sated, intertwining their legs and their bodies slick with sweat.

After a moment of silence, Sakura spoke up.

“Well that was definitely better sober.”

Sasuke snorted, his silent laughter rumbling in his chest and vibrating against Sakura’s back.

He was supposed to be getting some water. Somehow a trip for water turned into him making out with Sakura. She was seated on the kitchen island and he stood between her legs, one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other cradling her face.

“I’m supposed to be making dinner,” she whined but made no move to pull away. She gasped when Sasuke slid his hand between her thighs.

“We can order pizza.”

She couldn’t remember what her question was. Not with the way Sasuke moved underneath her, breaking her rhythm and holding her hips down to meet his every thrust. He had her crying out and collapsing onto him, weak to his relentless pounding.

Sakura panted, struggling to catch her breath after they both came, as Sasuke rubbed her back soothingly.

“Yeah, I’ll change the bulb in the hallway closet.”

That was the question? Sakura frowned against Sasuke’s clavicle. Well, alright then.

“Shut up!”

Sakura hid her face in her hands, trapping the heat radiating off of it with her palms.

“Tell us everything,” Ino insisted. Karin nodded vigorously in agreement from her window on Sakura’s monitor.

The three of them were using Zoom to video chat and it was supposed to be wine and movie night, but it had instead turned into a gossip session now that Sakura admitted to them that her three year dry spell had ended during the quarantine.

“We keep fucking,” Sakura whined, pulling her knees up to her chest and falling sideways on her bed. “He’s like the fucking energizer bunny: just keeps going and going.”

Karin snorted, earning herself a glare from Sakura. “How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not.” Sakura chewed on her lower lip. “We hang out and do other stuff too.”

“Like what?” Ino asked, blowing on her nails. She had taken out her nail polish and had given herself a pedicure as she waited for Karin to pick their movie and their change in plans hadn’t stopped her from continuing.

“We watch movies and take care of Obito’s garden and his plants. I’m teaching him how to cook.” Sakura sighed and groaned softly under her breath, “We take naps together and just...cuddle.”

Besides sex being added to the list of their activities, the only change to their cohabitation was that sometimes they curled up in Sasuke’s bed just to sleep together or hold each other as they lay in the comfort of the blankets. It sometimes led to sex, but that wasn’t the goal. They simply liked being together and exchanging kisses between the sheets and listening to music.

It was sometimes more enjoyable than when he was making her come like a train. Sometimes. Alright, always. Coming was nice but she had a drawer of toys for that. She couldn’t cuddle and joke with her vibrator.

“Now that you’re boning him,” Karin smirked at her, “do you think you can introduce me to his older brother?”

The three of them burst into laughter, Sakura burying her face into her pillow to drown out the sound.

When Sasuke had remodeled Sasori’s master bathroom, he had found a bath to install that would fit his cousin’s tall frame perfectly inside. It was for that reason he knew he and Sakura could both fit comfortably, considering he and Obito were the same height.

“This is nice,” Sakura sighed, settling between his legs and resting her back against his chest. “I thought Sasori had locked his bedroom before leaving to Third’s.”

Sasori had in fact locked his bedroom, but Sasuke had picked the lock so that he could use the master bedroom for the setting of his photos for his OnlyFans. Sasuke had money to make and he needed privacy and also didn’t want to get into Sakura’s way while she worked and took care of the house.

Things had been good so far between the two of them. They hadn’t discussed what they were doing, but Sasuke was enjoying being trapped in the house with Sakura. Her affection for him even traveled outside the walls of Sasori’s house. She would hold his hands as they walked down aisles when they went shopping for things they couldn’t order or when they went for walks around the neighborhood.

Now they were taking a bath together. Sasuke had used the large bathtub for some photos, carefully placing bubbles to cover his penis, but then making them dissipate with a flap of his hand to take uncensored shots for his Patreon tiers that involved full nudity.

It was as the water cooled and the bubbles became flat that he thought about Sakura and if she would want to relax with him.

When he suggested a bath to Sakura, her eyes lit up and she found all of the candles in the house, played some soft music, and prepared the bath with scented oils and bubbles.

“This has got to be a fire hazard.” Sasuke gestured around the room at all of the candles. Their flames reflected against the tiles of the bathroom, creating a nice ambience.

“Shhhh.” Sakura kissed the inside of his wrist, and snuggled into him more. “Don’t be a killjoy.”

Sasuke leaned back and closed his eyes. This would probably be a little better if I were high, he sighed inwardly. He should have rolled a joint before they got into the bath.

“Would this be considered a date?” Sakura asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Some people would consider it a date. I would rather be clothed during most of a date.”

“I don’t mind,” Sakura chirped. “You’re exactly how I would want you to end up anyway.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the bath traveled up the back of Sasuke’s neck and settled in his ears.

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up right now, where would you wanna go?”

“Hmm…” Sakura hummed one thought, her knees swaying from side to side. “For a walk in Old Town to get some ice cream. Maybe check out the hibachi spot and then watch the boats on the river.”

“I don’t even like ice cream and that sounds good. Just to be outside.”

Two months had passed since the quarantine had begun and Sasuke was beginning to feel restless. He didn’t usually care about going out, only really went out for work, but now that he was forced to stay inside all day, every day, he just wanted to go out and do something.

After the quarantine was over, he and Sakura were going to need to take a road trip just to feel normal again.

“My friend Karin got tested and her results were negative so she’s going to come over and give me a haircut.” Sakura tugged at the ends of her long hair. “I procrastinated getting one and then everything was shut down.”

Sasuke huffed air out of his mouth and blew at his bangs. They had grown long enough to fall to his chin. “You think she’d mind giving me a haircut too?”

Sakura couldn’t stop giggling. She rubbed the back of Sasuke’s head, right at the nape where Karin had shaved his hair so it was a close crop. She had buzzed him into an undercut before Sakura and Sasuke could say anything about it.

“I just needed a trim.” Sasuke scowled. Karin had done a really good job and the hairstyle looked great on him, but Sasuke had only wanted to take care of his unruly bangs. “If I put my glasses on, I’ll look like a wannabe Skrillex.”

Sakura snorted, curling up in his lap. “His undercut is on the side like Karin’s. Yours is on the back.”

“Whatever. Don’t you dare give her my brother’s phone number.” Sasuke ran his fingers through Sakura’s new bob cut and kissed her forehead. “Anything you wanna do before bedtime?”

For the past few weeks they had tried to make sure they were preoccupied so that they wouldn’t get bored. Sakura was still attempting to teach him to cook but she has better results teaching him yoga.

“We could have a Lord of the Rings marathon?” Sakura wrinkled her nose in thought. “I can work on some crochet crop tops while we watch.”

They had settled into a comfortable, domestic routine. Sakura was enjoying living with Sasuke and didn’t care about Sasori and Obito having ditched her. She was kind of glad they did. She was especially glad for it the week before when Sasuke made her ginger and honey tea and always had a hot water bottle ready for her when the cramps got really bad. Sasori had the weird idea to feed her liver whenever she was on her period. He never cooked it, always handing it to her raw.

It was nice living with Sasuke. Sakura wasn’t looking forward to when Sasori and Obito returned and ruined the tranquility they had.

She prayed things wouldn’t change when they were around other people. That they wouldn’t go back to how they used to be when they sat awkwardly next to each other at holidays.

Usually a morning person, Sakura was always first to wake up out of the both of them.

She woke to the feeling of him pressed against her back, erection settling against her ass and warm breath puffing against her nape. His arm wrapped around her body and held to her chest as her fingers were laced with his.

“Sasuke.” Sakura attempted to separate their limbs. “Sasuke. We fell asleep on the couch again.”

Sasori’s couch was ridiculously comfortable and with the wide extension sticking out to make its L shape, Sakura found herself falling asleep on it often. During the quarantine she always lay there when watching TV or movies which was pretty typical from pre-quarantine life, but now instead of selfishly taking up the best spot, she was sharing it with Sasuke who was surprisingly cuddly.

“Sasuke,” Sakura whined. The more she tried to pull away, the more he clung to her. She disentangled their legs and he bit down softly on the back of her neck. “I have morning breath and, dude, I definitely need a shower…”

“Like I care.”

Sasuke was talented at distracting her. One moment she wanted to get ready for the day and in the next all she wanted was to roll around in bed all day. Sakura made no protest when Sasuke helped her remove one of the shirts she kept stealing from him and pulled off her sweatpants and tugged her panties off. Thanks to Sasuke, she was spending an incredible amount of time naked on Sasori’s couch.

“I was supposed to,” Sakura’s breath hitched when Sasuke bit the inside of her left thigh, “be making breakfast.”

“This is preferable,” he murmured against her folds, burying his face between her legs.

During the weeks of their cohabitation, Sakura had discovered that Sasuke liked going down on her more than he enjoyed when she returned the favor. He apparently liked to take advantage of the fact that she could have more than one orgasm in a single round of sex and even though getting blown was nice, he didn’t like the recovery time or how sensitive he became afterward.

Sasuke was in the middle of getting her to the first orgasm he wanted to give her when the front door opened. Not that Sasuke or Sakura had noticed.

“Oh my God,” Sakura sighed breathily, sinking her fingers into Sasuke’s hair.

“Oh my God!” Obito cried out, snapping Sakura out of her pleasure induced daze.

“My couch!” Sasori hissed, eyes narrowed in distaste.

Sakura sat up, almost kicking Sasuke in the face, and saw both her cousin and his husband and a giant man almost half a foot taller than Obito on the other side of the couch.

“Oh my God,” Sakura moaned softly in horror, grabbing the throw she kept on the couch and wrapping it around her body. Sasuke straightened himself and took a seat next to her, bare as the day he was born, cock hard and hair mussed, with a shiny smear on his chin from the activity that had just been interrupted.

“Holy shit, Shisui was right.” Obito stared in awe at Sasuke’s crotch, only snapping his attention away when Sasori slapped his arm and shot him a look of disgust. “What? I thought he was exaggerating how big it was. Oh, fuck. I owe him one-fifty now.”

Sasori rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen, calling out behind him, “Please tell me you mean a dollar and change.”

Obito rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “No. Hundred fifty.”

“Hello.” The giant man waved at Sasuke and Sakura, flashing them what in a normal situation would have been a charming smile if it weren’t for the severe lack of clothing and what he had walked in on. “I’m Third, It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. He put it down as soon as he realized they weren’t going to shake his hand. “We came over because Obito has been raving about your cinnamon chip scones and Sasori said that you could teach me to make them for him.”

“You could have called first,” Sasuke drawled, bending over at the waist to reach for his sweatpants and boxer briefs.

“You could have not been fucking on my couch!” Sasori’s voice carried in from the kitchen, followed by the slamming of cupboard doors.

Sakura rolled her eyes and stood up, careful to keep the throw wrapped around her body. Leave it to her to be caught by her cousin, his husband, and their boyfriend getting eaten out in the early morning in the middle of the living room.

“Come back in one hour and I’ll teach you how to bake anything you want,” She told Third, craning her neck to be able to look him directly in the eye. “But you gotta take them with you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Much faster than she expected someone of such great bulk to move, Third was escorting Sasori and Obito━who had already found her homemade yogurt and was eating it━out of the house.

“Are you really going to be teaching their boyfriend to bake?” Sasuke asked, yanking his pants up and following her as she walked to her bedroom. Sakura snorted and shook her head.

“I can teach him over FaceTime. We’re changing the fucking locks.”

Day’s Notes: There’s a high chance I may revisit this AU because I used some AU ideas of mine and mashed them up to make this fic and I’m very attached to my OnlyFans Sasuke AU. I have so much to write for it.

#sasusaku #ssm20 #ssm20d1 #day!fics

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i-know-you-can · 4 years

Text

The Story of Us - It takes a village

Time flies and it’s been a little while since I added anything new to my collection of short one shots/drabbles but a few days ago a wonderful idea by @tikigoddess caught my attention and wouldn’t let me go. You can find the original post here or if you don’t want to be spoiled

Read below or on Ao3

“Are you sure you guys are gonna be fine on your own? I can just tell Veronica to reschedule. Or maybe we can stay in. I’m sure she could bring the whole spa over here if she wanted.”

“Betts,” Jughead says, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her nervous rambling, the other hand cradling their baby daughter against his chest. “We’ll be just fine. Mia will probably sleep most of the time you’re away anyway while I’ll try to get some writing done. No need to worry about us.”

It’s been only six weeks since Mia Isabella Jones has entered their lives, causing everything they do to stop and focus on her. And while Jughead is more than willing to do that, assuming the role of a full time dad with pride, he’s also still a husband, one of his duties being that he needs to force his wife to take time for herself and relax.

“But what if...” Betty tries to protest but Jughead stops her.

“No what ifs. You’re only going to Greendale. If something were to happen, which it won’t, Veronica’s driver will have you back in no time.”

With a resigned sigh Betty nods and Jughead knows just how she feels. Every moment spent away from their daughter feels like forever. And for someone as young as her, it probably is. Even though she spends most of her day sleeping, completely unaware of her parents’ presence.

“I’ll miss this sweet face,” Betty says, her lips down-turned as she strokes Mia’s cheek, the little girl rewarding her with a toothless smile.

“I’ll miss yours too.” Jughead grins, making her chuckle. “But it’s only a few hours and you deserve time for yourself.”

Just then a car honks outside of their house, signaling Veronica’s arrival.

With dozen kisses to Mia’s face and a few spare for him, Betty is out of the door, finally leaving the father-daughter duo alone.

“It’s just you and me kiddo,” Jughead whispers and for a moment he worries Mia will feel the lack of her mother’s presence and break into tears. He sure would in her place. But instead she just lets out a quiet gurgle and snuggles into his chest.

“I know, I’ll miss mommy too,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Not sure if more for her comfort or his. “But I promise we’ll have fun.”

Jughead may have exaggerated the term fun when twenty minutes later Mia is sleeping soundly in her crib while he stares at the blank screen of his computer, willing the words to come to him. It’s difficult to get into the zone though, as a thought in the back of his mind keeps nagging him, telling him he’s forgetting something important. He’s ran through the mental checklist of baby care twice already, making sure his daughter was safe and satisfied but the feeling doesn’t go away.

It’s only when his phone rings and a frustrated “Jones, where are you? We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.” comes from the other end that he realizes what he’s been forgetting this whole time. The monthly Serpents’ meeting.

While the previous month, due to Mia being barely two weeks old, Toni, as his second in command, lead the meeting, this month Jughead promised to check back in himself. A thought that quickly slipped his mind in the hustle and bustle of his everyday life.

What was once a five minute bike drive now turned into half an hour as Jughead triple checked the contents of the diaper bag before loading Mia into the car seat and setting off towards the White Wyrm. By the time he arrives, the Serpents are already waiting, faces predictably twisted with annoyance that quickly dissipates and turns into smiles once they notice the sleeping baby strapped to his chest. His daughter does tend to have that sort of effect on people.

“Sorry for the delay, guys,” Jughead says as they all settle into their chairs, “but as you can see, I have a very cute excuse.”

It’s barely ten minutes later when he’s running his hand through his hair in frustration. He’s forgotten how these meetings can sometimes go, especially with new members of the gang and without Betty by his side to shut them up with a single look before they have a chance to say something stupid.

“It’s just weed. What’s the big deal?” the newest member of the gang, a self-nicknamed guy called Sniper, asks, crossing his arms. He looks like a toddler about to throw a tantrum and Jughead hoped he was at least two years away from having to deal with that.

“The Serpents don’t deal drugs. It’s one of the main rules and you know that,” Jughead says, trying to keep his tone firm and serious. He knows that the adorable baby strapped to his chest may be making it a bit more difficult to take him seriously but he tries anyway.

Sniper rolls his eyes with an exaggerated huff, muttering something about the gang being boring. Then he pulls out a pack of cigarettes but Toni slaps the lighter out of his hand before he can light one.

“Are you crazy? There is a baby here,” she says, her eyes flaming with anger.

“Yeah, and Fangs has asthma. The Wyrm is a strict no smoking zone,” Sweet Pea growls, standing up to tower over the new guy for emphasis.

Sniper takes a quick look around him, as if wondering whether anyone will back him up, but the other Serpents just shake their heads and send him disapproving looks. “What kind of stupid gang is this?” he grumbles, kicking a chair angrily.

The sudden noise startles Mia from her slumber, a loud wail piercing through the air in an instant.

“See? Now you made the baby cry. Get out of here!” Sweet Pea snarls, pushing him towards the exit.

Jughead’s hand immediately comes up to Mia’s back, trying to soothe her with gentle strokes. “It’s okay, sweetie,” he talks to her in the softest voice possible, “sorry that poopy head woke you up.” He hears a couple of people snicker at his choice of words but ignores them, bouncing lightly on his feet, hoping to quickly put her back to sleep. The first three weeks of her life, bouncing on a fitness ball was the only sure-fire way to get her to sleep but Betty and Jughead have since moved on from bringing the ball with them everywhere so this is the most he can do now.

The little girl isn’t having it though, her tiny face scrunching up and her cries growing louder. Some of the Serpents, mostly the ones who don’t have kids on their own, start looking uncomfortable, clearly not sure how to deal with the situation. A crying baby is not a common problem during gang meetings.

“Let me hold her. Maybe she’s just sick of all the testosterone in the air,” Toni says and after a moment of hesitation Jughead carefully extracts Mia from the baby carrier.

“Be careful,” he tells her and she shoots him a look that says: “ I know what I’m doing better than you do.” . He supposes she’s right. After all, she has her own tiny person at home and therefore a lot more experience than he does. Still, it doesn’t stop him from worrying whenever he hands his daughter to someone else.

Toni’s presence doesn’t seem to help though, as Mia continues to prove to everyone how strong her lungs are.

“Let me try,” an older Serpent comes up to Toni, reaching his hands out for the baby. “My girls always liked to be rocked in a specific way.”

Jughead runs his hand through his hair, wondering how the direction of the meeting changed so quickly. Ah, right, Sniper was being an idiot.

Betty often teases him about how the Serpents have hardly resembled a gang in the past half a decade. He usually tries to oppose her, saying that a gang isn’t defined by doing criminal activities or riding motorcycles (many of the Serpents have exchanged theirs for family cars). But looking at them now, all he sees is a group of dorks in leather jackets, passing along a crying baby in a poor attempt to get her to stop crying.

“Your ugly face is only making her cry more.” He hears Sweet Pea say to a Serpent called Hisser who is trying to pull funny faces at Mia, before taking the baby from him. “Babies like being sung to,” he says, taking a deep breath before a slightly husky rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star reverberates through the bar.

“You’re singing it wrong,” Fangs interrupts him, starting the song again and several other Serpents start humming alongside him.

To everyone’s surprise, by the time they finish the song for the second time, the crying stops, Mia’s bright green eyes half closed and heavy with sleep.

“We did it, boss!” Fangs whisper yells in excitement as Sweet Pea continues to rock the baby in his arms until her eyes close completely.

As Jughead watches them, he realizes he could hardly ask for a better family for his daughter. Raising a child really takes a village. And sometimes that village is a group of gang member singing lullabies in a bar.

_______________

“Oh my god!” Betty exclaims with a giggle as a video of the Serpents singing to her daughter plays on her phone. Underneath a message from Toni says: "The Serpent Princess already has them wrapped around her tiny finger.”

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #betty x jughead #bughead fic #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #my fanfiction

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.1/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove was bored. He’d been bored for some time now. In his youth he’d dreamed of becoming a travelling bard. He’d even focused his time in Oxenfurt on the liberal arts and had graduated quite successfully from the academy, but before he’d even begun his journey to becoming renowned troubadour, he’d been called back to his family home. The news of his father’s death had been an unfortunate one and he’d been forced to step up and become head of his vast estate.

There had been a moment, in the dead of night, witching hour, when he’d very nearly picked up his lute and fled.

He hadn’t.

He’d turned over and gone back to sleep. He did have a rather luxurious bed and he’d not been short of company to fill it with. He often wondered what would have become of him if he had run away that night, at barely eighteen. He often dreamed of the songs he could have written, the people he could have met, the adventures he could have had.

A deep part of him sorely regretted the path not taken.

Instead he drowned his sorrows in the most delicious wine from Toussaint and lured beautiful people to his bedchamber. He was determined to enjoy the few pleasures left to him in gluttonous amounts.

He gazed out of the window of his study into the gardens. They were stunning at this time of year. They weren’t the most well kept gardens, but he liked that. He enjoyed the wild long grass and the litany of yellow, white and purple weeds that sprung up in the summer. The sounds of bees filled the air, a constant low buzzing that he found both soothing and wildly distracting. He enjoyed a long stroll in the gardens when he wasn’t buried under paperwork. Quite frankly he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the different silk sheets used in the guest bedrooms or whether the local houses were paying their taxes in time. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all of that diplomatic nonsense just disappeared?

Poverty could become a thing of the past. He’d given away vast amounts of his fortune whenever he could convince his lawyers to let the assets go but his estate only thrived more as the farmers, workers and merchants were able to work more efficiently and invested more funding into their livelihoods.

He couldn’t begrudge them that but he felt guilty for owning so much when they lived on so little so he kept feeding his money back into the surrounding villages and they kept growing and expanding their homes and businesses.

None of the surrounding lords or barons could understand how he did it.

He couldn’t exactly explain it himself.

He had been hoping to run his estate into the ground so he could run off and have the heroic adventures that he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps he would even run into one of those witchers. He was fascinated by witchers. He always had been, ever since he was a boy and he’d heard the rumours of the Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. The rumours were that the man had slaughtered an entire village with his bare hands in some kind of blood-fuelled frenzy.

Julian didn’t believe that for a second.

He’d snuck down to the library and buried himself under books, scrolls and parchments, anything in his father’s great library with even the whiff of a witcher. He’d read bestiaries and fairytales, utterly bewitched by the tales of fae, vampires and werewolves. He devoured everything he could by candlelight. It was what had driven him to his chosen career as a bard. He wanted to experience those stories himself, he needed to live it. His thirst for knowledge and innate curiosity had seen him through Oxenfurt with ease. He’d been able to spend far too long in taverns and brothels whilst his peers studied books and manuscripts that he’d read within the first months of attending the famous school. The library had been enviable and he’d been unable to stay away for months.

He sighed dramatically. It had all been a fucking waste of time. He closed the leather-bound book he’d been scrawling in, even after all these years he couldn’t help the flashes of creative inspiration that hit him. It was like a vampire’s thirst, burning in his throat and heart. He had to write, he had to play and sing and dance. He ran his fingers along the underside of his writing desk until he heard a faint click and a drawer popped open. He tucked the book neatly into the draw beneath the pressed dandelion.

Dandelion.

It was to be his stage name had he followed through with his plans.

He’d kept the pressed yellow flower as a reminder. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers before sighing loudly.

“Master Dandelion, renowned troubadour and poet.” He pouted before gently returning the flower to its cage and closing the drawer shut, it vanished into the wooden desk without a trace. “I supposed it is quite poetic,” He whined. “I am like the flower trapped in my own cage from which I cannot escape. The flower which holds my name and soul shares my fate.”

He groaned and bumped his head against the desk. The long feather in his hat flopped down, tickling his nose. He promptly sneezed.

“Ah. To the gods! Even my own hat hates me.” He moaned.

Thankfully he was pulled from his self-pity by a knock at the door. He jumped to his feet and straightened his hat, tucking the treacherous heron feather back into place.

“Come in!” He trilled.

Annabelle, a pretty redhead and one of his longest serving maids entered the room. “ Lord Lettenhove.” Annabelle curtsied.

Julian rolled his eyes and pulled the girl to her feet. “Annabelle, dearest, how many times must I ask you to call me Julian and none of this grovelling nonsense. Tell me, how are your family? Your mother was sick, is she feeling any better? I trust she received the medicine I sent.”

Annabelle blushed and smiled up at him. “Yes Lord Let - Lord Julian. Thank you very much. You are too kind to us.”

“My darling, I simply have nothing better to do with my fortune than ensure my staff are well looked after. How’s the little one, Eleanor if I remember correctly?”

“Yes, Lord Julian. She’s growing up fast. My sister told me she started to crawl yesterday.” Annabelle answered meekly.

Julian gasped and put his hand to his chest. “And you missed it! Oh my dear, my sincerest apologies.”

Annabelle shook her head. “I love my job, Lord Julian. There is no reason to apologise. You’ve already done far too much for my family.”

It was Julian’s time to blush. He hated how much his staff revered him, didn’t they realise his motivations were purely selfish? He just wanted to get out of this house! He wanted to leave them. They just didn’t see any of that but he didn’t let his frustration show. “Now now, they’ll be time to sing my praises later, my dear, what was it that you needed? We are not due another order from the farms yet are we?”

The girl laughed quietly. “No, nothing like that. Forgive me, Lord Julian, I don’t mean to make assumptions.”

She shuffled awkwardly on her feet. “Well go on! Don’t keep me in suspense like this.” He pouted with a hand on his hips.

“There’s a rumour going round, Lord Julian.” She blushed. “About a witcher in one of the outer villages. They were having problems on the full moon. Mysterious and gruesome murders.”

Julian wanted to jump for joy.

A real witcher.

On his land.

“Oh my!” He clapped his hands together. “We must send for him at once!” He ran to his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “Now tell me Annabelle what monsters are more enticing to a monster hunter, vampires or werewolves?” He scoffed before she could answer. “No no, that’s too obvious, and unbearably dull. Nekkers? Oooh, what about a draconid? A forktail perhaps?”

Annabelle kept opening and closing her mouth but there was no interrupting Julian when he got like this. He barely even noticed he still had company.

“Or a wraith!” He laughed gaily. “Oh yes that will do nicely! A wraith haunting the attic! Then we may get to see the witcher in action, oh the tales I could write! Maybe I could publish them under a pseudonym, Master Dandelion may yet still live!”

His hands flew over the paper as he scrawled as quickly and elegantly as he could. Once he was finished he read it over quickly, cornflower blue eyes scanning over the words quick as lightning.

My dear witcher,

On behalf of Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, I would like to thank you for offering your services to assist our villagers with their furry little problem. I write this letter before the news of your success has reached me but I have no doubt that you will succeed in your quest! You must tell me whether you have slain the beast or cured it of the lycanthropy. I await the tale of your heroic adventure with great anticipation.

The Lord Lettenhove requests your presence at his estate. You see, my dearest witcher, we have a little pest problem of our own. A wraith haunts the house and our poor chambermaids are quite at their wits end with fright.

I beseech you. Don’t delay.

Yours, Dandelion.

He chuckled at the name. He was going to have a lot of fun with this witcher, whoever it maybe, and he didn’t need the witcher knowing exactly who he was just yet. He sealed the letter swiftly and all but shoved poor Annabelle from the room so that she could deliver it hastily.

He followed after her and practically ran down the corridor and up the stairs to the master bedroom. He flung open his wardrobe as he hummed a new melody under his breath. He needed to choose an outfit. Something that was less Viscount and more genius bard.

He stripped off his golden doublet and trousers in exchange for his favourite plum set. It had intricate embroidery around the collar that he just adored. He paired the doublet with a white undershirt with lace around the cuffs and collar.

He took off his hat and twirled a strand of his soft golden blond hair in between his fingers. He’d been growing it out lately, he was really just so bored, and he’d been considering experimenting with some curling irons like he’d seen his cook use. He was certain that Hanna would show him how to use them if he asked nicely.

But did he have enough time for that?

He still needed to set up his wraith problem, and it needed to be convincing enough to keep the witcher around long enough to get to know him, perhaps he could even lure the man to his bedroom if he were that way inclined.

Gods he hoped he was.

It had been too long since Julian, no, Dandelion, had had a male lover.

Well, if he was planning to seduce the man then he really should look his best but first he needed to make sure that they stage was set. He picked up his old forgotten lute from the corner of the bedroom, gently trailing a finger down the neck of the instrument before quickly plucking at the strings and fiddling with the pegs to make sure she was still in tune.

“I am so sorry darling.” He cooed to the instrument. “It’s been too long.”

He tucked her into his old lute case and appraised his reflection in his mirror.

“Hmm…” He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated. “Not quite right. Oh yes! My hat!” He swiped up a matching plum coloured bonnet and pinned a feather in place because plopping it onto his head. He looked back at his reflection with a furrowed brow and then inspiration hit him and he tilted his hat so he fell slightly to one side. “Perfect!”

He giggled and bowed dramatically to his reflection. “Master Dandelion, at your service!” He grinned seductively.

Oh this witcher would have no idea what hit him.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing #the viscount and the witcher

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hollyxqx · 4 years

Text

ALWAYS : NAMJOON : EPILOGUE

↪ PAIRING: Kim Namjoon x Reader ↪ GENRE: idol!au | ex’s to lovers | angst | smut ↪ SUMMARY: the story of how almost divorced, disgraced idol kim namjoon tries to put his life back the way it was after the world found out he was married and had a kid. ↪ WORD COUNT: 6k

↪ WARNINGS: angst angst angst, smut, nj has a mild pregnancy kink, oc body shames themselves a lot, milddddd drug references, tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: sorry this was delayed but here it is! thank you for being so patient and i really hope yall enjoy/are satisfied with the ending . my ask is always open if you have any questions or comments :):)

ONE : TWO : EPILOGUE

By day number four of avoiding Namjoon you knew it was time to relent and at the very least speak to him. Days one through three were spent using your mom's house as a temporary hideout. You knew there was a million questions whirring around in her head at your surprise visit, but you kept quiet, merely stating you wanted a break. She had given you the kind of look that was equal parts disapproving and disappointed, in only the way a mother could combine those expressions. It made you wonder if you made that face too.

Namjoon had called and texted everyday, each time begging you to talk to him. Your fingers would itch over the messages, tempted to just give in. You hated this as much as he did. After finally, finally, getting what you'd wanted for years - your family whole - it felt like it was slipping through your fingers again.

It was a loss you weren't sure if you could endure again.

Siwoo sat happily on his play mat, toy car in hand while you kept a careful watch on him. He had a tendency to put things in his mouth that didn't belong there, so you made sure to pay attention.

You were extra thankful for him as of late, your ray of sunshine in these dark few days. Though, when he went to bed in the evenings everything hit you the hardest, raw and painful. You'd had such little sleep in the last few days it was a miracle you were functioning as well as you were. Months of sleepless nights when Siwoo was a newborn had trained you well, you supposed.

The tea in your mug had gone cold and it tasted as bitter as you felt. You had gone back and forth several thousand times about whether you were over-reacting or not. The initial knee jerk reaction you have is to run when things get difficult. You'd been that way your entire life, often times to your detriment.

Over the course of your entire relationship with Namjoon that had been a recurring issue. Every argument, every fight, squabble, disagreement or otherwise, you were the one that bailed. The one that needed time to cool off. Which ultimately led to you filing for divorce in the end. Maybe it was time to confront your issues instead of running away from them.

The doorbell rang exactly at four p.m, signalling Namjoon had arrived. He knew the passcode and could easily enter if he so much as wanted to, having done so for the last few months. But you knew Namjoon. This was a way of showing you some respect, showing you he was giving you your space and would wait for you to come to him when you were ready. The same pattern as always.

With a heavy heart you trudge to the door, nursing your still cold tea. When you open the door Namjoon stood on the other side, looking as awful as you felt. "Hi." He said quietly, rubbing a sheepish hand over his unshaven face.

"Hi."

You step to the side, allowing him to cross the threshold into the apartment. A surprised, hesitant look crossed his face but he stepped inside regardless.

"Siwoo is in the living room." You told him, straight to the point. He nodded. After all, that was the reason he was here. You were forced out of your silence because you'd never keep his child from him, no matter how bad things got between you.

You hung back in the kitchen and busied yourself with making another cup of tea that you didn't particularly want. It was just an excuse to hide and you knew it. Coward that you were.

You could hear Siwoo's delight at seeing Namjoon as you waited for the kettle and it made your heart ache. He had missed his dad, having been used to his presence much more. The guilt it caused you plagued you constantly, since you were the reason for the separation.

Namjoon appeared in the kitchen a few moments later, Siwoo perched on his hip. A small smile escaped you at the grin on your son's face as his tiny head rested against Namjoon's chest. He still clutched the toy car.

"I'm all set to go." Namjoon announced. He shifted somewhat awkwardly. "Unless you want to..."

"Not yet." You didn't know exactly what he had in mind but you weren't ready for that talk at this moment in time.

He nodded, looking disappointed. "Will I still see you on Sunday?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't you? You're not keeping Siwoo forever." You knew instantly what you said had been far too harsh and definitely out of line. Namjoon's face flashed with pain. "I don't mean it like it that - " You attempted to explain that you weren't infact referring to your son as an object but you were cut off.

"I thought you might send your mom or Jess or anyone else in the world to do it." He informed you.

"It'll be me on Sunday, Namjoon."

"Can we have dinner then? If not for me, for Siwoo." He asked expectantly. You didn't have the heart to refuse him again, not when he looked at you with that desperate longing in his eyes.

"Okay. Dinner, then."

*** Standing outside Namjoon's extravagant house two days later you felt sick, absolutely sick to your stomach, throw up in a hedge nauseous. The combination of nerves, the secret pregnancy and the fact that the last time you were here was one of the worst days of your life had bile creeping up your throat.

When Namjoon finally answered the door, you hurried past him to the bathroom, muttering something about needing to pee. He could only watch you with a bewildered expression, clearly he'd expected a repeat of the awkward interchange from the other day.

You made it to the toilet just in time, praying he didn't hear the sound of you heaving your guts out over the porcelain. As you borrowed some of his mouthwash and cleaned your hands you debated what lie to feed him. Thankfully it wasn't the morning so you hoped you'd be able to get away with food poisoning as your excuse.

You returned to a worried Namjoon. "Are you ok? I heard you throw up." He asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I think I've just got food poisoning."

He stared at you curiously for a beat. "Do you want to lie down before dinner? It won't be ready for another 45 and I'd rather you felt alright."

You shook your head no. "Thanks Joonie, but I'm okay."

His expression softened at your use of his nickname, he hadn't heard it in a while. You didn't intend to use it but it slipped out so naturally. Especially when he was concerned about you.

The kitchen smelled incredible as you entered. Namjoon didn't cook often being the clumsy chef that he was, opting for takeout usually, sometimes multiple times a day. "What are you making? It smells good. Hi boop." You gave Siwoo a cuddle from behind as he sat in his high chair. He squealed with joy in your arms. "Mommy missed you."

"Lamb curry." Namjoon stated. "And just plain pasta for the kiddo."

"And how much has Seokjin helped you with all this?" You couldn't help but tease. Namjoon smirked.

"Alot." He turned away from you to fuss with the pot on the stove. "I wanted to do something nice for you. Figured you'd appreciate the effort."

You made a non-committal noise as you slotted yourself into the chair next to your child, still feeling a little queasy. It was silent until Siwoo's food was ready when Namjoon offered to feed him for you, but you declined. You were happy to do it. He could mostly feed himself anyway but sometimes needed a little help.

With nothing more to do for the time being Namjoon sat opposite you. You could feel his eyes on you but you deliberately kept your own on Siwoo. "What did you boys get up to then?" You murmured, trying to get Siwoo to eat with his small cutlery and not his hands. "The food is hot Siwoo, use this."

"Nothing too exciting. Mostly swimming, I've got the pool up and running again. That kid is a water baby through and through."

You nodded in agreement, having witnessed it first hand yourself. Ever since he figured out what water was you could barely keep him away from it, essentially making bath time a messy affair. "He especially loves your pool since you got that slide."

"I did it for him."

"I know."

Namjoon stood after a while and went to the cupboard, taking out two wine glasses. He placed one in front of where you sat, setting the other at his side of the table. "I got your favourite sauvigon blanc. The one from the top shelf." He mumbled, corking open the bottle he'd grabbed. "Here."

He began pouring you a glass. "Oh no, no thanks, I'm not dri - Siwoo don't throw your pasta."

Namjoon stopped mid pour, raising his eyebrow at you, ignoring the macaroni that hit the floor. "No wine?"

"My stomach still doesn't feel right." You lied, giving him an apologetic look. "Better avoid the alcohol."

"That's not like you." He paused giving you a curious look. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I just don't want to drink. I'll be driving again soon anyway."

He didn't know that you physically could not and would not touch alcohol due to tiny life that was growing inside you. The tiny life you still didn't know what the fuck you were going to about. Your stomach flipped anxiously.

"Okay." He said staring at you for a little too long. He swapped your slightly filled glass with his empty one. Namjoon poured sparkling water in yours in lieu of the wine. You knew he knew you were lying about something, but he said nothing, still on emotionally shaky ground with you. You wondered if he had anticipated you staying the night to offer you alcohol.

When Siwoo had finished eating and all the pasta had been cleaned from the floor you put him down for a nap. It was cute how sleepy he always got after food and it was nearing his bedtime anyway, heavy eyelids drooping as he sipped on water.

The only evidence that Namjoon even had a child was Siwoo's bedroom, the rest of the house looked like it belonged to a bachelor. As you walked through the vast space you found yourself getting somewhat irrationally angry about the fact. No wonder that girl felt so comfortable here. You found yourself scowling when you sat back at the dining table.

"What?" Namjoon asked, sensing instantly the shift in your mood.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"You're one to talk." You shot back. He sighed.

"Don't be like this just because Siwoo isn't here. Can't we keep being civil?"

"Fine." You mumbled.

He dished the food and you ate in stony silence. The sound of the cutlery scraping on the plates soon became deafening to you, grating on you and worsening your mood. Namjoon had asked you to be civil but that girl hadn't been to you, or to him for that matter and that was the only thing on your mind as you ate. The hormones raging through your body were certainly making you more quick to anger than usual.

"Is it okay?" Namjoon asked, pointing to your plate with a fork. "The food."

"Perfect, thank you." You replied. He looked crestfallen at your curt reply.

"Can we talk properly tonight jagi?" He asked.

"Don't call me that." Instantly you were transported back to the night when this mess started, the night you slept together for the first since breaking up. You'd had almost that exact exchange, although it was a playful one and didn't have the sombre atmosphere his kitchen had.

"All I really need is for you to listen." He sighed. "Can you do that for me?"

You owed it to him at least. "Alright."

He inhaled a deep breath before releasing it slowly, as if he was unsure where to begin. "I didn't cheat on you. I wasn't lying about that. If you take anything away from this conversation, please let it be that." His gaze was so intense you couldn't help but believe him.

"Did she kiss you that day?"

"Yeah." He looked down with a grimace. "I didn't initiate anything, she lunged at me. It was an attack."

"She called you Joonie."

That caught his attention and he looked at you in surprise, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. "That bothered you?" You nodded.

"It didn't feel like a casual hookup, Namjoon. She seemed very familiar with you. She was in your home calling you what me - your wife - calls you." You voice got higher the more emotional you got, tears burning your eyes. Namjoon shushed you gently, telling you to calm down. "And then there was the other girl from the pictures. What do you do to these women to make them think this behaviour is ok?"

Namjoon gave you an infuriatingly blank look. "That was the girl I was papped with."

"No it wasn't." You sniffed.

"Baby," He huffed an incredulous but humourless laugh. "I promise you. Crazy girl from the photos is crazy girl that was here. Those pictures were dark, you probably just didn't recognise her."

"Why does she keep showing up?"

"We did hook up, but once a long time ago. I made the mistake of taking her home. I saw her once after that, but we didn't have sex. Other stuff happened, I won't lie."

You felt uncomfortable, hot, prickly jealousy constricting in your chest. "I don't need details."

"I don't really remember it to be honest. I was wasted." He explained further. "She turned out to be a big fan of mine and was - is - having a hard time dealing with the fact that I don't want her. That's it. That's the story. I swear."

You searched his eyes with your own for a few moments and he held your steely gaze.

"You could get a restraining order." You grumbled.

"They're not as easy to get as you think."

You crossed your arms and looked away. Although you believed every word he said you still weren't happy. Maybe it would take more than a conversation this time.

"Anything else you want to know, just ask." Namjoon told you softly. His hand twitched on the table and you could tell he wanted to reach for yours. "I'm an open book."

You knew exactly what was niggling at your conscious. "What else have you lied about?"

He paused for a moment and your heart dropped, anticipating the absolute worst. "I once jerked off to a picture of your feet."

Your scandalized expression was enough to have him laughing, easing some of the tension in the room. "I'm serious!" You scolded.

"So am I." He smirked and you rolled your eyes. "I'm sorry baby, I just wanted to see you smile."

"You're ridiculous."

He stood and walked round the table, taking your hand in his forcing you to stand. He pulled you into a hug and your arms automatically wrapped around his waist. "Am I forgiven?" He mumbled into your hair.

"No." You said but your body contradicted your words, melting even further in to him. "I'm still angry at you for lying and nearly dying of an overdose too. It's scary to think you can keep such things from me. I'm waiting for the next lie now Joonie."

He squeezed you tighter. "I understand, I do, but does a tiny part of you not see why I would hide those things from you? It was to stop you from getting hurt."

"I guess." You know he has a point and you do feel better for having this talk with him but jumping back to fully trusting him feels frightening. You hate being vulnerable and right now, that's what you are.

"All I want is for us to be together, and whatever you need me to do to get us there, I'll do it." He said with strong conviction.

You surprised him by standing on your tiptoes and pecking his lips, his eyes remained open in shock. "You're a good man, Namjoon. I'm lucky I have you." He smiled. "But if you ever lie to me again, I swear to god I'm done."

"Never." He swore.

***

It took three more nights of intense conversations with Namjoon before your relationship started to return to normal. Getting everything out in the open was a little painful for your both but once everything that had happened during your separation was no longer shrouded in darkness, you felt better. You both did.

Namjoon had bravely opened up about how he struggled with pills and drugs. You'd learned he'd been partying a scary amount and that's where he met 'crazy girl'. Apparently she was a big party girl and drug user herself, which made sense, considering her erratic behaviour. She was an amateur model and had access to a lot of free drugs, so Namjoon was unfortunately drawn to her.

It wasn't exactly easy nor fun to hear about the women that he'd been with. It was with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks that he admitted a lot of his hook ups had been a blur of nameless faces. He wasn't proud of it, he'd never been a guy who fucked around, even before you met.

You were surprised to learn he'd spent time in rehab. Mostly it was just therapy but it allowed him to be in a better state mentally and therefore able to cope. Namjoon had got teary when you told him that you were proud of him. It wasn't easier to better yourself and succeed. He told you it was all for Siwoo and you understood that fierce protective desire completely.

During the third night, when you lay in Namjoon's bed, each on your side and facing each other you realised it was time to come clean about your secret now. You squeezed your entwined hands that lay on the pillow between your heads. "Namjoon, in the spirit of being honest...I need to tell you something."

"What is it jagi?" His brow furrowed at your tone.

You gulped. "I'm pregnant." He was silent and his expression never changed, which immediately worried you. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner but I was going to do something cute by just giving you the sonogram instead of doing it in this lame way, but -

" - That's amazing." He interrupted your nervous rambling. A grin started to spread on his face.

"Really?" You asked cautiously.

"Are you joking? It's fucking great news!" He exclaimed. Namjoon let go of your hand and quickly placed his large palm on your lower stomach. "How far along?"

"Only 9 weeks." You playfully shoved his hand off of you. "You won't be able to feel anything yet." You laughed.

"I'm excited. I knew something was up when you weren't drinking and throwing up." He admitted. "It's going to be so different this time round. So much less stress and worry. We can actually enjoy your pregnancy."

"I'm excited that you're excited." You said. "I was scared to tell you. After everything we went through..."

"It's going to be different this time." He repeated. He kissed you passionately, lips crashing against yours as if he was trying to show you just how much he meant his words. Arms snaked around your torso as he held you close. "We're going to have two kids soon." He murmured. "Are you ready for this?"

"Nope." You laughed and he joined you. "But I wasn't ready the first time and we managed."

This time when he kissed you, you could feel him smile against your lips. "This feels like a dream. I'm so happy." He managed to get out in between presses of his mouth against yours. You were elated. "Can't wait to see you pregnant again."

"You mean, fat." You corrected.

"Noooo," He groaned, frustrated. "You looked so sexy when you were pregnant before." His hands slid underneath your shirt, along your stomach to cup and squeeze at your breasts. "You had big ass boobies." You can't help but laugh, he was like a horny teenager when it came to boobs. "Filled with milk for my baby."

His thumbs brushed against your nipples and you stiffened at the sensation. He kept repeating the action and you could feel a dull ache in your core at the sensation. "s'feels good." You murmured, trying to concentrate.

"Yeah?" He pulled back a little to gauge your expression. "Can I keep going?"

You nodded, appreciating the fact that he was asking for permission since you hadn't slept together since your argument. He peeled your shirt from your body and leaned down to plant kisses all over your breasts, thankful you weren't wearing a bra to bed. A dreamy sigh escaped you as your hands carded through his hair.

"D'you know what else I liked about you being pregnant?" He said huskily, still fondling you.

"Tell me." You had felt insecure at the time, and had been feeling it again after seeing the model you knew Namjoon had slept with. Some reassurance would be welcome.

"You were swollen in all the right places." The heel of his palm began to grind down slowly against your panties, having worn only those and a shirt to bed. Namjoon's lips wrapped around a nipple and your pussy pulsed in response. "The curve of your stomach, hips and ass was so fucking sexy."

"Really?"

"Mhmm," He hummed and your underwear was moved to the side. "It was sexy because you looked like a woman. Not just a hot girl." His fingers moved in slow circles against your clit and you feel yourself growing wet especially fast. "And you were off-limits to any other man than me. I put my baby in you and every other man could see it."

"Fuck, Joonie." You whimpered after he hit one particularly sensitive spot, hips jolting slightly. "I didn't know you had a pregnancy kink."

He smirked against your skin, his breath fanning across as he laughed a little. "Me neither, until I saw you."

Briefly he stopped to pull the remnants of your clothing off leaving you fully naked. "Namjoon?" You asked hesitantly, feeling shy. He hummed in response, sliding his fingers into your wet heat once more. Something had been playing on your mind this entire time. "That girl was beautiful."

He groaned. This time it wasn't a sexy groan. "Don't talk about her when I'm touching you like this."

"I keep thinking about her. She's prettier than me." You admitted. He stopped what he was doing, gripping the bottom of your chin, forcing you to face him when you tried to hide the fact that tears were welling in your eyes.

"She's nuts."

"You didn't disagree with me." You pouted. He sighed. "I'm feeling really insecure right now. I'm about to have another kid and my body is going to be wrecked, again. And girls like that are incessantly throwing themselves at you."

"I don't think she was prettier than you. And even if I did, who cares? She isn't beautiful where it counts. I just told you how sexy I think you are and you still don't believe me." He looked sad, it made you feel guilty.

"Sorry I'm being stupid." You mumbled.

"Don't be afraid to tell me when you're feeling like this, I don't want you to feel bad while I'm trying to make you feel good." He insisted. "Just remember that what I feel for you is so much more than how you look. But you're sexy, you're pretty, you're kind and you're an amazing mom. I'm so attracted to you that I'm still hard even through all this just because I'm near you and you're naked." He laughed, guiding your hand to his crotch for emphasis. He wasn't totally hard but that was an erection if you ever felt one.

"I love you so much." You told him sniffling. "Sorry for being a moodkiller. I'm hormonal and emotional right now."

"Tell me about it." He teased. "Can we carry on or are you out of it completely?"

You answered him with a kiss.

He took his time with you that night and you knew that extra effort came entirely from a place of pure, authentic and true love in his heart. Namjoon ate you out until you were a mess beneath him, able to coax two orgasms out of you before agonizingly pushing his stiff length into you.

Whispered praise in your ear made you feel desired in a way like you hadn't experienced before. He cradled you as he fucked into you, encouraging you to keep your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked around his lean body.

"Don't think I could never want you, especially like this." He breathed into your ear, slowly pounding into you. "You're the love of my life."

"Joon..." You moaned, tears stinging your eyes, leaking onto the pillow. You were too emotional right now for sex like this. "Please." You begged.

"Tell me you love me, tell me how good I'm making you feel." He commanded as his hips slapped into you faster this time. All you could think about was his bare skin against yours while you clung to him as if your life depended on it. Every drag of his cock inside you felt like you were made for him.

"I do, I love you so much." You moaned. "You're perfect. No one has ever made me feel like this."

When he came he groaned loud enough that you were certain he woke the sleeping child in the next room.

Your suspicions were confirmed when the pitter patter of tiny feet echoed down the hall. Namjoon leapt away from you so fast, he tangled himself in the sheets and fell over, emitting a loud curse word.

Once Siwoo had been successfully put back to bed (and escaping unscarred, having seen nothing a three year old shouldn't witness) you and Namjoon stifled silent giggles. "I guess I enjoyed that a little too much." He laughed, getting comfortable to sleep.

"Top 5?" You asked, climbing into bed beside him. It was a running joke between you about your favourite sexy time moments. You don't remember when it started and it's hard to remember every single time but there are definitely some stand out moments.

"Top 10." He yawned. "It would be higher up, but I hit my shin pretty hard when I tripped."

"I love you, you clumsy idiot." You whispered, kissing him on the nose.

"I love you too baby."

***

You loved how Siwoo looked in his father's arms. Really, you should gently remove him from the tight embrace Namjoon held him in so he could sleep properly but the sight of the two asleep on the sofa was turning you to mush. They both slept with their mouths hanging open in the exact same way, the only difference was Namjoon snored lightly.

You couldn't resist and snapped a few pictures.

As you watched them you were glad you couldn't move on whilst you were technically single. Even a small part of you regretted attempting to even be with anyone else when this was the only man you wanted right here.

You thought of Mark and the other two guys you'd dated and how empty you had felt, how you'd had to force feelings most of the time. Actions speak louder than words and the fact that neither of you had been able to get close to moving on spoke volumes.

Namjoon was home and always had been.

***

Early pregnancy was a lot more tiring than you remembered this time around. With Siwoo, you'd been relatively lucky and for the most part it had been smooth sailing. New baby was not giving you an easy ride. You'd convinced an overbearingly concerned Namjoon you were well enough to go for a walk but the five times he'd already asked if you were alright showed his worry.

His hand laced through yours as you strolled through a park near your home. It had a beautiful selection of cherry blossom trees, a long time favourite spot of yours. It was his suggestion to get some fresh air after morning sickness had claimed the first half of your day.

The occasional stray blossom petals floated through the air, giving the worn path a story book feel. Even though you weren't 100% you were glad you'd made the choice to go outside, the fresh air smelt sweet and calming.

"Jagi, I've been thinking." Namjoon announced, opting to sling an arm over your shoulder instead. You realised it was the first time he had ever been able to be affectionate with you in a public space. You leaned in closer to his side.

"Do tell."

"Let's have a wedding."

You looked up at him, perplexed. His gaze remained straight ahead. "We had one. You should remember, you were there."

"That wasn't a wedding, that was standing in an office." He corrected with a scoff. "What I'm trying to say is lets have a big celebration. One all our friends can come to. Would you like that?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I've never thought about it." You mused. "That could be fun."

"I thought it could be like an official fresh start. We never had the chance to do it like everyone else." He shrugged. "Only if you want to though, baby."

"I think I want to." You smiled. Namjoon hummed a good, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. You carried on in a comfortable silence.

"One more thing," He said after a few moments. "You need this back."

A hand slipped into his pocket and out came a small jewellery box. Without having to peek inside you already know what it contains. The ring you had given back in a fit of anger nearly a few weeks ago. He flicked the box open and offered it to you. "You're not going to get down on one knee?" You joked. He rolled his eyes.

Willingly you accepted it from him and put on the ring. "I had it cleaned for you."

You admired the silver that adorned your hand for a moment before handing him back the box. "Thank you."

The two of you didn't talk much more as you finished your route through the park. You didn't need to. Everything he'd done for you (and not just today) had said enough.

***

"Siwoo, I have told you to pick up these toys five times now!" You yelled down the hallway, exasperated by your seven year old's will to ignore simple instructions. After escaping the infamous terrible two's with him you noticed he was barrelling to being a defiant child. You raised your voice a lot more these days. "Don't make me tell you again!"

You knew it was futile by the distracted Yes Mom that he replied with. You instantly could tell he was either playing video games or on youtube, both his new favourite pass times. As you attempted to grab a ready made bottle, a loud smash came from the living room and you hurried through, worry clenching your chest.

"Oh baby girl..." You cooed once you'd noticed what had caused the noise. Your two year old, who was just figuring out that she could walk had accidentally smashed a picture frame when she'd tried to use the coffee table for balance. "I left you alone for half a second and you're trashing the place." You sighed to her.

Quickly you checked her over, ensuring she was unharmed. She was. Gently, you slung her over your hip, this time taking her to the kitchen with you. She struggled the entire time, eager to get back to her new found freedom of walking. However as soon as she realised she was getting fed, her mind was quickly changed.

The sound of Namjoon arriving home caught your attention. You were glad he was home. As much as you loved your children, an entire day alone with them was harder than any job you'd ever worked. You were still between nanny's and were picking the slack up yourself.

"There's my girls." You could hear the smile in his voice before you saw it. Namjoon reclined in the doorway, watching you and Eunha, an enamoured look on his face. He crossed the room, kissing her first on the cheek before meeting your lips in a peck. "Where's Siwoo?"

"Bedroom," You sighed. "Tell him to get his toys please." Namjoon nodded, able to read your frustration straight away as his phone and keys where placed on the kitchen counter. He left to do what you'd asked of him.

Once you'd managed to get Eunha down for bed, you joined Namjoon and Siwoo who were picking the toys up together. You picked up the smashed picture frame that you'd momentarily forgotten about, smiling at the image. It was an official photo from your 'second' wedding, you and your husband smiling like lovesick kids with Siwoo between you, looking adorable in his tiny suit.

It had been a wonderful day, being able to celebrate properly with your loved ones. The day had been a blur, but the best kind of blur; ending it with sore cheeks from smiling so much.

"What's that?"

Namjoon's question brought you back to the present. You flipped the picture frame round to show him it was broken. "Courtesy of Eunha on one of her missions."

"You look so pretty in that picture Jagiya." Namjoon stretched over and kissed your cheek. Neither of you missed how Siwoo's face screwed up in disgust at the sight of his parents kissing. A knowing smirk was shared between you and your husband.

"Thank you for that boop!" You kissed your son's head when he was finished the task. It was frightening how tall he was getting, you suspected he would be taller than Namjoon when he was older. He trudged back to his room grumbling about how he was too old to kiss his mom. You couldn't help but laugh.

Namjoon wrapped his arms around you as soon as you were alone, kissing you properly this time. "How was your day?" He asked quietly against your lips.

"Long." You sighed, resting your head on his chest. "You?"

"Busy."

Lately he had been putting in more and more hours at the recently expanded studio. Ever since Yoongi had started a family of his own they'd even hired an entire crew of people. Things couldn't be better for your husband's career and you were more than thankful how lucky the two of you had been.

His hand stroked the back of your hair lovingly. "The best part of my day is coming home." He yawned, holding you tight. You hummed in agreement, that was the highlight of your day as well. Ten years total together and that had never changed.

Not one moment was taken for granted anymore and when all was said and done, you knew you would be with him, always.

MASTERLIST

#kim namjoon fic #namjoon fic #namjoon fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon content #bts fanfic #bts ff #bts fic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #bts smut fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction

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juliandev0rak · 3 years

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Education & Occupation 🏛📚

Four: Education – did they go to a private school, were taught at home, or taught themselves? Did they have a favorite subject?

combined with

Seven: Occupation – did they work/have a job or trade of any kind? Did they have a mentor figure there?

echoes of the past event

@arcana-echoes

Freya Viano, she/ her

Bérault University, Port Tremaire

14 years before the events of The Arcana, Freya is 16, ends at age 22

Words: 2240

Warnings: young naive blonde becomes vengeful blonde on a mission of destruction

read about freya’s arrival in the city here

Note: I have no idea if this educational system has any basis in history, but at this fantasy school a professor can offer to sponsor a student, agreeing to take them on as a student for no cost. These students have higher expectations placed on them because their success at the school is seen as a reflection of their sponsor professor. It’s a rudimentary scholarship system that’s based entirely on either merit or recognizable family name.

When Freya arrived at Bérault University in Port Tremaire she thought it would be easy to convince them to let her in. She'd basically run away from home for a chance to study in a big city and make something of herself, but she soon found herself alone, penniless, and in over her head.

She’d heard from passing merchants that the school admitted students even when they couldn’t pay the tuition, but it turns out they only did that for students who already had a faculty sponsor. She had knocked on every professor’s office door, trying to find someone who would take a chance on her. It always went the same way, they asked her “Who is your family?” and “What are your talents?” and as Freya has neither, she has no hope of admittance.

During her third week in Port Tremaire she’s nearly given up. Just as she had begun to fear that she’d have to return to Vesuvia empty handed due to a lack of funds she’d accepted a job at the Inn she’s been staying at. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough to let her stay while she tries to find someone to sponsor her.

She’s been through every department; mathematics, philosophy, literature, and so on, but none of the professors are willing to vouch for someone with no background and no prospects. The only professor she’s yet to ask specializes in architecture, and although she hasn’t thought much about studying architecture before, Freya doesn’t have much of a choice. If this professor won’t vouch for her, she’ll have to find another university or somehow raise enough money to afford the tuition.

Freya’s walk to the university is fraught with tension as she tries to remind herself why she’s doing this. Despite every door that closes in her face, she is determined to get in to this school. The connections and reputation she would be able to gain at Bérault University are her only chance to make a name for herself as a young person alone in the world. She might not have a fancy family name or a coveted apprenticeship, but she can work her way up if she only gets the chance.

She stands outside the office door for a minute as she tries to collect her thoughts. Finally, she tells herself to stop delaying, steels herself, and knocks. She hopes that this professor will at least politely decline instead of laughing in her face like others had done.

“Come in!” A voice calls, so she does. Sitting behind a large wooden desk is a regal looking middle aged woman with greying dark hair and jewel rimmed glasses. She looks intimidating, put together, and like everything Freya wants to be someday.

“Hello M’am.” Freya says politely as she walks in, unsure whether she should sit or stand. “My name is Freya Viano.”

“Well, Freya Viano, my name is Madame Gérard. Would you like to take a seat and tell me why you’ve come to see me?” The woman says, gesturing to the comfortable looking chair in front of her. Freya tentatively sits down, smoothing her dress down and trying to seem more confident than she is.

“I’m trying to find a professor to sponsor me, you see. I really want to attend this school but it seems all of the other teachers are… already occupied.” Freya says, trying to put her situation into the most tactful words as possible.

“I see.” Madame Gérard clasps her hands together. “Do you have an interest in architecture, Freya? You do understand, I’m sure, that if a professor is to sponsor you, you are then expected to follow their course of study?”

“Yes, I understand that Madame. I do have an interest in architecture. Though, I must confess, little practical knowledge.” She replies, forcing herself to meet Madame Gérard’s steady eye contact. Her facial expression is inscrutable and Freya tries not to hold her breath as she waits for some sort of response.

“May I ask why you want to study at this University? Surely a girl your age would be better suited by a home education.” Gérard asks, eyes shrewdly watching Freya struggle to come up with a response.

“I want to succeed in life, and I need an education to do that.” Freya smiles, it’s a bit wobbly, but she thinks her answer will suffice.

“Hmm, and you think attending a university will automatically make you successful?” Gérard frowns. “What do you intend to do after your studies?” Suddenly Freya is unsure, she hasn’t really thought that far ahead.

“Well I suppose if I study architecture, I’ll become an architect.” She responds, trying not to fidget under Gérard’s stare.

“Perhaps, but what if you have no talent for it? What if you’re unable to find clients? Do you have any other talents to fall back on?” Gérard questions. Her tone is not unkind, but it’s a dose of reality Freya’s been trying to avoid since leaving home.

“Well.. what if I do have talent for it?” Freya counters, she’s not giving up this easily.

“It is quite a risk to take on a student who only might have talent.” Madame Gérard says and Freya’s heart drops, it seems another rejection is imminent. “However, we were all unmolded clay once, and I believe myself to be an expert potter, if you’ll forgive the use of metaphor.”

“Does this mean-” Freya says excitedly, but is stilled by the raise of Madame Gérard’s hand.

“It means that I am willing to give you a chance.” She states firmly. “You’ll need to prove that you are up to the task.”

“Of course, Madame. I promise you won’t regret this!” Freya grins, nearly rising from her chair in excitement.

“That is a very presumptuous promise to make, Miss Viano. Do not make promises you cannot know that you will keep.” Gérard says, turning around to search through a drawer of files. “We shall see what you are capable of in time.”

Freya leaves ecstatic, she’s finally gotten her chance. She’s been so certain that if she can only manage to get a formal education she’ll be a success. However, she soon finds it’s much harder work than she had assumed.

She has daily classes to attend, usually small seminars with Madame Gérard and the five other architecture students, as well as her job at the Inn to attend to. While she doesn’t have school expenses, she still needs to be able to afford food and shelter. The long hours at the Inn coupled with the sheer amount of coursework she’s been assigned leaves her little time to sleep.

She had expected architecture to be easy, it’s just buildings, how hard could it be? The reality is that instead of simply looking at silly buildings all day, she’s studying mathematics, physics, history, art and technical skills, ancient languages, and developing a trained eye for aesthetics. She spends every night after classes and work studying to keep up. She’s behind the rest of her class by far, and the rest of the students come from more privileged backgrounds and clearly have more time to focus on their studies.

Freya always arrives at her morning classes late, tired, and usually quite behind on her work, but she’s still determined to succeed. Gérard isn’t a harsh teacher, but she isn’t afraid to warn Freya that every missed drafting assignment or slip up in verb conjugation could lead to her expulsion if she doesn’t show an improvement. She won’t let herself lose this chance.

In the beginning, she hates architecture, the harder it gets to remember column types and drafting techniques the more she curses herself for ever moving to Port Tremaire. A few months in, her attitude changes. She finds herself taking the long way home so she can pass by the ornate city hall building, or spending her lunch breaks sketching roof designs. Soon enough she does begin to improve, she still shows up tired and late but she can understand her lectures and discussions with her classmates, she begins to develop her own opinions and taste.

The work never gets easier, but Freya starts to enjoy it more and that makes all the difference. By the end of her first year of studies she passes her course review and Madame Gérard agrees to allow her to advance to the next year. It’s the sort of achievement Freya wishes she could write home about.

She’d vowed not to need her family anymore and she can’t bring herself to start a letter, as much as she knows that her younger sister (and possibly her mother) are worried sick. Aside from the occasional letter to her aunt, Freya doesn’t talk to her family back in Vesuvia, and she tries not to think about them if she can help it.

It’s not long before she gets her first big break. Madame Gérard is commissioned to redesign a home in the wealthy area of town and she chooses Freya as her assistant. Gérard offers to let Freya submit a design and the homeowners end up selecting it. Word of mouth spreads and before she’s even finished her formal course of study Freya’s architectural designs are in demand.

Her style is modern, opulent, and personalized. She seems to have an eye for what a person will like without needing to ask, and her charming confidence (however feigned) makes business deals easy. Freya is able to quit her job at the Inn and move into a place of her own, she finally feels like she’s succeeding.

When she finishes her studies four years later Madame Gérard offers her a full time place in her architecture firm and Freya accepts. Her life in the city is great, and things seem to be going her way. She begins to live more lavishly, buying fancy new clothes and moving into a large home in the nicest city district.

She even starts dating someone, a man named Enzo who she’d had a few classes with during university. She doesn’t give him a second thought at first, but he’s persistent, sending flowers to her house, inviting her to operas and horse races and lavish parties. He’s handsome, charming, and from a wealthy family, it’s the kind of attention she’s always dreamed of having.

Rather than being a distraction from her work, Enzo seems to support her, even occasionally traveling with her when she takes on commissions in other cities. He seems perfect and Freya begins to expect a marriage proposal any day. He’s never invited her to meet his family, but she assumes it’s because he’s simply a private person. It only takes a few months for him to show his true colors. She opens the newspaper one morning to find his name in the headlines, announcing his engagement to a woman from the nobility.

When she confronts him about it he explains that he’d always been planning to marry this woman, he’d never viewed Freya as anything more than a fling. After all, Freya has no family name, no reputation aside from her work, he couldn’t possibly marry her. She leaves his house heartbroken. but it’s not the only bad news she receives that day.

Freya arrives at the architecture firm a few hours later, eyes still red from crying but determined to work through the pain. Madame Gérard calls her in for a meeting and Freya is blindsided when she’s asked to leave the firm for “stealing clients”. She’s accused of doing too much under her own name rather than the firm’s.

She later finds out that Gérard had grown jealous of her student’s success, which was the real reason for her dismissal. It feels like she’s been fired for being too successful, which doesn’t make any sense to her. She’d had everything she wanted and had it taken away in the course of one day.

After these revelations she’s forced to reevaluate. The people she’d trusted had only wanted her until they’d gotten what they needed, then thrown her away like garbage. It’s a hard reality for her to cope with, and when she finally returns home at the end of the day she’s nearly ready to stop trying, maybe she should just give up and move back home.

Her house feels so empty, the rooms echoing as she walks. The marble floors she’d admired just this morning seem like nothing but cold, useless stone. She lets herself feel sad for a few hours, but eventually her sense of self preservation kicks in and before she knows it, she starts thinking of revenge.

The next morning she gets a letter in the mail from her sister, it says that her aunt is sick and Freya needs to return to Vesuvia as soon as possible. It’s an alarming letter, especially after not hearing from her sister for six years. Though Freya has successfully distanced herself from her family over the last few years she still feels a sense of obligation.

She tells herself she’ll be on the first carriage over, as soon as she finishes her business in Port Tremaire. If Enzo doesn’t want her, she’ll make sure that no one will ever want him. If Madame Gérard feels threatened by her success, Freya will have to get rid of the competition to prove just how successful she can be.

They might not want her, but she’ll make sure that everyone else does.

#arcana eotp #freya viano #i wrote this while listening to nintendogs music which isn't relevant to anything but i thought i'd share lol #enzo pulled a warner huntington iii - if you know legally blonde then you know lol #this is her villain origin story sdfjhdsjd #welcome to the cutthroat world of architecture lol

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dadzawa-adopt-dabi · 4 years

Text

Secret baby ch20

Dabi wakes up due to Kiyoko smacking his face, she’s attempting to grab one of his piercings he knows but it still ends up with her chubby little hands hitting his face. Having at least one of her missions succeed she gives a loud happy screech. She usually wanted food when she screeched like that. Otherwise Kiyoko greeted Dabi with a sweet chirp or a “Dada”, the latter becoming more common as time went on.

He starts making a mental list of the things he had to do before dropping off Kiyoko at her sitters. It was enough to make him groan and bury his face in the pillow. He knew he needed to get up and get started soon or he wouldn't have time to go fetch the extra money for Kiyoko’s babysitter. Still he lets his face rest in the pillow as his thoughts start racing to plan a time efficient day. Kiyoko baps his face again, trying to close her tiny hands around the bar piercing in his ear. He gently grabs her hand , kissing it, before he gives her his finger instead and she immediately sticks it in her mouth getting her baby spit all over it.

“My fingers just taste good or something baby?” he mumbles into the pillow. Kiyoko responds with a loud chirp, he has about one or two chirps before she lets loose with another screech in his ear to get him up.

“DADA!” she yells at him, waves sweetly at him when he turns his face to look at her. Her bright gold eyes wide open and her hair sticking up in every direction possible. Wings still shedding baby feathers flutter and add to the litter of down in the nest. Happy and bright eyed after being up and down all night. Dada was still about the only thing she said to him, the chirping a common enough occurrence. He shoves himself up, he still has to do laundry today and drop off rent preferably before the meeting with the league of villains.

He sat upright cursing as it clicked that he was meeting Toga and the League today. An alarm went off on his phone, moving to swipe it off, he saw it was a later one and started cursing as he untangled himself from blankets. He wouldn't have time to get it until later, possibly tomorrow depending on how long the meeting took. He was already running late this morning.

Kiyoko let out a series of chirps and tilted her head back until she fell over when she saw him clumsy roll out of bed. Dabi had figured out that this was her way of laughing for now. Kiyoko let out more human giggles as well, usually when she was looking for when she was joining Dabi in laughing at something. Dabi laughed at her falling over and she tilted her head back and looked at him with shocked wide golden eyes.

“Stop making Dada laugh princess, I have to get us ready, we’ve got a lot to do today.” He scooped her up, wrinkling his nose as he did so, Kiyoko’s diaper needed to be changed as well and he only had so much time to do everything.

Kiyoko let out a low chirp and started crying when Dabi absentmindedly hushed her as he laid her on her on the bathroom counter. He’d noticed she didn’t like her wings being stuck under her but he didn’t have time to ease her into laying on them today.

“Baby girl no, Let's be good for Dada today please?’ he begged as he threw the dirty diaper in the trash, setting her on the floor of the shower as he stripped. He caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror as he stepped in the shower. He paused blinking at how much he had changed. Red hair dyed inky black, piercings decorating his face. There was a scar from where Kiyoko was removed from him and he had deep bags under his eyes. He was no longer gaunt and skinny, instead he was fleshed out and almost muscular. All in all he didn't look bad, tired yes, but nothing like he had when he had first started working for Girian. He didn’t look sick, weak or scared anymore.

Kiyoko yelled to get his attention and he picked her back up, turning on the shower. There was no time to contemplate how far he had come since leaving his old life behind. He had no regrets, beyond leaving his siblings behind.

Kiyoko started crying and despite not a single tear falling it tugged at Dabi’s heart. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t know she was going to the sitters today. She knew she was being dropped off with her babysitter and was trying her usual tactics to delay him. But he didn't have time to indulge her today and turn her tears to giggles and happy shrieks. Kiyoko cried through breakfast and Dabi couldn't get her to eat more than a couple bites of food. She whimpered and kept saying Dada mournfully when he plopped her into the nest so he could get dressed in his villain outfit. It was what he used for shovel jobs with Girian. He finished yanking a comb through his hair and swallowing his scent pill before he turned to get Kiyoko ready.

He dressed Kiyoko in a pumpkin themed outfit. Checking his phone and letting out more curses. Kiyoko chirped shrilly at him as he dived into the closet, and babbled happily at him when he came out, blowing spit bubbles. Grabbing a coat for himself and making a note that Kiyoko would need one this year as well when he had time to take her shopping.

He cursed and grabbed her bag of snacks off the counter on his way out the door. Kiyoko had a weird fondness for spicy peppers and mostly ate jerky. At her last checkup Dabi had been given guidelines on what kinds of things she would be able to eat as she got older and developed more. and what one she wouldn't. He dropped her off with a promise to her sitter that no, she did not have to feed Kiyoko bugs, just her regular snacks and he would be back with her promised raise when he picked her up that night.

The bar where he was meeting the “league of villains “ leader was just like his apartment building, old with cracks in the wall and a musty unpleasant smell. Broken beer bottles in the alleyway he came down and cigarettes outside the entrance. Unlike his apartment the smell wasn't strong enough to make him gag due to his sensitive nose. Almost like they were old. Maybe it had been the rain a few days prior that watered down the smell.

He exited the alleyway and came over to where Girian was standing with a girl in a school uniform. Girian gave a nod at him and he decided to save his excuses for being late, it didn’t matter when he was here now and this was a villain job anyways. He’d learned in the past months that he rarely had to be exactly on time for these.

“Dabi, you ready? Princess over here already is.” He tugged at one of Toga’s space buns lightly and caught the wrist that came at him with a knife. Dabi raised an eyebrow at the knife in her hand and the grin on her face when she tried to stab Girian.

“How old are you even brat? 12? You’re not even old enough to enter this bar?” He glared at her, shoulders back and preparing to disarm her if she decided that he was her next stabbing target.

“I’m 17 and want to meet the guys who knew Mr.stainy. Are you a fan of him too? Don’t you just want to cut him open and be him?” She gushed and let Girian keep hold of her arm, peering at Dabi around him.

He hadn’t given Stain too much thought honestly. He saw the video just like everyone else,as well as the news from when enji supposedly took him down. While he agreed the hero’s should be taken out and taken off their pedistels, the seemingly random murder hadn’t been the way to do it. All it did was put false Heroes in the narrative of having been so brave for dying in the line of duty. The news repeatedly asking how sorry their families must feel. How many families had grown up like him Dabi had wondered as they televised a newly paralyzed hero.

He shoved the thoughts out of his mind before he could start questioning if his family was okay. If Natsou was still studying to be a doctor, if Fuyumi still wanted to teach brats. If Shouto was still just a brat in general. He would see them soon enough if he could get his plans to go through.

“He had the right idea.” Dabi shrugged and faced the door, it was time to meet the boss anyways they had been waiting on him. “Sorry I'm late Girian, late morning today.” he drawled.

“I’m sure you had a good reason for being late.” Giran pulled the door open and swaggered in. Toga following him inside, she swayed a little as she bounced on her toes after him and Dabi frowned. Maybe it was natural, maybe she was dizzy and not getting enough protein.

He followed behind the both of them, letting his steel toed boots fall a little heavier and standing up straight. He had to stay focused here, had to go home at the end of the day and had to subtly push his own agenda.

A guy in plain sweats sat at a bar counter and had a hand over his face. The place was coated in the boss’s omega’s scent, not overpowering but definitely noticeable. Looking around he noticed that the inside of the bar was very clean. It had a subtle orange and smoke smell. The guy in sweats was playing some sort of handheld game and he scowled at them when they came in. Toga giggled at nothing and he started growling, fuck they didnt even have the guys name yet and Toga was causing problems. The only other person in the place was an older man at the bar, a beta by the smell of him, who looked up at them but didn’t do anything.

“Shigaraki, Kuroguri, I’ve brought you some more members.” Girian waved his hand at Dabi and Toga who stepped out from behind him at the cue. He stayed off to the side of the room, making it clear if things went down he wouldn’t get in the way.

“I’m Toga Himiko! I like to drink blood and I just love stains and other cute things!” She excitedly gushed out, letting a child's undefined scent come off her as she did. Maybe she thought she was introducing herself better with it but Dabi could already feel the headache forming as Shigaraki’s lip curled and he deepened his growl.

“You can call me Dabi.” He edged himself closer to Toga prepared to shove her behind him if the temperamental omega, their soon to be boss, lunged for them. This wasn’t a club introduction like she seemed to think it was and Shigaraki didn’t need to know anything else about him.

Shigaraki stood up and lunged at them while letting his scent loose, the damp earth smell matched the one all around the bar. Must live here, Dabi guessed as he threw up his arm to cast a plume of flames. Toga ducked out from behind him with her knife out while Dabi snagged the back of her shirt with his free hand, yanking her back. Then there was a portal in front of his face, his hand was sticking out of it, he narrowed his eyes and gave his fingers a twitch. There were now portals all around the room, made of the same blackmist the bartender was. Toga giggled and liked the end of her own knife which was now inches from her face. Shigaraki hissed at him but didn’t move, his own hands sticking out from portals away from them all.

“Young Tomura, please calm down.” the man at the bar, Kuroguri, asked in a calm polite tone. Dabi rolled his eyes, what exactly did mistman think that was going to do?

“Fucking bratty manchild.” Dabi hissed at the red-eyed omega in front of him. “If you're going to be a possessive bastard don’t hold meetings in your house you fucking creep.”

“I’m 20 thanks. At least the girl over there can introduce herself properly, what’s your name?” He hissed, slowly edging back from Dabi. “ And why can’t i smell you? Got something to hide?”

“I’ll tell you if it comes up, until then you don’t need to know.” Dabi held Shigaraki’s eyes with his own blue ones. Shigaraki curled his scared lip and when Dabi didn’t back down or break his stare pulled his hands back through the portals they had been sent through. Dabi followed and took a couple steps back, letting go of Toga’s sweater.

“If you stretched it out you're getting me a new one.” Toga sniped at him.

“I probably just saved your skin from the manchild over there brat, I'm not getting you shit.” he grumbled and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“I’m going out for a walk, and we are not with Stain. If you still want to join, fine welcome to the league of villains.” Shigaraki ripped a coat off the wall and stormed out.

“Sounds like you kids made the cut, I’ll be going. “ Girian smirked and walked out after Shigaraki. Leaving Dabi and Toga in the company of the bartender.

“I’m kuroguri. I apologize for Shigaraki’s behavior. Would you like a drink?” Kuroguri at least seemed polite, if not overly polite for a villain compared to what Dabi was used to.

“Can I have wine?” Toga hopped up onto the barstool and sunk her knife into the top, not noticing Kuroguri’s wince when she did so.

“If you would like I can give you a little, as a welcoming gift.” Kuroguri grabbed a bottle from under the counter and poured some in a short glass he pushed over to her. Dabi took a deep sniff of the air and noticed the sour rotten notes of alcohol were absent. Kuroguri had probably given her sparkling juice then like most bartenders did for kids. He and Fuyumi used to pour it in fancy glasses at home and pretend they were old enough to drink as they did their homework.

“I’ll pass on the drink thanks, can you tell us what’s expected of us here? Or do we have to leave that for the creep to tell us about our jobs when he gets back from walking off his tantrum?” He walked over and sat down on a stool.

“Young Tomura is still planning out his next move. For now he is more focused on laying low and gathering numbers. The overall goal however, is the complete collapse of hero society.” He picked up the cleaning cloth he had been using earlier. “ I understand young Himiko is to be staying here at the bar with us while we wait to make our moves, are you going to be needing accommodations as well Dabi?”

“No. Just text me when the next meeting is.” He scrawled his number down twice on a pad of paper he pulled from his pocket and tearing the page, slid one copy over to Toga. “You, this isn’t a game. Save my number for if you need me. Kuroguri let me know when the creep gets his act together, I’ve got other things to do if my time is going to be wasted here.”

Kuroguri took the number with a comment about passing it on to Shigaraki when he came back. Dabi didn’t catch all of it as his phone went off in his pocket and he saw Kiyoko’s sitter had been texting him the entire time Shigaraki had been throwing a tantrum.

It Looked like he was going to have to pick Kiyoko up early as well, based on the texts the sitter was sending him. Kiyoko was being fussy and the sitter didn’t want to watch her for much longer. He sent a text reminding her that he was stopping by with more money tonight when he picked up Kiyoko and looked back up at Kuroguri.

“Something urgent Dabi? I was just asking if you would like to stick around and meet the other members, we usually have dinner together since many of the current members live here.” Kuroguri was looking at him with almost an air of concern.

“Yeah something came up, I appreciate the offer Kuroguri. I just don’t have time to stick around and meet everyone.” He stood up and stretched, back cracking in several spots and sauntered out the door.

From there it was another bus ride to a bus stop a couple blocks from a grocery store. Then a walk to an atm when the store didn’t have one. Withdrawing money for his rent, groceries and babysitting. He sighed and then withdrew a little more for the next time he saw the league. Toga’s sweater had been stretched out by him grabbing it and she probably couldn’t replace it. Not to mention she needed a coat.

The trip to the grocery store only worsened Dabi’s headache due to the fluorescent lights and employees hovering. He made a stop over in the babies section and picked up another blanket for Kiyoko. She needed a new one after the original had gone through so many washes it was wearing thin.

He came out of the store feeling exhausted, he still had to walk back to the bus station and from there transfer buses and walk a couple blocks until he could get home. Then the sitter still needed to be paid and was texting him again, Kiyoko had gotten sick so she needed him to come pick her up. Then he still had to make supper for them both and schedule an appointment for Kiyoko now that she was sick. He stepped on the bus and his phone pinged with a new text. An unknown number asking why the hell he didn't stay for dinner. Dabi ignored the text itself and saved the contact under ‘crusty face’ in his contacts.

This was all going to worth it if he could get enji in a grave and see his siblings again. Hawks had probably forgotten about him with all the time that had passed and the lack of a relationship they’d had in the first place, not to mention he was busy being a big shot hero these days. He let his head rest against the cool glass of the window and soothe his headache.

@mostladylikeladythateverladied @ruelukas22 @i-like-to-shruggy @xxsnowchildxx @drxgonstone

#secretbabyfic #thedarkonewrites #omegaverse #omegadabi #omegashig #alphakeigo #dabihawks #hotwings #Dabi #mha #bnha #takami keigo #leauge of villians #leauge as family #kurogiri #girian

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chidoroki · 3 years

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Head empty, pre-TPN season 2 thoughts only.

Normally I don’t even bother with hiding spoilers but since the new season is so close I’ll put everything below a cut (if tumblr cooperates) because I do want anime-onlys to enjoy the season with as little knowledge to what madness is about to happen as possible. This is just a bunch of notes that filled my head over the past couple days.. weeks? A long time.. and if I didn’t write them all down somewhere I wouldn’t stop thinking about them.. so if you understand this whole mess, then kudos to you.

So, here’s your post-season 1/ch37+ spoiler warning.

Demon language:

With Mujika and Sonju making their grand first appearances, I hope actually implement the demon language this time?

The only word spoken in the language in season 1 was the demon god’s name, which was just changed to “Him” (sub) or “The One” (dub), so ignoring it there was fine.

Granted, our demon friends don’t say much in their language during the upcoming arc, aside from this moment in ch48, but I can see the anime passing it off as a mere whisper between the two of them just so they don’t have to worry about it.

I don’t recall any of the GP poachers using the language though.. right? Pretty sure they don’t..

Anyways, all I’m saying is that they better figure something out by the Ayshe shows up way later in future seasons.

Episode count? 24?

Short answer: I don’t think so? Did once, but stuff happened. Anyways..

Season 1 ended in March 2019, which is also when we learned we were getting a second season and once we found later on that S2 was originally going to air in October 2020, I immediately thought we were getting about 24 eps.

I thought with all that time between seasons, 24 eps would be reasonable and that S2 would end at ch101. S1 managed to adapt 37 chapters, so 64 chapters in a season twice as long sound decent enough, right?

By the time we reach ch101, it would give us the demon forest, shelter B06-32, Goldy Pond and the short trip to Cuvitidala. (all of which would make this long wait for s2 sooo worth it btw.)

By this point we learn a bunch about the outside world, Norman being alive, what happened to Phil, and the demon bastard himself.

I bring up ch101 as a stopping point because it’s the last chapter before the two year time skip and.. I honestly can’t see them doing a time skip mid-season?

I mean, they could if they wanted to, I guess? Having everyone age up suddenly between episodes via a montage, a quick summary or even flashbacks of what we missed.. but maybe at the start of a season? Not in the middle.

Right now we know anime original scenes are going to be included into season 2 so I’m kinda hoping that once we do eventually reach the time skip we learn more about the search Emma’s group went on for T7W/golden water/temples.

I counted. If S2 does indeed get this many episodes, ep23 (or 22, if there’s a break in between somewhere or whatever) will land on my birthday and you can bet I’ll be beyond happy

HOWEVER! all the hope I once had about a 24ep season vanished due to the clusterfuck that was 2020. Thanks to the worldwide pandemic, many anime were put on hold and pushed back several months, with TPN airing this month rather than the original October date.

It was a bummer hearing about the delay at first but I never complained about it. I much rather have the studios prioritize their employee’s health over production.

Even if S2 did reach ch101, or even Goldy Pond, they would need to find a ton of new voice actors, and with how the world is working now.. eh, I have some doubts.

Cloverworks also has two other series airing this month aside from TPN so needless to say they’ll be a bit busy, especially if employees are still working from home, social distancing, or however they’re managing to produce these anime.

So, episode count.. 12?

The main reason I have a hard time grasping the idea of another 12ep season at all is because.. I don’t know where it’ll be a decent place for it to stop?

S1 ending at ch37 with the kids escaping? Perfect. You can’t question that decision. But now? When a whole bunch of craziness is about happen? How do you choose another perfect moment to end a season with?

No matter how many anime original scenes they have planned for the demon forest, I believe we’ll at least reach B06-32, which will get us to ch52.

Could they go farther? Sure. Perhaps ending at ch59-60? It would leave us off with Emma & Ray leaving the comfort of the shelter to follow Yuugo into yet another demon infested forest, much like how S1 left off, as the escapees left their once safe, comfortable life into the unknown world.

Or end at ch64? After Emma gets snatched by the poachers? It could work. It would certainly leave everyone wanting more, especially us manga readers because goddamn the GP arc would be SO close!

Perhaps ch74 after seeing Norman alive? Just so it’s not a big darn secret anymore to those who are going into this season blind? (how do people manage to stay anime only? i’m not trying to make anyone feel bad.. i’m just impressed? i caught up to the manga right after s1 because i didn’t have the self control to wait!)

Ending on that chapter would be so bittersweet to me.. because you know what appears in ch75 and it’s literally one of the only things I care about.

S2 preview trailers already teased some of the demon forest scenes I’m most excited about, so the only things left that will truly excite me are Yuugo and that darn outfit. (seriously, whenever we do get to see emma in her gp outfit for the first time, someone better scream at me so i can die from happiness.)

Okay, and all the GP kids too.. especially their trio!

Could they fit the Goldy Pond arc into a 12 episode season along with every other event that came before it? I.. seriously hope not?

Compared to s1, which was very dialogue heavy, GP is about as action packed as we’re gonna get in the near future, and those scenes are going to fly by once they get put into motion.

Quick example (because it was recent and i can’t think of something else atm): the Overhaul arc from My Hero Academia. Off the top my head it was about 40 total ch? That arc took up half of the show’s S4, which was a total 25 eps.

So with the GP ending at ch96, it’ll give us about 20-30 chapters (depending on where you personally see the start of this arc I guess? once yuugo leads the duo through the forest, when emma gets snatched or when the battle actually starts)

If GP were to happen in s2 where there’s 12 episodes.. literally everything would be so fast paced and I don’t want them to rush anything or leave stuff out?

Other options?

It’s very wishful thinking and I would be getting my hopes up for nothing, because I know it won’t happen, but I could possibly see them fitting GP arc if S2 was made up of 18eps?

6 eps for the demon forest, 6 for Goldy pPond, the remaining 6 to accommodate B06-32, Cuvitidala and any other anime original scenes as they wish.

Although fitting about 64 chapters into 12-18 episodes sounds a bit much.. but not really? I seriously have no idea at this point how much story we’re going to cover this season.

Could I perhaps place all my hopes towards a second cour later this year? Like for the summer.. or would I be expecting too much?

This all could’ve been avoided if they just tell us! Seriously, I’ve been thinking about episode count since last year.. and now you have to deal with this mindless chatter of mine.

I’d honestly be okay with another 12ep season though. We waited this long that I’ll just be excited to see all the children again.

Anime-only scenes:

Those 3 days the children spent learning from our demon friends? Yes please! Did you know Emma not only learned how to use a bow and arrow but a freakin’ harpoon as well? Like.. hello?? I must see this!

Perhaps they’ll even adopt some of the extra pages from some of the chapters, like they did in S1 with the flashback of Norman being sick in ep10.

I know this will be such a high hope, but I remember in ch177 how Emma claims that after they escaped, they all remembered how kind Isabella really was, so if they decide to adapt the extras from ch41-42 & ch45, I’ll cry.

And these pages? Cloverworks, please..

I’m literally begging here..

Especially these two! Even though I still doubt we’ll reach Goldy Pond if we get 12eps.. but in the future! Please!

Other random nonsense:

I may or may not get emotional upon seeing Isabella at the very start when she goes to confront Grandma Sarah. If her hair is kept down as it was at the end of S1 then I’ll give the anime staff my sincere thanks.

We only heard 15 seconds of “Identity” and yet it has been living in my head rent free ever since that trailer dropped. I need to hear the full song sooo damn badly, y’all have no idea.

Here’s hoping they don’t cut out the inner monologues again. At this moment I don’t remember any specific ones from the demon forest I want to see but I’m sure they’re present.

I’m ready to die at every cute Chris moment they give us.. and this entire scene where the kids scold Ray.

Literally every scene with Emma & Ray. They’re my top 2 favorites from this series okay? Of course I’m going to fangirl over them. (they already showed the hug in one of the trailers and i damn near cried)

If we see him, (which i’m sure we will, but i still have tiny some doubts) I hope they give Yuugo a fantastic voice actor.

Also, his nicknames for everyone!! Literally everything about that man I’m hyped for.

Again, very doubtful we’ll get GP in a 12ep season, but whenever that arc decides to grace us with its presence, “63194” better play on full blast when ch92-93 gets animated.

Speaking of music, while I’m completely excited to hear the new OST that Obata has in store for us (thank god he’s doing this season again btw!), I hope we hear some of those unused tracks from the first season, specifically “Their Own Thoughts.”

Every time Emma mentions their future, their goals or how her family will always be together, I’ll cry. (thanks demon god and your stupid reward)

Yes I’ll be doing those reaction posts (if you follow me i’m sure you’ve seen them by now) after every new episode as I do with other series I watch.. once I survive the usual long day at work, avoiding anything TPN related so I can watch in peace and quiet when I finally get home.. damn it, im already so anxious, help.

#the promised neverland #chidoroki used chatter

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

Nikah: September

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, pain, visiting a graveyard.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. I’m sorry for the one-day delay. This weekend’s second chapter - October - should be up tomorrow. Please comment and reblog! Thank you for reading!

Time heals many wounds. The scar left by the urge for revenge is not one of them, Bucky learns when he gets the call informing him of the capture of his wife’s kidnapper. He’s in an obscure corner of New York, deep into the maze of fabrics and colors, when Sam’s voice - congratulatory and bone-tired - gives him the news. Bucky was excluded from the investigation due to personal connection to the victim, and placed on an obligatory sick leave after his… incident. The cliff’s edge his wife pulled him back from.

Yet he has managed to learn certain details. Such as the fact that there was no greater plot, no Hydra involvement, only a psychopathic monster out for blood and pain. The type of men there is no shortage of in this world of grue and terror. He does not want to subject her to any more of it, but she is too intelligent to allow him to take that choice from her. She does not consider this, them, him to be terrible or cruel.

Now, she turns to him from the silk she’s examining after a minute too long of his mental absence. Cocks her head as she takes note of the phone in his hand, the conversation itself having passed her by amidst her other preoccupations and the lull of Bollywood music in the air.

“Everything okay? It can get kind of stuffy in here, so if you want to get some air-”

“I’m fine, doll,” He insists, letting the cloud of her perfume envelope him like her rare embraces.

“Okay,” She says dubiously. “Let me know if you want to go.”

Her concern is touching, but Bucky doesn’t know if he should open his heart to it or blockade against it. Thankfully, she changes the subject.

“What do you think?” She asks, gesturing toward the selection of fabrics she seems to have shortlisted. Her cousin’s wedding is in December, which apparently requires preparation months prior, in the form of shopping for a new lehenga. Or the materials to have one made, rather. Bucky looks from the deep purple to the vivid mauve to the sea green and tries hard not to shrug.

“I bet they’ll all look gorgeous on you.”

“I only need one, Buck, and I’m having trouble choosing between the green and mauve,” She says, pointing to the fabric she can’t decide between.

“They’re both nice,” He says, but upon seeing her frown deepen, he adds: “The green one’s a jaw dropper.” She grins in agreement and seeks out a shopkeeper to cut the required length of cloth.

Sam’s voice echoes in his mind as they exit the shop for the one next door. In this one, he takes in the piles of lace and borders and ornate brooches and buttons while the rage simmers below the surface. He can no longer tell if the flush in his cheeks is from the bridled anger or the warmth caused by his wife’s presence. Her keen eyes are scanning a row of spectacular trimmings, and she sighs at the difficulty of the choice.

Craning her neck, she spots the one she wants but soon realizes she cannot reach. Bucky doesn’t give her the time to ask for his assistance, reaching up over her to grab the reel of golden, glittering trim she’s pointed out. The electricity that crackles when his front meets her back in the process is almost enough to forget the disapproving glares from the two middle-aged shop owners. Almost.

Their kind wrinkles have turned colder but she thaws them with a smile and the familiar, polite title of uncle. Another common term in the desi vernacular, log kya kahenge - what will people say? - replays in his brain like an audio cassette, the expression having been the subject of many a frustrated, late-night rant he has absorbed from his wife. There will surely be a rerun later today, unless he gives her the news of her attackers capture before she has the opportunity to launch her case against South Asian obsession with public reputation. By the time they leave, the elderly gentlemen are at ease while Bucky is not, staying three paces behind until they’re out of sight.

“ ‘M sorry, doll, I shouldn’t have-” His sentence is cut off by her razor sharp glare as she halts on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Bucky Barnes. If I had a problem with you grazing against me while trying to help with something, I’d have made it quite clear,” She declares, taking his hand and steering them towards the subway. Sunday shoppers mill about, enjoying the last of the summer sun before autumn takes its place. They carry bags of their own, but few match the ones Bucky is carrying. Queens’ Asian hub is bustling with activity, and he relishes in its awe until he smells the curry house a street down.

He tells her of his discovery in the entrance to the station, and her eyes light up like fireworks on Steve’s birthday - rest his soul - and they turn back for food. Bucky’s nose takes the lead, and six minutes and a wrong turn later, they’re standing like moths to a flame, the scent of spices embedding itself into their nerves. She inhales joyously as they’re taken to the last empty seats, against a wall covered in pictures of Pakistani and Indian monuments. Bucky doesn’t comment on the political tensions he knows are present between the two nations, knowing that governments are rarely as representative of their people’s beliefs as they ought to be.

There isn’t any music either, just the sound of commentary from the cricket match playing on several TV screens. It’s a rerun of the previous year’s World Cup final between England and New Zealand, and his wife looks sourly at it, knowing the results didn’t go the way she wanted them to.

“It all came down to luck in the end,” She comments, picking up the menu. Bucky quirks an eyebrow. “It wasn’t even a fair win. The umpire admitted to faulty judgement, and I don’t blame him, but super overs are such a stressful, inconsistent way of completing the game. New Zealand worked so hard and it was all overturned by a stroke of luck. I feel bad for poor Kane Williamson,” She says, and Bucky puts down the menu as the waiter approaches. The conversation pauses as they place their orders - chicken karahi for him and chicken achari for her - before he says anything.

“Sweetheart, if you think that’s bad, imagine cheatin’ death three times over and getting home to learn that your team’s now playing for the opposite coast. LA Dodgers. Pfft,” He says, shaking his head, and she laughs, corner of her eyes crinkling like silk as her laughter chimes. It’s the only song he knows he’ll never tire of hearing, the one that sounds as good as the day he first heard it.

The first time he makes her laugh is, like many other aspects of his life, hysterically ironic. They’re in a graveyard, dawn taking its rightful place on the horizon. A midnight and a half of walking caused by devilish, sleep-stealing nightmares, eventually led them to Steve’s grave. The ground is unthawing slowly, much like the icy shields they have put up against one another, and she’s holding a bouquet of anemones from a miraculous florist.

She tries to give him the flowers but he shakes his head. His hands shake more violently from inside his jacket pocket and he tries to breathe, the night chill seeping into his skin. Hesitantly, she kneels down, brushes some dust off his tombstone, and places the vividly beautiful flowers in front of it. Rises, bones heavy with sympathy, and turns to him.

“I’m just glad he died in his own bed and not on the battlefield like he seemed so damn hell-bent on doin’. Wouldn’t have wanted that for him,” He muses to ease her tortured expression. Deliver a message of having moved on, having accepted this life without his best man. His best bud.

“He would have been just as happy either way, going by what you’ve told me,” She answers, peering sideways at him from under eyelashes that reflect the last of the moonlight. He gives a short, wistful laugh.

“Yeah. You know what he told me once, still that skinny Brooklyn kid after another fight? He said he’d have fought him even if he’d have been ten times bigger instead of two.” She laughs, too, and although it’s a sad, sorrowful thing, overflowing with exhaustion and despair, Bucky hasn’t heard anything as beautiful since the sound of Sam in his ear after the Blip.

“And he proved that with Thanos. Those bullies were just practice. I laughed at him anyway, but he had the bigger picture in mind that I never did.”

He still doesn’t. Not even now, with his wife’s hand in his, standing in the lobby to the apartment he owns. She tells him they haven’t checked the mail since last Wednesday and they head over to the letter boxes instead. The reason for their marriage, the bigger picture she sees in her head, is pulled out in the form of an envelope from the United States Government. She opens it with shaking hands, and the green card is extracted, heart in throat. Bucky sees the disbelieving joy in her eyes, and thinks: his own is now over.

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#ayesha writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

A Family of Five- Part 4: Games and Surprises

Calum and Harlowe’s marriage hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been filled with love. This is a collaborative experience with In Sorrow and In Joy. Dad!Calum. Black OC.

CW: Over the course of this series, there are mentions of pregnancy, therapy, and postpartum depression. There is also 18+ Content (Smut).

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Calum shouldn’t be this mesmerized by the way her skin looks. But he swears she used some kind of sparkly body oil. The glitter sparkles in the sun, her skin looks heavenly. Much more than it normally does. Brown glistening with gold flecks. He wants it coating his tongue. He shifts a little in his seat; he can already feel the strain in his pants. Calum should be concentrating on the menu in front of him. They already spent all morning in bed. She got in late last night from her reading, due to a delay. By the time she home, the last thing she wanted to do was fool around. Calum understood. Harlowe and he snuggled up in bed and she passed out pretty soon after curling into his chest.

However, the moment she woke up, Calum couldn’t keep his hands off her. She didn’t seem to mind either. It was slow, soft, lazy sex. Calum buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint sweet smell of her products, a mixture of something floral and coconut. He loved it. He wants to smell it again. He wants to be gentle in the beginning this time. Her moans are so sweet against his ears, but he also wants more. He wants to hear the pleasure ripping over her throat, he wants to see her eyes roll back into her head. Her wants to see her let go. Calum should’ve offered to cook. But Harlowe wanted to try this little brunch spot that just opened and he couldn’t say no to her pout.

She’ll only be free for a couple more days. Then it’ll be back to school for her, the end of her spring break. With the release of her new book of poetry, she got invited to a book fest. So they didn’t get to spend nearly as much time together as they both anticipated. The kids are with his parents. Moving back to Australia had its perks for sure. Though, Ashton took them for part of a day. Calum received a video of Esha and Ashton competing in DDR. Ashton’s message attached to the video was I got my ass beat by a nine year old.

Should the entire two days they have together be spent solely in the bedroom, or whatever part of the house they happen to be in? No, Calum knows that. So he shifts again and pulls his gaze to the orange menu in front of him. It’s enough contrast to the blue shirt of his she’s wearing. She stole the royal blue button up form his side of the closet and he can’t say anything. Especially not with the way she’s left a couple top buttons undone and tied it up at the bottom. Slivers of her chest and stomach poke out. He desperately wants to run his fingers over the stretch marks he knows so well already. She looks like a fucking goddess in front of him. Going on a decade of marriage should make things stale. But things have started to heat up for them. She’s off the meds with a doctor’s approval and Calum’s enjoying the way her new energy.

Calum glances up at her once again. She’s resting her head on the flat of her knuckles, squishing the fat of her left cheek, gaze zeroed on the menu. “You’re thinking about something,” Harlowe grins before lifting her eyes.

The moment feels like slow motion for Calum. He can see every lash as her lids lift, her dark brown eyes landing on his. “You,” he says softly, “I’m thinking about you.”

“Well I suggest you start thinking about what you want to order. Because you got three seconds before our server comes up.”

Calum’s fucked. He has no clue what’s on this fucking menu. He doesn’t care. When the server shows up, he lets her order first and then takes the same thing. “If I told them to bring me toast and one lemon, you would be so fucked.”

He exhales a laugh. “No, I wouldn’t be. You would be though.”

“I blame the fact that I had two kids. I can eat a house and home.”

“You talk about Te Koha’s appetite, but you’re the real culprit,” he grins.

She levels a finger at him. “You shush!”

“Make me,” he laughs. Harlowe doesn’t miss the teasing lilt to his voice, the small smirk that lifts half of his lips. She’s noticed him shift in his seat several times while she was debating what to order. She knows what he wants. She will not give in that easy. He’ll have to work for it.

“What are we? 23 again?”

The smile falls again, he exhales a chuckle. He doesn’t like being reminded of that age, much. It’s nothing against her. It’s everything against him. It was him that tried to end what they had. She had just moved to California for her master’s in poetry. They had been something a step above friends with benefits and a step below a real relationship. It didn’t seem to matter much what the label was, but Calum felt himself, dying to call her about every little thing. She was the first person he wanted to talk to in the morning and the last one he wanted to hear at night. He nearly ruined all that too. Over text message. Stupid fucking text message.

“Hey,” Harlowe says softly, reaching for his hand.

Calum shakes his head, sniffling. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to mention how stupid he was in that moment, how terrified he was of fucking it up with the best damn person for him that he did nearly fuck it up. “It’s nothing,” he whispers.

“Nothing my black ass,” she counters, tightly holding onto his fingers. “What’s up, baby?”

He’s doing it again. The same behavior that nearly lost her sixteen years ago. “I love you,” he exhales. “A whole fucking lot. Sometimes I guess it scares me what I nearly did; I’m still so sorry about that. I know I was young, and scared, and a whole bunch of other adjectives, but I was so utterly in love with you, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want to fuck it up. I still don’t want to fuck this up. I’m scared I will.”

Harlowe fights to keep the sigh from escaping her. She’s forgiven him. She knows getting Calum to open up requires more patience than she sometimes has. But God, does she wish he’d stop beating himself up over it. What words are left for her to say? “I’ve forgiven you, Calum. It’s time you forgive yourself. You’re human. You’re going to fuck up. I don’t think less of you.”

He nods. She’s right. He really ought to forgive himself. But the words to that message are burned into his retinas some nights and days. We shouldn’t do this; I shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this. You’re too good for me and I’m no good for you. I’ll ruin you. “But how? How do I forgive myself for something like that?”

“You admit it was a mistake. One mistake, amongst a lifetime of them. One you learned from. Clearly. Because we did it. We’re doing it. We’re literally married.”

Her inflection, her laugh, makes him crack a shaky smile. He looks down to the diamond ring. They made it, they are making it each and every day together. “Sorry for bringing it up. I just...sometimes I really get hit with how much of an idiot younger me was.”

“You live; you learn. Younger me was an idiot too. The girl I told off on twitter--yeah, not my most shining moment.”

Calum chuckles, head dropping a little remembering the rant she went on. “You didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture about me either.”

“Look, I was literally months pregnant with Koha and exhausted. The last thing I wanted to do was sit back and have thousands of people judging me-us- for not marrying sooner.”

“Valid. But you didn’t have to mention the one night I partied too hard and got sick, now did you?”

“Okay, but who cleaned up your vomit that night too? Off your own fucking floor? Me. Who took Duke to the vet the next day because you literally were lying under your sheets in the dark? Me.”

Calum groans. It wasn’t a shining moment for anyone. He was only going out for a few hours. He hadn’t had a drink in a while, keeping it out of the house while Harlowe was pregnant. It was a guy’s night tradition and Harlowe told him he should go out for just a little fun. So he did. He promised to have his phone on him, volume at it’s max and on vibrate incase she needed him. She was about six months pregnant, so it she wasn’t terribly far along. Just one night out with one beer, turned in a quick too many shots in succession, a woozy Uber back home and Calum promptly vomiting on the kitchen floor trying to get some water in his system.

Harlowe heard him from the bedroom, pushed herself out of bed and wordlessly cleaned it up. Calum can’t remember much after that but as Harlowe recounts, he almost cried because she was pregnant and he was the one acting like a child. Every other word out of his mouth was sorry because he hadn’t intended for it to get like this. Harlowe couldn’t carry him like before to the bedroom, so she shushed him and got him on the sofa. He made it only to the bed later, after waking with a killer headache.

The server returns with their food before he can defend himself. As Calum dunks a piece of french toast into the syrup, he speaks, “Still, it didn’t need to be put on social media.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, go back in time? That science hasn’t exactly been perfected yet,” she huffs. “Besides, we didn’t have to be married at that particular moment either. All the shit we had been through, we were living at our own pace. It still makes me mad to think that some people thought you had even proposed because you felt obligated to.”

Calum takes a strawberry off his plate and holds it out to her. “Eat this. Clearly I didn’t marry you out of obligation.”

“Strawberries aren’t going to make me calmer,” Harlowe retorts.

Pulling up from his chair, Calum stretches across the table and drops the berry into her mouth. “Just shut up and eat. Food will make you calmer, second only to my cock,” he adds the second sentence in a whisper. Just loud enough for her to here.

It doesn’t even shock her. Instead she smiles around her chewing. “So that’s how it is?”

Calum raises an eyebrow. “That’s how it is.”

Harlowe nods. She won’t let this go. She was going to go grocery shopping tomorrow. But now, she’s going to make him suffer a trip. Two can play this game. She plays just a little bit better too.

Brunch finished, and bill paid, Harlowe taps her fingers on the table. “We should probably get some groceries.”

“You mean tomorrow?” He trails his fingers up the skin of her forearm. He’s waiting to see that shake of her spine, hear the chatter of her teeth.

“I mean we’re already out now.”

Calum doesn’t let up, dragging his nails over the skin of her elbow joint. He watches her carefully, but he gets nothing. Though he can see a rigid line across her shoulders. She’s tensing, so she won’t give him a reaction. “You’re playing dirty,” he spits. It’s some pretend offense, but some of it is real. How dare she?

“Let’s go while we’re out, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, let’s go while we’re out.”

The actual grocery shopping goes by smoothly. Calum stirs the basket while Harlowe takes charge. It’s routine, especially if they bring the kids. Both of them like to bounce around and ask about items not on the grocery list. Sometimes they cave on the small things, but it works much faster when one of the takes lead over the trip. It’s as Harlowe browses through the choices of rice that Calum seizes his opportunity. He slips a hand into the back pocket of her jeans, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Can I help you sir?” Harlowe grins. Calum doesn’t miss her sharp inhale before speaking. She keeps a good game face, but he knows her buttons.

“Just enjoying the view,” he mutters, kissing her cheek.

A giggle escapes her before she shrugs out of the embrace. She tosses a box into the basket. Calum sighs and starts behind her again. He looks over the produce, onions and bell peppers before finding ones that satisfy him. While he ties off the bag, Harlowe walks up behind him, patting his butt and giving it a squeeze. Calum jolts before looking over his shoulder to the bright grin on her face. “You’re so proud of yourself, huh?” he asks as she scurries away.

He catches her on the wine aisle. Initially he thought she might be down the candy aisle. But when faced with the severe lack of blue shirts and his beautifully brown wife down the aisle, he knows wine is the second place to check. She’s not drinking right now, but she still likes to keep a bottle in the house for guests. He finds her holding up two different bottles. “I can’t choose. Help, please,” she whines, a pout pulling down her pouty lips.

“How long have you been holding those bottles?”

“For a while, waiting for you to find me.”

Calum’s laughter hits the empty air of the grocery store loudly. He inhales sharply before his laugh leaves him again. “Are you serious? Put both of them in the cart you fucking goof.”

She sets the bottles down, with a sigh. “Thanks. They were getting heavy.”

Walking around the cart, Calum holds his arms out. Only his wife, only Harlowe. They embrace and Calum still vibrates with his laughter. Before releasing the hug, Calum kisses her forehead, sliding his arms down her waist, resting on the curve to her ass. He lets his hands linger there, kneading softly, fingers playing at the loops of her jeans.

She shoves his hips. “I’m not going to cave, not here,” Harlowe mutters. She sounds a little breathless and that’s all the reaction Calum needs.

He grabs her chin gently, silver bracelet sliding down his slender wrist. “Oh yes, you will,” he commands. Harlowe bites down her lip, fighting her throat to keep the moan down. She can swallow it, keep it at bay. The grip tightens. He needs this. He needs her to cave, because God is he seconds from caving himself, seconds from falling to his knees in the middle of this fucking grocery store to beg for her, for her body, for her sighs, for her moans, for her hands on his skin.

She wrestles her chin away, exhaling hard. Defying him isn’t going to end well for her. Normally defying means punishments. But he hasn’t dished out any of those in a long time. Harlowe’s toying to see if he will. Calum probably won’t. Not after her spiral from Esha, he’s been extremely gentle during sex. She’s been good too with it, except for now. Now she’s tired of it. She wants to let go finally.

The walk to the check out is silent. As they load up all the bags into the trunk, it’s silent. It’s not until both doors are closed and seat belts are on does anyone speak. Calum starts the car, before turning to Harlowe. “What was that?”

“Disobedience,” she answers, staring straight ahead. “Which means punishment.”

Calum exhales hard. “Baby, are you sure? I don’t-I don’t want you to feel rushed into anything. I’m okay with taking things slow.”

“I’m tired of slow.”

“We can’t do some of the stuff we used to. I-I can’t just yet. I’m worried.”

“I understand. I’m not asking to dive in head first. I just am tired of slow.” Harlowe watches as Calum nods, but runs his hands through his hair. He looks too hesitant for comfort. He won’t do it, she figures. “Never mind, forget I mentioned it.”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Calum lifts her chin. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to touch you or have sex with you. If you’re tired of slow, you’re tired of slow. You have every right to be.”

“But you said you were worried.”

“Worried, yes. Against, no. I’m cautious. It took almost a year to get back to where we are. I don’t want to push you too fast.” Undoing his seatbelt, Calum stretches over the middle console, brushing his nose over hers. “But you’re tired of slow. So we��ll ratched it up a notch.” He seals her mouth with his. She wastes no time, parting her lips for him. Harlowe is eager to gain more than just slow, and gentle. She wants something to set her skin on fire.

Calum doesn’t slip his tongue into her mouth. Instead he pulls away. She whines, pushing forward even with the seatbelt pulling her back. He chuckles, patting her cheek. “This is what happens when you disobey.”

Even though a whine falls past her throat, Harlowe grins. This is it. This is the feeling she missed as her fingertips start to buzz. The drive home is silent between them, besides the low hum of the radio. Calum tries to keep his hands to himself, tries to punish her like she’s asking. He just can’t help himself anymore. “Unbutton your pants,” he orders at a red light.

“What?”

“Unbutton your jeans and get them down as far as you can,” he states again before glancing over to her.

Harlowe lifts her hips, slowly, popping the button her light denim jeans. She wiggles them down, suddenly very aware that a lot of people could be watching her in that moment. Her underwear selection for the day isn’t the most exciting, a simple pair of black cotton underwear with lace trimming. “What if people see?” she asks.

“Then they shouldn’t be looking. No one is watching, though.” Calum looks over again. The denim is about half way down her thighs, though she’s struggling to get them down more. “That’s good. Now sit on your hands.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just do as I’m saying, baby.”

Harlowe pulls her hips again and settles down on her hands. The moment her hands are covered by her bottom, Calum slips hand over her thighs. There’s still some firmness to them, but two children have made her soft. The cellulite is harder to miss, but the ridges underneath Calum’s fingertips are enticing. He really wants to sink his teeth into her thighs. As the urge strengthens, he squeezes at her flesh. Not enough to cause pain, but hard enough to soothe the lust. She exhales next to him, shaky.

“Scared?” Calum asks.

“No, horny, turned on.”

Dragging his knuckles up her thigh, he brushes over her clothed sex. The thin material is soaked already. He hums at the feeling and pushes the cotton to the side. He can feel her dripping onto his hands. Calum presses the pad of his thumb to a clit. She jolts, a hiss falling from her lips. “Did I say you could move?” Calum asks.

“Sorry,” she sighs.

Calum removes his thumb, sliding two fingers into her. She clenches around him, but doesn’t move this time. “Good girl,” he praises, curling them up into her. Harlowe releases another shuddery breath. Calum works his fingers inside her slowly. They’re about two minutes form the house. But he’s going to milk this. Harlowe doesn’t move in her seat but her grip on the door is deadly.

All the color is starting to drain from her skin around her knuckles. She moans occasionally, but mostly tries to keep those sounds contained too. Calum turns into the driveway of the house, putting the car in park. He pulls his fingers out of her. Harlowe starts to whine, but before the sound can fully escape her, Calum’s unbuckled himself and leaning across the way. He kisses down her jaw, inserting his fingers again.

Her breathe is ghosting over his cheek, and his exhales are blowing right over hers. “Cum for me.” Calum’s voice is strained, desperate. Almost pained, like he’s on the edge of breaking down too, watching Harlowe’s heaving increase.

“Fuck, shit,” she cries. She’s getting there. Her pelvic muscles are tightening around him. Her hips are lifting, her curls are pressed so deep into the headrest, if she doesn’t leave an indent, he’ll be shocked.

“You’re so close,” he coaxes, gently grazing his teeth over his skin. Right on the cusp of her orgasm, Calum considers pulling away, making her fall apart around nothing. He wants to ruin it. And that’s what he does, right on the edge of her cry, Calum pulls away from her completely.

Harlowe swears, slamming her palms against the door handle. Her cry is mangled. When she opens her eyes, Calum can see tears on the falling down her cheeks. With his clean hand he wipes them away. “You motherfucker,” she heaves, turning into his touch. “I hate you, a tiny bit.”

“You okay?”

She laughs, “I mean on the one hand, that was on track to be the best orgasm of my life and on the other hand, you ruined it, so...you know I don’t know.”

Calum brings his coated finger to his mouth, sucking them clean. He pulls his digits from his mouth with a pop. “Clean yourself up. There’s still ice cream and sorbet to put up.”

Due to two kids already, they keep the vehicles well stocked with tissues and wipes. Calum hands her the packet after taking one for himself. They’re baby wipes. Harlowe reaches behind Calum’s seat and unhooks the small plastic bag they leave in for trash. He is mindful to let her get her pants back up before opening his door.

Calum grabs two bags from the trunk when Harlowe walks around and pushes on his shoulder. The smirk on his face let’s him know everything is good. “You asked for it,” Calum counters with a pause. “Don’t get mad at me, doll.”

Harlowe huffs next to him. Calum giggles, hurrying into the house with his bags. She hates that pet name. The first time he used it, she immediately ceased him from using it ever again. He only pulls it out in instances like this, just to annoy her, to rile her up. Harlowe storms after him, careful of the paper bags in her hands. “Calum Thomas Hood!” she bellows into the house.

Pepper halts in her run to greet Harlowe. She knows that tone. “Pepper,” Harlowe coos. “I wasn’t talking to you angel. I’m sorry.”

Harlowe drops her bags and holds out her hands. Pepper continues over, rubbing in close to Harlowe’s embrace. Sissy and Jack come trotting over too. She scratches at their heads too. Calum rounds the corner of the kitchen, prepared for her fierce gaze, but she’s too preoccupied by the dogs. He seizes this moment and brings in the last of the grocery before locking up the car and the house.

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed about you calling me doll just because I’m playing with the dogs.”

“You know you love it,” he teases, his sing song cadence making Harlowe melt at the sound, but also grow a bit more frustrated. She hates the term, but somehow, it’s much less grating hearing it from his lips. It’s her more Southern upbringing. She is no one’s doll, no one’s play thing. She’s not plastic waiting to be structured. But for Calum she would be. For him, she would be a doll-the most perfect one too.

“I love you babies. But Papa Bear will eat my sorbet if I don’t hide it,” Harlowe teases.

“I bought a separate pint for me, so you shush,” Calum shouts with a chuckle.

Harlowe kisses the top of Jack’s head. “He’ll still eat some of mine.” She takes over putting away the last of the items, not even realizing Calum has disappeared until something cold touches her exposed stomach. She jumps into Calum’s chest, he snakes his arm even further around her waist. If he’s wearing rings, Harlowe swears she’s going to lose it. She glances down to see a bracelet. A new one in addition to the silver chain from earlier. Her gaze travels up from his wrist and sure enough his fingers adorn several of his favorite rings. His left hand slides up the back of her, the cold metal biting at her neck.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The rest of her sentence dies on her lips as he brings his hand around to her throat. There’s no pressure, he’s just cupping the front of her neck, thumb ghosting over her skin. The paper towels fall from Harlowe’s slack grasp.

“Pick those up, doll. Put them where they belong. I’m not doing anything.”

But he’s doing everything to make Harlowe turn into putty. She bends over, grabbing the still wrapped paper towel roll from the floor, ass lined up with his crotch. Rolling up to stand, she pops onto her tiptoes to put the roll with the others on the shelf of the pantry. Her butt pops out as she leans forward, sliding it next to other waiting roll. The pantry door closes and before she can blink, Calum grabs her hips and spins her around. As he takes a step forward, she takes one back, pressing into the woodend door.

His fingers trail across her stomach, pulling at the knot in his shirt. It falls open, her cropped camisole rests high on her waist. Calum presses his palm into her stomach, not too hard, but enough. She holds tightly to his wrist, tugging him even closer to her. “Tell me what you’re waiting on?” She asks, grabbing the back of his neck. Her lips ghost along his jaw, up to his ear. “You’re moving too slow.”

He doesn’t want to hurt her or scare her. Calum knows, however, he has to act fast. He pushes down the shirt from her shoulders, kissing across her shoulders. Once it falls into a heap at their feet, he pulls away, undoing his belt and pulling it from the loops. He pops the button on her jeans, pulling her back into him. “You won’t be saying that again,” he warns before turninf her back around.

Harlowe braces against the pantry door. Calum unzips her jeans before pushing them down her hips. It’s not until he starts kissing the skin exposed as he undresses her that Harlowe suddenly finds her stomach filled with butterflies. Her body has changed so much since having kids. Nothing feels firm anymore to her. It scares her to think maybe she’s not as attractive as she used to be to him.

Calum can sense something happening in her. He bites at her right cheek. “Stay with me, doll.”

“I’m jiggly though,” she sighs. Calum pushes up from his knees, standing at the back of her. His erection brushing against her. The sensation shocks her, her core clenches. Maybe she’s wrong.

“You feel that?” he asks, pressing harder into her.

“Yes,” she moans. He feels painfully hard against her.

“Jiggly or not, you are my wife. You’ve blessed me with two children and three dogs. You are stunning and incredible. Besides,” he grins, running his hand over her ass. “I like the jiggle. A lot more for me to play with. But I can show you a lot better than I talk about how attracted I still am to you.”

Harlowe chuckles, turning her head to look at him. His pupils are blown, she can barely see the brown in his eyes. The beam to his grin makes ease some of her worries. “May I?” he questions, fingers trailing over the edges of her underwear.

“Please,” she breathes.

Calum sinks back to his knees, kissing over the back of her thighs, before pulling her completely of her jeans. Her panties are next to go before Calum settles between her legs. She pushes off the door some more. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so pretty, ya know? It’s a gorgeous sight you this wet for me.”

Harlowe can’t speak before his mouth is on her, sucking hard. “Ah, shit,” she shudders at the first contact, fist slamming into the pantry door. He hums at the curse. He grabs at her thighs to keep her stance wide enough for him. Her body quivers above him. Harlowe can barely get her breath. It’s taking all her core strength to stay upright as Calum laps at her. The sounds are lewd, the slurping, the swears, the moans.

It’s a bad idea to take a hand off the wall, but Harlowe pushes up and looks down at Calum, his tongue swirling around her clit, flicking it. She grabs a fistful of his curls and tugs on them. He releases a moan, vibrating against her. Her stomach is on fire. “I-” she starts before her orgasm crashes over her. She groans, striking the door again with a closed fist. Finally, after what feels like forever, Harlowe exhales hard before gaining her breath. “Oh, fuck,” she heaves, resting her forehead into the door.

Calum teases her entrance with his fingers. Harlowe hisses above him. His palm is soft and warm against her thighs. “Shh, it’s okay,” one hand soothes her, the other still dancing around her opening.

“I can’t. Please.”

“Okay,” he agrees pulling away from her. Sliding out from beneath her, Calum stands. Shedding his shirt and pants, he guides her upstairs. Harlowe watches the muscles of his back work beneath his smooth brown skin. Inside the bedroom before Calum and turn around, she drags her nails across his shoulders and down his back. Her lips leaves wet kisses over his skin. Calum shiver at the love bites she leaves. Snaking her arms around, she feels over his chest and stomach, fingers playing at the chains around his neck.

“You’re moving too slow,” he teases. It’s mostly to prevent him from buckling right here. His knees are weak. With a laugh, she pushes him towards the bed. Calum climbs onto the mattress. As he settles and turns around, Harlowe’s already shed the camisole, arms now behind her back as she works to unhook the bra. “Should’ve let me do it,” he laughs, though it fades away as the cups fall away from her body.

“Got anything else smart to say?”

He shakes his head, watching her saunter to the edge of the bed. She crawls up his body, stopping occasionally to leave kisses on his thighs. He closes his has as his stomach tenses. Her lips and kisses are so soft, he swears he’s going to explode. His body feels like it’s buzzing. Her fingers curl into the band of his boxer briefs. He doesn’t refute the action, lifting his hips and letting her take them completely off him.

She settles high on him, hovering right over her cock. Calum opens his eyes, watching the smirk on her face. The warmth and wetness slide right over him. “Shit,” he huffs, watching her slide up and down his length. “Don’t do this to me, doll. Please don’t.”

Harlowe stretches forward, gently taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth. “Call me doll one more time and see what happens.”

Calum runs his fingers up her back and sides. He’s silent, waiting for her to pull back in satisfaction. He knows she will if he remains quiet and then he can go in for the kill. Sure enough, she does, Harlowe tugs on his ear one last time before pulling away. That’s when he wraps his hand around her throat, squeezing. “What was that, doll?”

The hold isn’t too tight, but it stops Harlowe in her tracks. He was just going soft on her, just to give her some semblance of control to not freak her out. Calum watches her carefully, waiting for the gulp she usually does when she’s uncomfortable. But it never comes. She keeps her eyes trained on Calum. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Sorry what?”

“You might have to remind me. I forget.” The statement seems believable until she cracks a smile. That’s when Calum knows she’s acting out. He brings his second hand around her throat, and pulls her face down towards him.

“I’ll remind you,” he growls. “You’re going to take my cock. Don’t breathe. Don’t think. Just bounce.”

Harlowe lifts up, lining him up to her entrance. For a brief second she considers maybe they should use a condom. Doctors have told her getting pregnant a third time isn’t impossible it’s just improbable. They’ve already agreed to try for a third child, even if the odds seem impossible. They go without condoms sometimes. It’s usually discussed beforehand. “Would you like me to put a condom on?” he asks, grip already loosening around her neck.

Harlowe, with a rush of boldness, presses his hand back and slides down his length. “No,” she moans. “No, I don’t.”

Calum tightens the grip. “You’re still not addressing properly.”

Harlowe pulls herself up before taking him back in. She gives no verbal response, focused slowly on the bubble of heat starting. Calum watches her bouncing on his cock. It’s a sight to behold, the curls that shake with her moment, the way her breast bounce with her effort too. A moan slips over her lips, it’s tight and quiet from the pressure around her throat. Calum takes one hand away from her throat, wrapping it around her waist. He pulls her up and close to his chest, before driving his hips up into her. Harlowe braces herself above his hand, “Shit. God, don’t stop.”

“You will address me correctly, doll.” He gives a purposefully hard thrust, before slowly sliding out.

Harlowe whines at the lost of her orgasm. “No, please, I’m sorry.”

“Then address me properly. Sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry sir,” she cries, eyes begging him. “Please don’t stop, Sir.”

“That’s more like it,” he smiles, thrusting back into her. The sound of relief that leaves her makes Calum almost cum. Harlowe sighs above him, the sound a little high in pitch. Calum removes his hand from her throat, slowing. Harlowe takes over, sliding up and down his length. With a nipple in his mouth, Calum moans. He’s missed this. He’s craved seeing her like this. A thin sheet of sweat covers her forehead, her knees pop just a little. But it doesn’t stop her, she chases down her orgasm.

“Shit,” she groans, clenching around him.

Calum runs his fingers over the side of her face, moans falling from her lips before he can catch them. “That’s right, just take all of it. Just bounce, baby.”

“I’m close, sir,” she warns. Calum’s own orgasm is still far down the line. He prays she can hold out for one last orgasm.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let go.”

“I want you to cum though. I need it,” she whines.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get there. Give me this one. Cum around my cock, pretty girl. Please.” Pressing his thumb to her clit, he rubs it in circles. Even though Harlowe has slowed the added sensation is too much. She cries out, spasming around Calum’s cock.

Calum holds her close, rubbing her back through the haze. “God,” he whispers. “You ought to see how beautiful you are when you cum.”

Harlowe chuckles into his skin, though it’s hot and clammy, it smells like home. “Mirror’s right over there,” she points, still nestled onto his cock.

“Don’t give me any ideas, pretty girl.” It’s silent for a minute as Calum gently scratches at her scalp beneath the coils wrapping around his fingers. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have one more in you?”

She might, it looks slim. Her legs already feel pretty unstable. “Would I be on my hands and knees?”

“No, we can arrange it so you’re not on your hands and knees.”

“Then, yeah, I got one more in me,” she laughs, sitting up.

“Lay on your back, baby.” Harlowe compiles. Calum hovers a for a second, drinking in the sight of her. “I know what you’re thinking. No, it’s not going to be slow. So strap in.”

His first thrust is easy, an adjustment. But three strokes later, her legs are on his shoulder, the bed rocking into the wall. Harlowe hisses a little, reaching up for him. Calum meets her with a kiss, still holding her thighs spread open. His thrust become so hard that her head falls ips over the edge of the bed. But she’s in direct view of the mirror. As the blood rushes to her head, she can see Calum’s gaze stuck on her, not even the reflection of her, just him gazing down at her. She chuckles until the pleasure catches up with her again.

“What’s so funny?” he asks breathless as his hips continue to snap into her.

“Someone’s working hard to put a baby in me.”

Calum grins, bending over again. He kisses her, even when he’s rough she’s still finding something to giggle about. He trails his tongue down her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat and the taste of juices still left from before mixing on his tongue. His stomach clenches. He’s not going to last much longer. But he’d like to give her that third true orgasm that he promised. So he slows a little, thrusting deeper, but slower. He circles her clit, watching as her voice comes out strained with her swear. “You gonna give me another one? You said you had one more in you,” Calum taunts.

“Faster, I need your fingers faster, please.”

He kisses on the underside of her chin. “Hmm, anything for you, baby.” Calum speeds up his fingers, feeling his own orgasm approaching faster. He won’t make it after her, but he can still make sure she sees her end. Harlowe grips tightly at his bicep, holding her head up from the edge. It hurts how close she is at this point. “God, fuck, Oh God,” she pants.

“It’s-fuck- it’s okay, baby.” Calum’s orgasm crashes over him. He knows his moaning pretty loudly in her ear, but the sound leaves him abruptly. He doesn’t still, still thrusting through the high.

“Calum, fuck,” Harlowe growls, voice thick with something like pain and pleasure. She clenches around him, his name falling from her lips again and again like a prayer.

Post clean up, Harlowe lays on her back, legs thrown over Calum’s waist. His fingers dance over her skin. He can see a few reddish purple marks blossoming on her skin. “Do they hurt?” he asks.

“No. They don’t ever really hurt unless I repeatedly hit that area.”

“I know. I’m just making sure.” He takes her spoon and scoops himself some of the peach mango sorbet.

“Hey!” she reprimands.

“I’m too lazy to get mine from downstairs. It’s too many steps.”

“It’s a flight and a half.”

“Still too many.” Harlowe finishes the last few spoonfuls, setting the bowl on the nightstand. Calum rolls his eyes. “I only wanted the one spoonful.” As they settle back on the screen, Harlowe wraps one arm around her stomach. Something feels different. A good different.

Harlowe’s hands shake. She ought to take this pregnancy test. That’s the only way to know for sure. But she can’t do it. She reschedules her OBGYN appointment too. Until next week. Next week she’ll have her bearings together. Her head will be on straighter and she won’t be thinking about what the hell she and Calum are going to do with a newborn. They’ve long gotten rid of the diapers, and the cribs. Does she really have it in her to have another baby this late?

Instead of going to her OBGYN, she ends up buying tampons and more sorbet. It’s a light period, but still a period. She should’ve known that she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant again. Part of her feels like an idiot for even thinking it was a possibility. Doctor’s told her chances would be slim. So why think that she would the special case?

Calum knocks on the bedroom door. After work, Harlowe mentioned being exhausted, so she took a nap. “Babe, dinner’s ready,” he says softly shaking her awake. Harlowe stretches after sitting up. Calum looks at his wife. She’s mentioned being tired most days. Her appetite isn’t much of a strange from normal, though the last few weeks she’s been extra sensitive about the smeell of seafood. The same thing when she was pregnant with Esha.

“You ought to go to that appointment, babe.”

“For them to tell me I’m broken. I know that already.”

“Maybe you aren’t. But you can’t stand the smell of seafood anymore, you’re craving nuts again. You’re tired. I think you might be pregnant.” He doesn’t want to talk to loudly, doesn’t want to give himself false hope. But the thought keeps nagging him. “You’re spotting as well. I don’t think they’re full on periods.”

Harlowe nods. Her silence speaks volumes. Calum doesn’t pushes it. He takes her hand and they walk downstairs to the dining room. “How was your nap?” Te Koha asks.

She kisses the top of his head. “Good, very good.” She settles in at the table next to Esha. She presses several kisses to her cheek.

“Mom,” Esha huffs. Calum sits across from her, watching the way she devours her dinner. Something is definitely up. Over the weekend, Calum steals a moment to call his mother. Joy warn him he has to do something even if it means dragging her to the office. On Tuesdays, Harlowe’s classes are finished early. So he knows he has to schedule it then, but he feels horrible forcing her. Joy, on the other hand, does not feel the same way.

Her office hours through, Harlowe starts packing her backpack when a knocks rings out. The door opens and Joy pokes her head through. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” Harlowe grins, walking over to embrace her mother-in-law.

“I needed some help with something and figured I’d pop by to see if you were free.”

“Yeah classes are done, but Calum was coming to pick me up,” Harlowe states. “Let me call him, he might even be in the parking lot.”

“I didn’t see his car. But I’m not sure where he parked though.”

Harlowe gathers the last of her things and pulls out her phone. Calum answers on the second ring. “Hey, I’m leaving now. I know I’m late. Got hung up in the studio.”

“Hey. Don’t worry. Your mom’s here. She needs help. I’m going to go with her.”

“Okay. Tell her I said hi.”

“Calum says hi,” Harlowe relays moving the phone. Joy grins.

“So sorry again, babe. Lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. The kids catch the bus, so it’s all good.” They hang up shortly after and the two woman start towards the parking lot. Joy watches Harlowe closely as they walk to the car. She can feel it; Harlowe’s pregnant again. She’s not sure if it scares Harlowe to have another child and that’s why she refuses to believe it. But whatever the case it is, clearly the woman knows something is up. She avoids deli meats, she doesn’t drink alcohol, has quit caffeine all together, everything she should be doing in pregnancy. She knows. But why does she not believe?

During the ride, Harlowe notes the strange route. But feels a bit rude questioning Joy. When they pull up in front of the small beige brick building, Harlowe sighs. “I should’ve figured.”

“You need to know. It’s been nearing what ten, eleven weeks at this point? You’re starting to show.”

Harlowe snaps her head over to the older woman. “Show? I’m two ounces short of being a keg. I am not showing; it’s not baby fat.”

A soft grin plays over Joy’s lips, all too similar to Calum’s. She doesn’t mean weight wise. It’s written across the glow in her skin. She is showing without even realizing. “Then let’s find out, yeah?” The women climb out of the car and Joy takes Harlowe’s hand. “I know. You are pregnant though.”

It’s not nerve wrecking when she signs in her appointment. It’s not nerve wrecking waiting for the nurse to call her back. Harlowe doesn’t have nerve, listing the symptoms. It’s only when they break out the sheet to protect her skirt that the nerves start. Harlowe clutches Joy’s hand when they doctor slips on the gloves. She is pregnant. She knows it. She just didn’t want to be wrong. She couldn’t stand the thought that she the test would come back negative. That all those things were just her brain thinking, wanting a baby so bad, it played this trick on her. Harlowe stares up at the ceiling. She can’t bare to watch a blank screen.

Thump-thump, thump-thump echoes around the room. Harlowe’s eyes sting with tears. That’s all she needs to hear. “Call Calum, please?” she cries to Joy. “Please. He needs to hear. Can she please call my husband?”

The doctor grins and a nurse exits the room. “Give us one moment, okay?”

Harlowe wipes her tears, staring at the monitor. The door creaks open again. She turns to the sound to see Calum. He walks far enough inside and have the door close, but the heartbeat echoing makes him stop. That’s his baby’s heartbeat. Tears slip down his cheek and Harlowe laughs. “God, we’re both a hot mess of tears.”

“You’re pregnant?” he breathes.

She nods, the stiff paper of the bed crinkles under her movement. “I am. That’s our baby.”

Calum rushes over, burying his face into her shoulder. His tears are hot even through the cotton off her t-shirt. Inhaling deeply, Calum looks to the screen again. That’s his baby. His miracle, his next little one. The joy coursing through his veins lights his bones on fire. Though the late nights are tortuous, and changing diapers are not ideal again, after nearly seven years of not having to do it, he is fucking ecstatic.

Harlowe has been dying for a third baby and he wanted nothing more than to give that to her. It was out of his hands, it was up to the numbers, gods, and chances. But he prayed for it, he begged to the high heavens to give this to her. She needed a good thing in her corner after her long battle. He knew she didn’t take him for granted, but there’s nothing quite like knowing something is sort of within reach and never being able to reach it. Until now.

Calum turns his gaze, though blurry and watery, down to Harlowe. He wraps an arm around her hair and head, kissing her forehead repeatedly. “I love you,” he breathes into her skin. “And this baby.”

Harlowe holds to his bicep, pressing her face into the flesh and dense muscle. “I love you too. I’m so sorry I didn’t go sooner. I am so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were smart about your diet. You knew. And now you can believe it. It’s okay. I’m here.”

��But what if I wasn’t. What if I fucked up.”

“Then it would be a mistake. One among a lifetime of many. We would’ve handled whatever came our way, together. Right?”

“Always together.”

Back in the car, Harlowe hold the print out of the sonogram, gently rubbing her fingers over it. She was smart and Calum would always be right by her side. “So, are we good on babies?” Calum asks.

“God, yes. No more, please.”

Calum laughs, grabbing her knee. “I have a consultation next week.”

They’ve weighed their options. Calum’s against her going in major surgery. Though Harlowe’s response is that a vasectomy is still surgery too. “What if I wasn’t pregnant?”

“Then I would’ve cancelled it, unless we were done trying.”

“Well, I’m done trying,” she laughs.

“Should I schedule before or after the birth?”

“Before,” she whispers. Though worry flashes through her veins, she feels like waiting won’t help her. She prays nothing happens in this pregnancy, but part of her is tired. If she’s not meant to have a third child, then she’s not meant to birth a third child. There are still other options.

“You’re worrying again. None of that. That’s our little one growing in you. It’s all going to be okay.”

She nods, though he can’t see it. It’ll all be okay.

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