#also i know this is silly but I love how doc's drawn here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stevenbasic · 3 years ago

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“Knock-knock!” I heard at the door of my office, startling me. I was nearly - jesus - an hour into this video call with the Study Coordinator from Evolution, and had obviously lost track of time. “Where’s my favorite patient?!?’ called the voice. It was Vida, my Nurse Practitioner, entering with a broad smile, a procedure tray and someone else and causing me to look up from my computer screen. “Time for your mediciiine…” In place of her usual white clinic jacket, she was wearing a tailored black jacket over a black, figure-hugging, dress, cut low.

Immediately I said my abrupt goodbyes to Gianna, over chat, and shut down the window right as she was, good lord, blowing me a kiss. At the same time I looked up and gave my wan smile of greeting to Vida and the generously curvy blond woman who’d entered with her…

“This is Morgan, if you two haven’t met yet,” Vida said, as she briskly approached my desk, high heels clacking. Trailing behind her a few steps was a woman in a white blouse and tan leggings - a big woman - broad of shoulder, wide of hip, huge of chest, standing taller than Vida by five or six inches...and myself even more, “She’s a Nurse Practitioner too, from Evolution until just yesterday, when she joined us.”

“It is very nice to meet you, Dr. J…” Morgan purred, in a voice deeper, richer than Vida’s. There was a queer smile on her face and a hint of a vaguely Eastern European accent in her words, one that she was obviously trying to hide. For now she was hanging back, taking her cues from Vida as the younger but more senior woman began to prepare her tray behind my desk to my left. “Nurse Vida is training me today how to take the care of you.”

“H-hi, uh, Morgan,” I replied, immediately sensing that that was not this woman’s given name, and remembering it was time again for my booster shot. The thought, for some reason, brought me a little thrill, remembering how it made me feel last week…but was it also responsible for the 8 pounds I’d lost since then? “But, um, what do you m-”

Interrupting my concerns, Vida chuckled. “Oh, don’t get worried, doc. I just figured that the more of us that know how to do this for you, the better,” she explained, opening the strange black box in which the vitamin B12/D/K booster vial was packaged. I noticed the familiar, strange blue tint of the liquid as Vida removed it along with the pre-packaged syringe. “And Morgan here has lots of experience.” At that, Vida nodded up at Morgan; the larger woman took that as a cue to move around the other side of my desk, to my right, and come to stand alongside me there. I was flanked.

“I-is that right, Morgan?” I asked, hearing the nerves starting to quiver in my voice. I hated needles, I hated them. But this single, combination shot was much better than three separate ones. “Wh-what did you do at Evolution?” I asked, not able to recall her resume as I looked up at her; she was gazing down at me, over the shelf of her formidable bosom. I was hoping that, if she had started seeing patients today, that she had been more buttoned up during the workday. The cleavage she was showing at this moment, over the neckline of her overmatched white blouse, was vast.

“At the Evolution Pharmaceuticals?” she replied, the accent in her voice unable to camouflage itself through the words, “There, I was with research team, taking care of study subjects. But before, I was in pediatrics ward, with preemies, the NICU.” She looked down on me with a crooked smile, and seemed to be resisting reaching out her hand to me. Instead, she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length blond hair. “I love holding little bodies.”

“Haha well, that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it, Dr. J?” Vida added, explaining to Morgan and pursing her full, plump, latin lips, “This young man has lost a few inches recently and we need to make sure he gets his vitamins.” With that, Vida beamed down at me and released her thick mane of dark hair from the conservative bun she’d been wearing for the workday. A wave of the now-ubiquitous perfume in this place flowed over me, and I felt a stirring between my legs. I had been intermittently hard during my video call with Gianna - her tits were unbelievable - and I was afraid now that I might swell to some obvious, inappropriate monster of a boner with these women so close. “Lucky for him he has his girls to take care of him,” Vida concluded. The vial and syringe, for the moment, laid inert on the tray.

I tried to focus. ”I, heh heh, don’t know if I need someone to ‘take care of me’...” I spoke, trying to sound relaxed as Morgan’s left hand finally did come to rest on my right shoulder. I’d honestly just met this woman, but she was being very…familiar. Vida as well; she was generally a bit more aloof than she seemed today. It was like there was something weird in the air, something bringing them closer.

“That's silly,” Vida responded, “Even doctors need someone to look after them.” At that, she began to remove her black jacket, and laid it on my desk, as if preparing herself for her task. Underneath she wore a clingy black tube dress that hugged her hourglass figure and revealed her trim shoulders and the upper swells of her full chest; she watched as I struggled not to look at her body. “Who do you see for a PCP?”

“uh…” I began, trying to recall my last visit to a doctor’s office outside of this one, “…no one?”

“You mean…” Vida asked with exaggerated concern, as she herself put a hand on my other shoulder, leaning in to me and twirling a lock of thick, raven hair, “you don’t have a Primary??”

“N-no I, uh-“

”Well, that’s no good,” Vida concluded, standing straight and looking across me at her fellow nurse, “Don't you agree, Morgan?”

”Oh yes,” Morgan concurred, her dimpled smile betraying her amusement, stepping a touch closer, “You need the primary...care...provider.”

“That settles it,” Vida decided, removing her right hand from me to place both it and her left one on her broad hips, in determination, “I’m going to be your PCP from now on.” Her action had drawn my eyes to her remarkably tiny waist and shit this girl had some curves. “I’ll contact our insurance company, do all the paperwork. How does that sound?”

The big woman to my right was giggling, and her hand had begun to idly caress my shoulder.

“Uh, th-that’s fine…” I agreed.

“So,” Vida finally asked, with a wry smile, “does my patient have any questions before we get started?”

Ugh, right…the injection. “Well, um, honestly…” I began, knowing I should at least address the concerns I had over this combo B12/D/K formulation, “I’m not sure it’s working. I think I’ve lost weight since last week, and even maybe almost an inch…”

“That’s ridiculous. You must have measured wrong last time, used a bad scale,” Vida replied, trying to reassure me, “But…do you think you need to go out and get checked..?”

At that, Vida herself moved in closer, and I saw Morgan, to my right, turn her thick body more towards me. Both women looked down at me.

“Or do you want to let us take care of you..?” Vida finished. It felt like a challenge, and I sensed something, an inner struggle inside myself. The logical, intelligent practitioner who cared for his health wanted to answer one way, bring a halt to something that was dangerous, possibly ruining my life. But another part of me, the one that was feeling the cock growing once again down my right thigh in tribute to the ever-more enveloping warmth of these women, just wanted to say-

“n-no…I think I’m alright,” I answered, “let’s go ahead with the shot. I’ll be fine.”

If I had known then what I know now, that my mental capacity for rational thought in the face of arousal had been already crippled by foreign agents? If I had known that I was being purposefully enslaved, drowned more and more every day in the sea of pheromones and womanly curves in which I swam? WelI, I would have run screaming. Or, then again...would I?.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Vida assured me. Her voice had dropped low, almost hypnotic, “You don’t need to go out and see any other specialists. We’ve got everything you need right here…” She was beginning to prepare the injection, now, drawing the blue liquid from the vial up into the syringe.

“Yes, everything,” Morgan agreed, looming over me now so close to my right, her hips and belly blocking out the world behind her. Her scent was warm, earthy. Between it and Vida’s reassuring tone, I felt powerless to do anything but trust these women.

“But,” Vida began again, inspecting the now-filled glass syringe, “if you are still shrinking, lots of guys would be jealous. Don’t you think, Morgan? Here, take this-” She handed a band-aid across me to her fellow nurse.

wh-what?

“Oh, yes,” Morgan concurred, her voice husky, unwrapping the band-aid, preparing it, “very jealous.”

”What…what do you mean?” I asked, confused, looking from one woman to the next, up at them. Without even being told, I had begun rolling up my sleeve.

Vida chuckled. “Oh, you know, the whole ‘vulni-chic’ thing,” she answered, holding the prepared injection now in her right hand, “you’d get very popular if you lost another-“

“One meter?” Morgan said, giggling in her deeper, richer tone, “Two?”

“haha I’d disappear…” I joked, feeling a wave of warmth coming from Morgan’s body to my right, “just like, haha…”

“It’s not a joke, Dr. J,” Vida said, her voice plain, suddenly, clinical, “it’s a thing. Here, get ready-“

“Ouch!!!”

She’d jabbed me, in the left shoulder, with the shot.

Vida spoke as she pressed the plunger, pushing the blue liquid into my deltoid. “It’s not just a fad for women, guys these days are admitting it, too…” she said as she drew the needle out of my arm. Immediately I’d felt it entering my body, like a milky warmth. “Good boy,” she praised, “Band aid?”

“Thanks,” I replied without thinking, watching as Morgan leaned her big torso across me as I turned in my chair towards her, presenting my left shoulder. She was nearly smothering me with her big breasts as she applied the bandage, and I did everything I could not to goggle at the wobbling flesh of her full, tan cleavage. My roving eyes made me realize that this generously endowed woman was wearing a very thin bra, or possibly none at all. Somehow, though, she was still so firm, with a natural buoyancy that kept her tits high and proud on her chest. My gaze could not get enough. But then eyes fluttered as I was assaulted by both an overwhelming breath of her perfume and the first rush of pleasure from the shot. I began to lower my sleeve, rubbing my arm as I looked up at her, smiling down at me as she finally stood up and away.

“I mean it, with the shrinking,” Vida started again, watching me with an appraising eye as I recovered from my shot, buttoned my sleeve, “have you seen Melissa’s new Instagram post?”

With the butterflies? I didn’t want to admit anything.

“The guys that follow her, the simps,” she continued, “they talk about wanting to be like bugs, crawling into her breasts.” She was replacing the syringe, carefully putting it and the vial back into the box. “It’s all over the place, everywhere, though no ones really talking about it yet,” she said, as she closed the black container, “guys wanting to be smaller, weaker than us. Wanting to become inferior, more passive, more submissive.”

She looked down at me and smiled, watching as the effects of the injection began to take hold. Even more strongly than last time, I was being gripped by a pleasant wave of lethargy, relaxation.

“Guys want to be small, these days,” Vida said, “and we’d like it that way too, wouldn’t we, Morgan?””

To my right I heard Morgan purr, a little grunt. “Yes, Nurse Vida,” she said, her voice low and struggling with arousal, “we would like it very much.” I had the feeling she was holding back her true feelings, in restrained understatement.

Vida laughed, casually. “It’s weird, all these changes in gender dynamics,” she continued, brushing a lock of my hair behind my left ear, “the new thing is bigger women, smaller men. Here, look at Morgan, perfect example…”

I turned, looked up at the smiling behemoth of a woman.

“She’s probably bigger than you ever were,” Vida continued, “taller, heavier, thicker everywhere.”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed, seeming to rise up, grow bigger, heavier, right in front of my eyes, “I weigh much, much more than the you.”

“And, you have to admit…” Vida asked, watching me look up at the huge, busty blond woman, who was now absolutely dwarfing me in my seat and could probably lift me like a child, “that’s kinda sexy, right?”

“I, uh….” I began, not knowing what to say. My erection was getting painful, now, contorted as it was in my pants, trying to stretch down my right thigh.

Vida spoke again, now holding my head in place by my cheek and jaw, so all I saw was Morgan. “So, even if you are getting smaller...lots of us would like that.”

I sat there, in the building afterglow of my injection, and looked at this woman’s body. It was, in all ways, so much bigger than my own. Thicker thighs, wider hips. Her arms were stronger than mine, her shoulders broader. Standing aside her, I would look puny. Even Vida - though she stood roughly my height, maybe an inch or two more - her hourglass figure and womanly hips made her body just that much more than mine.

”Dr. J,” Vida said, pulling me from my reverie, but not releasing my face from her hand’s gentle embrace, “You look like you need to go lay down. We’d take you up to bed ourselves but we have an important girl meeting to get to, don’t we Morgan?”

“Yes,” Morgan replied, though never taking her eyes or dimpled smile from me, “Very important.” I watched as she looked down on me, regarded me, considered me. “But I promise. Next time you can go to the sleep in my lap,” she said, “I have a very nice lap.” With that, Morgan bent at the waist a bit, to gently slap her prodigious thighs. My eyes watched them jiggle, and then her hands come up to the collar of her blouse, hoisting her breasts. “Or, if not on lap, we find somewhere else…”

“Haha okay,” Vida laughed, finally releasing my head but smiling as I didn’t turn away from the cleavage into which I was now dumbly gazing, in my vitamin-fueled haze imagining myself sinking into it like a caterpillar, cocooned in womanly warmth. “I’ll get a couple of the MA’s to get you upstairs…”

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more Vida & Morgan imagery, more posts, more more more at my Patreon.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

#growing into the job

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volturialice · 3 years ago

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3 and 20 for the ask game?

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all the setup and context it would require? (Consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

this one is hard bc I have an entire 50k+ scrivener doc of scenes just like this. But I guess if I had to choose, I’ve always wanted to write a scene about what jasper and maria would say to each other in the present, now that they no longer have to lie. I’m so interested in what they are to each other, how they see each other and how that’s evolved. I find it fascinating to imagine how they would talk about their history and their issues with the benefit of hindsight and independence from each other.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Lol. So, sooooo much.

people were just asking about this little tidbit on discord, so I’ll talk about it here in case anyone’s interested.

No, the town names from Perdition are not (to my knowledge) real places! But yes, about 70% of them have some kind of secret significance (I make no secret of the fact that I’m an etymology bitch.) I’ll put some hints/answers under the read more at the bottom of this post, but first, more rambling.

Perdition in general is both interesting and frustrating to write because it is deliberately historically inaccurate—it takes place in a geographically impossible caricature of Fantasy England™ and I do a lot of research (like, A LOT—my outline/research doc is 7k words) mainly so I can say “ok so real life would have been like this but that’s not useful to the story and/or Sexy so we’re throwing it out the window and writing this dumb anachronism instead” (I feel like it’s important to know what the actual history was before I bastardize it.) It’s really revealed all the gaps in my medieval history knowledge. Truly I could do an entire supplemental powerpoint comparing actual history to my silly fic that takes place in a Medieval Times restaurant, but the biggest things I’ve messed with are a) certain cultural attitudes and practices towards fortune-telling from an (English) Catholic Church standpoint, and b) how the actual Smyrniote Crusade worked.

Oh, and I’m never gonna describe anyone’s pants because they would all have been wearing hose and I hate that lol

send me meta asks

Town name clues below

Aberstowe - town where the story starts. “Stowe” just means like a village, but “Aber” means “fork,” like a fork in the road. Haha get it 🥁🤪

Kirkmere - city where they were supposed to take Alice for trial. “Mere” is another generic “city/town” suffix iirc and “Kirk” means “church.”

[redacted] - town coming up that has both a meaningful prefix and suffix and that’s all I’ll say

[redacted] - Alice’s hometown has an extremely on-the-nose name. It’s not naming a werewolf “Remus Lupin” but it’s in that zone

others - for Marcote I was kind of playing with the word “mar,” as in to injure or disfigure. Wythe and Hareswold I kinda just made up because they sounded right.

I also have a hilarious map hand drawn in the equivalent of MS Paint so I can keep track of my own silly fake geography lol

#ask games #meta asks #perdition tag #thank you how did you know I was DYING to do 20 lol

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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in the night, ii.

read part one! dedicated to my beloved wofe @periminkle because she loves assassin!kook and so do i. i honestly dunno how many parts to this non-couple couple i’ll do but ... i cannot resist them. oops.

pairing. jjk x reader. rating. ... general? tags. soft romance in the form of: pining, cuddling, playing chess like losers, using a hotel room for the lamest reasons. maybe a very lil bit of angst if you squint at the right times. it’s just them being... them? ig. wc. 1.8k. beta reader. @hobi-gif 💛

“You know, when you asked me to meet you here, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

He can’t help but laugh, the sound teetering off his tongue into the tepid lake of espresso sitting in his cup. You’re glaring down at the board, hand poised at your side. You’re so focused - more so than when you’re stitching him up.

He wonders, idly, whether that should worry him. It won’t.

“You’re not having fun?” He hums, the slyest smile passing over the rim of ceramic, a certain twinkle in his stare. It’s possible he’s overtired - he hasn’t slept in what feels like ages - but there’s something awfully amusing about the sight of you, brow knit and mouth pursed into a grimace he seldom sees. “Got something else in mind, Doc?”

You don’t humour him with a response, advancing your king to C7.

“You sure about that one?”

“Yes.” It snaps past your lips like cinnamon bubble gum.

Seeing you so riled up - not quite irritated but overly competitive - makes Jungkook snort, setting his cup down with a soft, drawn out sigh.

“Come here.” It isn’t readily clear where he means but he leaves it up to you, watching you keenly.

You’re having none of it. “Make your move.”

“Come here,” he repeats, just that bit harder. The edge doesn’t reach anywhere but his words; his eyes are still a little tired, half-lidded and dreamy. They pair nicely with the full of his cheek, how it ticks rounder and reveals a singular dimple. Your weakness - or so he’d like to think.

It’s with a surprising amount of dramatics that you remove yourself from the opposite seat, folding yourself into his lap with only a handful of movements. He welcomes your weight, curling an exhausted arm around the shape of your waist.

With your back to the arm rest, you settle with your head against his shoulder, nose cold against the column of his throat. He can even feel the steel of your glasses, gold-rimmed and delicate.

“Bored?” The tone of his voice is lilting, teasing, dressed up with laughter. It disappears into your crown of velvet, loosely braided and knotted behind your ear in your signature no-fuss fashion.

“No.” But it isn’t very believable because you certainly sound unenthused.

He tries again, with fingers that flex into the soft, bare flesh of your thigh; his other hand guides your chin, drawing your attention fully from the abandoned chess set. “Want to order room service?”

It’s the least he can do, he figures. Something to ease whatever mocking resentment seeps out of your skin - much like his had only hours earlier.

Note to himself: pick up some new clothes.

“I want every dessert on the menu,” you finally relent, with a terribly serious set of your jaw and intensity in your eyes.

He snorts, again, squeezing the yielding softness of your hip in his broad palms. “I’ll call down and order. You go take a shower or something.” It’s not as dismissive as he means; the blouse you’d worn over is stained red, the colour bleeding garishly over cream silk. It even marks your skin now, caught beneath your nails and over your wrists.

“What - it’s not a good look on me?”

Your feigned affront is addictive, coaxing in a way he’s utterly defenceless against. Still, Jungkook rolls his eyes - an exaggerated reveal of bright white sclera - and levels you with a look that might serve him better than the gun that rests on the coffee table. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Doc.”

“But you do stupid things all the time.” You’re not wrong and if there’s anyone worthy of calling him out in this same way, it’s you. Doesn’t mean he takes it any more kindly, glowering at you so heavily he thinks you might be enjoying it.

“Name one time,” he retorts, fully on the defensive. Even though he knows you’re right. Even though he could list off just five things since last night.

Getting ambushed in his own home

Cracking some not-so-poor guy’s skull on the corner of his Nakashima dining table

Asking for you to make a home (or rather, hotel) call

Asking for you at all

Asking you to stay

He hopes you won’t catch onto the last three.

“That time I told you to not overextend yourself after you cracked three ribs and you came back the next day complaining because you’d piledrived a guy through some scaffolding but, and I quote, ‘it wasn’t a big deal’?” Okay, you have him there. “Or the time I told you to take the pills in the left drawer and you took the ones from the right and ended up passed out on my floor for twelve hours?” Another solid and mildly embarrassing example. “Or—”

“Okay, okay.” A single hand held aloft in the universal sign of stop; the other remains comfortable around your waist, digits tracing figure eights over the porcelain skin beneath your top. “I get it.”

You’re undeterred, pushing forward with abandon. “Or inviting me to a hotel to not only stitch you back together but also play silly children’s games?”

“Hey - chess is fun!” And so were Gin Rummy and Speed, the other two activities he’d foisted upon you post-sewing session.

“You’re an idiot,” you state, with a surprising amount of affection. He doesn’t mind when it comes like this, dipped in honey and rolled in fairy floss. It satisfies his sugar craving, filling the spaces between his molars with cavities.

“You still came,” he challenges.

“Just adding it to the dozens of favours you already owe me.”

He grins, roguish and far too handsome for his own good. Even tired, with lurking shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unbelievably bright - like it’s radiating out of him. It’s quite funny when he’s speckled in gore, blood tainting tanned skin and reminding you that he’s not all sunshine and rainbows.

“How will I ever pay you back?”

You’re close - far too close, even sat in his lap. Jungkook can see every freckle on your face, every lash that frames the prettiest stare he’s ever seen. He has to remind himself he’s waiting for an answer; it’s hard when all he wants to do is kiss you.

He thinks you must want it too, by how the silence stretches on, catching the pair of you like a Chinese finger trap.

“Doc?” Barely a word, made in a whisper.

Can you feel how his heart beats, trips and fails to right itself when you’re so close he can smell the coffee on your breath? Is it your medical training that gives him away? Or maybe just the fact that you’re attuned to everything about him because he’s, well, him?

Your big stupid idiot, for all intents and purposes.

He wants to ask. He wants to kiss you. He wants a hundred mundane things (like playing cards and eating sweet treats) only with you.

You tear it all away with a pat to his head and a wicked smile. “With all the dessert in the world.”

He scowls then, the expression wolfish and touched with agitation. It presents in the narrowing of his stare, his sharply set jaw. “Sounds like pretty lame payback to me.” Can you hear the edge of petulance, how it colours syllables the faintest shade of goblin green?

“Got something else in mind, Jeon?”

Having his words thrown back at him only makes him laugh. It reverberates out of his bare chest, filling the quiet of the luxury suite; it bounces around just as you do, leaping to your feet with a grace he can’t mimic. He’s mesmerised, as he always is, gaze trained on you - your loosened bun, the curves of your back, how you look in the jeans that look nearly painted on they fit you so well.

“Grab a bath, Doc,” he returns - less of a suggestion and more of a demand.

“Better have those desserts once I’m out.” A threat rather than a joke, though you’re far too unassuming with your old lady glasses and wide, expressive stare. For your sake, Jungkook crosses a heart across his chest and nods solemnly, earning him a devastating grin that works far better than your intimidation.

“Have I ever let you down?”

You’re already gone, a trail of your clothes left like breadcrumbs. He still hears you. “I mean - you did bring a knife fight to my door.”

“We don’t talk about that!” He calls back before the sound of running water takes over, distorting your laughter. Neroli and cedar wood comes - your signature scent. He can’t help the way he inhales deeply, satisfied, as he plucks the room phone from its holder. It’s an addiction, a second nature action that he can’t help, whether you’re curled in his arms or tending to his broken, bleeding body.

It’s dangerous, he knows.

His old mentor would tell him don’t get involved, Jeon. That living a life like this came with sacrifices. Things he’d never really cared for - at first. But now?

He daydreamt about them more often than he should, in all the quiet moments in between. They painted the prettiest pictures in his mind, wishful thinking in the form of everyday occurrences: coffee in the morning, you in his (unstained) clothes, drives in the countryside, a bed shared at night.

All because of you and your healing hands. He’d never thought you’d be so good at your job, stitching him up inside and out.

It’d be better if he left, packed his ruined clothing and stopped appearing on your doorstep. It’d keep you safe - and him, too. Relationships meant weakness and in his line of work, weakness was something to be exploited, like an open wound with a thumb pressed into it.

Instead, he waits until the cart of desserts appears - lemon tarts and basque cheesecake and a dozen other things that scream diabetes! - and wheels it right into the bathroom, closer to you, because he always wants to be closer to you.

“These don’t look like apples, Doc,” he hums, settling himself on the back edge of the tub, careful not to dislodge the towel that’s folded beneath your neck. The wet of your hair seeps into the material of his pants, sticking cloth to sinew and brawn.

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away but a tray of desserts will keep me here forever.”

“You planning on living here?” Quipped with an offering - a cocoa masterpiece of four layers, held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger.

“Might as well milk it,” you tease, accepting the bite with love in your eyes and a tongue that sweeps, just barely, over his suddenly electrified skin. He knows what you’re doing just as well as you do; it’s next to impossible not to lean into the desire, slide the digit home and press down into muscle until you’re drooling around it.

“Might as well,” he echoes, those same fluttering pink hearts reflected in his stare.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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ughgclden · 3 years ago

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a third one??

i’ve got a pretty relaxed day today, so coming and going with responses is easier, downtime more conducive to spending 10/15 minutes writing you another letter, and i apologise in advance for the length of this one

in regards to my friend, she is really sweet, but we seem to have found ourselves in that dynamic when i never know if she’s being gay (platonic) or being Gay (romantic) and i’m already fairly emotionally stunted. house and i are alike on that front /hj

it was nice to be hugged like that, greeted like that, though, a reminder that it’s possible there are some people who do look for me in crowded rooms, even if it’s more likely than not that i’m not there. (incidentally, consider this and every other letter my way of hugging you)

i think if i had to teach mainly basics i would struggle, since i tend to go quickly and get excited, sometimes forgetting brains work differently than mine when it comes to retaining and learning information. i can see your point about the emotional support teacher though, i think there would be a… certain demographic that would be drawn to me, if you catch my drift /hj

i had an english teacher like that, she once gave me extra points on an essay for referencing dead poets society, and even though i don’t have her anymore, i still put her down as a reference, and email her from time to time anyway, she helped me a ton.

i think bookstore bee would be lovely, and it reminds me of aziraphale, which fits with you quite well. plus the best bookshops always have the pretty ladies behind the counters.

as for the other thing, i don’t want to minimise it by saying “it’s okay,” although that is my first impulse, mainly because objectively, it’s not, and because i know if someone said anything like that to someone i cared about i would. definitely get myself into trouble dealing with the bastard with the audacity to hurt my friends. that and i have the same anger for people like that, with the caveat that they can get away with directing it to me. truthfully, i’m used to it, which isn’t ideal, i admit. growing up, i went to a. forced integrated school, bringing in kids from other districts to raise test scores, and as most things turn out to be, the bussed in “smart” kids were mainly white, and the kids who originally lived in the neighbourhood were all hispanic. so naturally, as a hispanic kid from a different district in the gifted program, both sides hated me. i’ve got more than ample experience and that’s what makes it terrible. but i digress

the highs always comes with the lows, but in the words of ben platt, “when you’re high, i’ll take the lows, you can ebb and i can flow,” and i’ll be here to complement you in any way i can for as long as you’ll let me do so.

presenting is definitely scary, i recently had a debate kid ask me, “what’s the point of speaking if you’re not proving anyone wrong?” when i said i wasn’t in debate, but in speech, the sister program. the truth is, the point is telling your truth, even through other peoples’ words. sometimes we can’t find the words, but have no problem finding the memories that make pieces impactful, and true.

i bet in knitted jumpers with a skirt and docs you look lovely, and like someone remus lupin would be good friends with. i gravitate somewhere between remus and sirius, the two gay sides of me constantly battling that one out, so i end up with some… interesting outfits. cruella de ville is a goal, quite honestly, although i suppose technically shes classified as a villain, but then again, i’m a mentally unwell unstraight individual, so villains hot.

bee, if there’s anything i strive to do, it’s make you feel important, because you are, at the very very least, to me. and thats not silly, because believe me the sentiment is shared, thank you for spending time on me, love. i cant say it enough.

you are important, to reiterate, you are good, and kind, and the world could use more people like you. i only hope those lucky enough to experience your physical presence are sensible enough to know what a privilege they have in knowing you.

all of my love, bee, and a million wishes for a good day, good night, sweet dreams, and restful sleep.

until we meet again,

(likely tomorrow)

yours,

✨

please never apologise for the length of these, star. i'd read a whole novel of anything you say

it should me apologising for how terribly late my response is - i'm never much good at writing when i'm tired, or doing anything when i'm tired really. i'm one of those people who completely shuts down, and i wasn't going to torture you with my drowsy ramblings. im however writing this now with a fresh cup of coffee, so let's hope that helps

not knowing the distinction between gay and Gay is the worst; i can sympathise slightly on that front. when i was still figuring shit out i never knew if i just really loved my friend or really Loved my friend - it was all platonic, i know that now, but it was certainly a time. i think i'd always find myself searching for you in a crowded room - you have the sort of energy that draws people to you

you'd certainly draw in that certain demographic, i know it. although i think being the lgbt kids support teacher would be the largest honour bestowed onto a person, and no one else would suit that more perfectly than you. that's so sweet oh my god - i'm not too sure if my teacher had ever watched it, as sadly she never referenced it :( but she was very much a keating for me

i'm glad you know it's certainly not okay and i'm so fucking sorry that there's some ignorant assholes out there who think their stupid close-minded ideas and thoughts are important and need to be voiced, and they're justified in saying that shit. i truly hope things aren't as bad as they once were and if i could, i'd hurt anyone who's ever said that stuff to you (i can't fight, but i'd give it my best shot)

i totally agree with you- not everything has to be to prove a point, or make someone see something the way you do. sometimes it's just to communicate, to tell tales of love and beauty, to tell your own stories and thoughts. sometimes it's nice to talk just for the sake of it.

i think a mix of remus and sirius is wonderful - i aspire to have the sort of energy that sirius black gives off but alas, i'm more of a remus (or even a peter.. but we don't talk about that..) and yes villains are SO HOT OH MY GOD!!! yes they are bad ppl but they are hot and sexy so they can do as they please <3

we could go back and forth about this all day - but thank you lovely. not only do these make me feel important and loved, but they also let me talk about the smaller things, the little things that sometimes seem irrelevant because the world spins a little too fast to focus on the mundane. but even with you, the mundane is something spectacular.

have a lovely day, i hope it's filled with little bits of magic and wonder and joy. all my love star <33

#asks <3 #anon asks!#star anon #long post

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punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Fifteen; Anticipation.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- animal shapeshifting but thas about it really-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

The very next days seemed to crawl by. As if time itself was dragging through claggy thick treacle.

Nothing moved quickly and Iris knows it’s because she’s anticipating the weeks-end more than any other event she’s ever awaited on in her life.

More than Yuletide morning. More than her birthday. More than buying a new book or taking an early morning walk all to herself. More than a sunny frosted morning where everything seems to glimmer as if crafted from gold, or seeing wildflowers dot the woods with their colour in spring.

She’s waiting on that much anticipated midnight with baited breath. Every second closer to it is both torture and sweet blessed relief.

She fulfils her remaining days with a permanent smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Even her acetous mother remarks upon it. She tells her daughter the fine manner of her engagement must be bringing her joy. Iris bites her lip to keep from grinning.

She clutched her romantic secret all that tighter to her chest. Moulded it like warm clay to clasp around her glad heart.

Mother and Maratella insist on setting a date. And getting her whole ‘bouquet’ of daughters measured for their gowns.

Posy and Flora for they are of course to be bridesmaids, and Iris, of course, for her bridal gown. They get up a merry party to Pembleton one fine clear morning.

The snow and frost govern the landscape once more. Ebbing back in after the recent rain. The brown frost-hardened hills and trees and fields. Governed under the fierce cyclops of a mustard sun blazing in the effortless blue of the cobalt sky. It made Iris think of robins eggs, and the golden buttery buds of spring. When the bulbs and shoots blossom up through the earth with their sickly scent and colour.

It is a fine clear day and it indicates that the end of the long bitter winter approaches. The cold is as ferocious as ever so Maratella insists upon them not catching a chill in the vile icy winds. Shes most kind as to stop to collect the Misses Ashton’s in the Hux’s second largest coach. They are all bid to the dressmakers in the high street. Along the medieval shamble of barrel window and oak timber shops.

The news of her engagement spread far and wide. Before her boots have even touched the cobbles, stepping out the coach, their party is virtually mobbed by matrons and ladies of their acquaintance.

Iris had in mind a silly image of them prowling at the pavements like baying wolves, chasing after the muddy churn of the carriage wheels; anything for to first seize that newest scrap of gossip.

Posy and Flora ladle up all the attention. As does Mama. Proudly boasting - along with Maratella - of the suitability of such a fine match. Iris wants to roll her eyes as Flora greatly exaggerated the romantic manner of Hux’s proposition. She gabbled about a room full of red roses and how Iris wept tears of delight as he swept her into his arms.

The ravenous eyes turn toward her. “May we see the ring, Miss Ashton?” Comes out of numerous smiling mouths like a chorus of cawing seagulls. Iris feels like they’ll rip her glove off themselves if she doesn’t.

Unused to such attention, she blushes as she slips off her grey calfskin glove. Wrenching it off her hand. There is a troupe of awed gasps as they admire the diamond set in the gold band.

Iris feels as if she’s sticking her hand into a dangerous animals maw. Like some exhibit at a zoo. Feeding her hand to the rabid starving tiger’s. There’s so much gasping and in taking of breath it’s a wonder they don’t suck her up. And take half the street with them.

Luckily, Maratella fusses that they’ll be late if they don’t make haste. She then proudly utters that the ladies five, their happy little bridal party, are off to Madame Larousse’s dressmaking parlour for a wedding gown. And Mrs Ashton and Mrs Hux are to see to both having new hats to mark such a happy occasion.

The flock of ravenous ladies ceases. Satisfied with their mauling of Iris and her news and her engagement ring. The party is able to proceed along the pavement unhindered.

They slip into Madame Larousse’s. Greeted by the lanky, heavily perfumed proprietor herself. She was a tall, ungainly woman with poky shoulders and an always over-rouged complexion. And will always, without fail, exaggerate a mildly French accent to gild her words. For she believes that all the best dressmakers and seamstresses were French.

The tall stretch of Madame claps excitedly and demands to see Iris’ hand when she hears they are here to purchase ribbons and lace and all things fit for a bride. She is whisked away by a very efficient assistant. And stood on a pedestal for the next hour and half.

Iris spends that time with swatches pinned to her. Flapped around her ears. Tucked under her collar. There’s so many back and forth decisions from her mother, it makes her quite dizzy. A tape drawn tight around her so many times to squeeze the stuffing out her. Eventually, they stumble to a conclusion. It was to be a saffron orange.

Flora remarked it made her rather look like a carrot.

Around her they lounge on the chaises provided, clutched around the mirror and the box she’s on, and they drink sweet tea. Brown sugar sprinkled and stirred into the earl grey.

They all pose interjections and opinions and preferences on her. Iris just stands there like a tailors doll. Only half there.

She’s caught sight of a swatch of ruby-wine velvet near her thigh and is stroking it fondly. Remembering Lord Rens exquisite bed coverlet. How it felt under her fingers, it took her ricocheting back to that moment. And it calmed her.

That’s how she can stand all this grousing and prodding. It reminds her of her secret and she nearly faints off that box pedestal.

They settle on a pallid frothy blue silk instead. To better bring out the excellence of her mud and twigs hair. Mama chooses the best silk madame has in stock. Says she will have to fetch more in from her supplier especially. From London.

That causes much excitement for Flora and Posy. They’d never had a dress made from material fetched as far nor from a city as grand as London, before.

Posy had selected a teasing slip of pink silk. Flora, for her more fiery hair, chose a delicate pastel pea green. Iris thinks they’ll look like a platter of French fancy cakes.

Then a pang of something hits through her heart with all the intensity of an arrowhead studding there - she hopes Mama lets Posy and Flora keep their new gowns after she’s gone. She hopes very much. They are the stillest girls in existence but they do deserve nicer things than what they get.

By Madame’s husky drawl of a smoky voice is she brought back into the room, the awful pink pink pink room. Stuffed with velvet chaises and bolster cushions and trimmed fringed oil lamps. Great big fat rosebuds sprout up the wallpaper and flourish across the fabric of the pillows on the settee.

It’s as if the whole room is the summoning of the evil fairy in sleeping beauty. Who commanded swarms of brambles and thorns and swamping plants to take over. That was this room to the last pink thread - only it was instead summoned to contain every incarnation of pink roses as far as the eye could see.

Her ears burn hot and pink as Madame talks of London. Relating the gossip back to someone in the village. Matter of fact, a certain Lord-

“Apparantly, you know he sent that tall turbaned butler of his up to London just yesterday...” Madame hushes to them in her hazy terribly-affected French.

“Sent him to Mayfair.” She grins crookedly as she measures from Iris’s hip to her hem. Barking orders at Suzy, her ever suffering assistant.

Maratella seems most diverted. “Pray whatever for?” She leans forwards. Perching her half eaten violet macaroon on her saucer.

“He sent him to Bond Street. You know there is an establishment there that supplies jewels to the palace. Apparantly he came back having purchased something.” Madame says.

“Pray why would be send his butler all that way?” Flora asks.

“Why, Miss Smith told me so this morning; she suspects Lord Ren has left his heart behind in Bavaria. He is soon to quit Hellford. She heard Clarence Pennington’s butler say that his housekeeper, Mrs Jones states that half his house is shut. And the staff vacated.” Maratella excites them all. Flora and Posy are mortified at such news.

“The house is emptying. And Lord Ren shall soon be gone.” She adds.

Mrs Ashton smiles gladly. “He is journeying back home to his castle I wager...” She delights. The spitting smug nature of her tone was clear. Good riddance.

“Who must he be besotted with I wonder?” Posy asks indelicately.

Iris tries not to be twice as smug. Thinking that she is that very woman.

He goes back to his castle and I will gladly go with him, she thinks.

The giddiness and joy roils in her stomach like golden champagne. Fizzes through her veins and she has to hide a smile. Biting her cheek hard.

“Well. if he is shortly to leave our shores. I’m willing to bet he’ll break a fair few maidens hearts in this county and the next over. Such a striking gentleman. The young ladies will certainly feel his loss most keenly.” Maratella comments in sadness for all the female admirers he’d amassed. They’d all be heart sore now he’s going away.

“You’re blushing Iris.” Flora sing-songs at her. Pointing it out. “Thoughts of your intended sweetheart?” She ribs her sister.

“You are a colossal pest. Flora.” Iris smiles at her. Matter of fact. Her little bug of a sister is quite right. She is thinking about the man she’ll marry.

Only another agonising hour whilst Mama and Maratella select their hats for the occasion. But Iris can atleast sit down and drink some much too sweet earl grey tea. Doesn’t have to stand on that wretched box for another hour.

Eventually their purchases were rung up and settled. Flora and Posy love Iris very much because she buys them two new ribbons each and some velvet buttons for their bonnets. They’re singing her praises as they quit the shop. Trilling like a pair of canaries about their gowns. Iris was glad to spend some of her pin money on them before she leaves for good.

She’s fully appraised of the weight of her actions. And the serious consequence of them. It would be ruinous for her mother and father. It would be a disaster for her sisters. But atleast she was of age and she could marry. Whatever else others might say of her - she fully believes Lord Ren’s intentions are honourable.

They can’t scandalise her for marrying Kylo. Just censure her for running away from Hux and jilting him. She’s certain he’ll recover amicably enough. He doesn’t love her. And his mother is suitably well connected. She could snap her fingers and summon another willing bride. She’s only sorry it can’t be her.

She’s despondent to remark upon the pain she’ll be causing hers and Hux’s family. But in time, they will recover. Posy would do well and Flora will follow in her footsteps. Mother will see to it they catch fine husbands when the time is right. Their mother is most skilled in that area.

The party journeys along Pembleton street. Maratella stops by the haberdashers to seek after some ribbons. Mama is in the milliners seeking after a new pair of occasion gloves. Posy and Flora amble slowly along the street with their sister. Watching the carriages and coaches trundle by. Various riders on horseback too.

A loud nickering snort behind her makes her turn. She can hardly hide the smile that quickly grows across her face when she catches sight of a lone rider on a huge stocky black stallion. Both man and his mount are furiously muscled beasts.

His Lordly attire is its usual. All black. Save for his white shirt and red cravat. The great overcoat frames his wide shoulders and his bulky chest. His boots gleam in the meagre sun. His grin tips up when he catches sight of her.

He looks terribly smug and Iris’s heart feels like it’s trying to ram out the cage of her ribs. This handsome lordly man who stole it away, sets it pounding freely and rampant in her chest.

She tries not to arouse the suspicion of her sisters. They were much too curious and meddling for their own good. She wants to protect her secret and she thinks she’s a proficient enough liar to accomplish it.

They burst into fits of giggles on seeing him. He rides Erland closer to where they are stood and dismounts. His strong boots thud into the frosty mud. His wool coat laps and swathes his body. He tethered himself to Erland. Massive gloved hand gripping the reins. The creature didn’t seem to have any care for wandering off. He just wished to see Iris - Kylo empathises with the horse. He rather feels the exact same.

Iris, Posy and Flora all curtsey to him. He bids them all a greeting. She bows her neck and when she looks up. His eyes fondly fix on her. Warm in the sun. The contrast of him is astonishing. Milky creamy complexion, bordered by the onyx shadow of his hair and eyes. Utter opposites in the juxtaposition.

“Miss Ashton. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are still well recovered. You look very radiant this morning.” He comments. Walking Erland just that tiny step closer.

The obstinate animal his stallion is, reaches his nose out and snorts into her hand. Nudges her glove for pats and scritches of affection behind his ears. She doesn’t care that she’ll get horse hair on her. She strokes him.

“You are most kind. Your lordship. I am very well.” She smiles slightly. The pretty kiss of rose on her cheeks.

“I need not tell you Erland is pleased to make your acquaintance once more.” He remarks starkly. Hint of irony not lost on her. Erland almost nudges her to fall over with his big strong head. She laughs.

“Your ears must’ve been burning. Lord Ren. For we were just discussing you...” Posy flirts. Batting her lashes at the man.

Hands crossed in front of her. Like she was a genteel little doe. Iris glares narrowed silver dagger eyes at her sister to stop displaying herself so readily. As ever, the little vexation pays no attention. Not when there was a hot blooded male around.

Kylo tilts his head. Intrigued. “Is that so, Miss Posy?” He asks.

“We we’re discussing how heart sore all the young ladies hereabouts will be when you quit Hampshire...” Flora tells him.

Kylo takes her confession in his stride. “It’s true. And I am sorry more than I can exclaim to be leaving such carnage and desolation in my wake. But sadly I do return to Bavaria shortly.”

That handsome expression barely betrays a thing. The cold wind flounces and ruffles that wild hair. A tuft of it drifts in his face and tangled in his dark eyeline.

Iris decides in that moment he truly might be an angel sculpted by gods own hand; or a demon designed by the devil himself. She isn’t sure which of those creatures is all the more tempting.

One thing she’s certain of; He’d win that draw of most handsome, every time.

She quivers when those eyes gaze at her. Peels her right out her clothes and down to her goose pimpled skin. Then Posy has to go and open her foolhardy mouth some more...

“We were just helping Iris shop for her bridal gown.” She preens. “And our bridesmaids dresses.” She comments. Speaking as if she wants Kylo to snatch her up and steal her away to Bavaria. Stuff her in his pocket and run off with her.

“I had heard rumour of your engagement...” He lies. Iris is biting the inside of her lip and smiling genially to hide how wide her excitement wishes to make her smile grow.

“Show Lord Ren your engagement ring, Iris!” Flora bounces excitedly. Iris glares. Reminding her of the inappropriate nature of her words.

“Flora. Lord Ren is not interested in such matters. And I’m afraid we’ve already impressed upon too much of his time...” She insists.

Kylo holds out his hand to her. Steps closer so she has to crane her head back just to keep sight of his eyes. “I am certainly interested. And I might add, most eager to see the bauble that decorates such a fine, pretty hand.” He teases.

She decides he was designed by the devil. And lucifer gave him a silver tongue to boot-

Iris slips off her grey glove and gently lays her palm in his.

The way his fingers curl around hers is criminal. She tips her eyes up to his as he shifts closer and admires her ring. A soft smile tugs at his mouth. The gold winks at him in the sun. It’s a pretty delicate morsel. He can’t deny. But plain. Much too plain. Entirely humble as decoration went.

-it’s certainly nothing to the one he’d had Jomar go all the way to London to fetch for her from Bentley & Skinner on Bond Street.

“It is a fine ring. Miss Ashton. Sergeant Hux is the most fortunate man in England to have you as his intended bride. I’m quite envious of his fortuity.” He says. Bowing to lay a kiss on the back of her palm.

His eyes electrify her. He winks at her and she flushes with heat. Blood pressing up in her face.

“I’m sorry to hear of your leaving England. Lord Ren. Such a shame Hellford Park should be quitted before the summer.” She tells him.

Her palm leaving his. Sliding away from the touch of his hand would have made her wretched were it not for the heat in his bronzed eyes. Made a warmer melting shade by the shimmer of the buttery sun. And their shared secret lifts her heart.

“It is a great shame. But I’m eager to return to Ranlor. I’ve missed my homeland a great deal.”

“The rumour in circulation is that you have a certain lady in mind to return home too.” Posy dares most outlandishly. Iris chides her for her brash rudeness.

“Posy!” Iris calls out.

Kylo seems amused by it. “That would he telling. Miss Posy. Not to mention betraying the confidence of the most honourable lady in question.” He smirks at her sister.

Who giggles and blushes like it’s no ones business. His vampiric charms seeping out of his every pore, truly intoxicating to them, Iris can see it’s influence.

“Is she a great beauty? I imagine she is most elegant indeed and very superior and titled in rank and manner. And of great fortune...” Posy digs for more details. Kylo will reveal none.

“Pray. Don’t be impertinent twice-over.” Iris corrects. Posy pulls a vexed face. Shoves her tongue out at her sister.

Kylo’s chuckling. They were entertaining little chits. Relentless. But he admires something about that sparky quality. Iris had the same sense about her - only more sensible and humble.

“She is the singularly, most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld in all my years.” He promises. “And I cannot wait to have her hand in marriage. She will make me a very blessed and lucky man.” He declares.

“How romantic.” Posy declares in a sigh. Flora dreamily agrees. They’re both veritably Moony eyed. Gazing up at him in wonder as a consequence. A silly girls kryptonite. A handsome and dark romantic man. A Byronic figure to set all the foolish girls swooning at the knees.

Kylo’s eyes sweep across to Iris at a passing glance. He smiles. And it almost undoes her.

“We must be on our way. We’ve availed ourselves of too much of your time. Lord Ren.” Iris says in parting. Trying to herd her vapid sisters away before they flirt anymore.

“We must go. For we are bid to the Hux’s tonight for a celebratory engagement supper.” Posy curtsies boasting as she’s bobbing away.

“Give the Sergeant and his family my warmest regards.” Kylo insists. Knowing what a barb that would be to Hux’s temper.

Iris turns and meets his eyes. Giving him a polite bowed head in parting. When Posy and Flora are otherwise looking elsewhere. She turns back and gives him such a look of longing and delight it makes him grin at her as she walks off down the cobbled pavement.

“Very good to see you again. Your Lordship. Have a pleasant rest of your day.” She insists.

Cajoling her sisters along the path and away before they get any notions. Erland snorts at her as she moved away. She smiles and gladly rubs the flat bone of his nose before she goes. Lord Ren stays standing until she does move away.

Kylo pats his neck, and hauls himself up on his strong stallions back once again. Booted feet in the stirrups. He adjusts on the saddle. Scanning the tumbled windows of the high street proprietors.

In the milliners, he sees a face like sour lemons and thunder glaring out at him. Mrs Ashton’s stony face peering outwards through the glass. Having seen his exchange with all her daughters.

He coaxes Erland into a slow walk. A little nudge in his side. He gives the foul Caroline Ashton his most winning enigmatic smile. And nods civilly in greeting at her as he rides off.

He sees it makes her lips purse in irritation.

Iris can’t resist glancing back at him. She knows those eyes watch her all the way down the street. She can feel them. Two pinpricks of heat, like candles, burning into her shoulder-blades.

It makes her too giddy for words.

They soon catch up with the rest of their party and are whisked away in the Hux carriage. Soaring across the dirty English roads. Mud churning in their wake as cold air and sunshine bounces off the roof.

Mama asks them what Lord Ren. Iris told them he was just politely passing the time of day. She seems satisfied with the answer. Iris fights not to squirm into shivers of desire at the merest intimation and memory of him.

Posy and Flora sing-song his romantic praises all the way home. Mother soon shuts them up with a cross cold stare.

The afternoon seems to fly her by. No sooner than she’s home and she’s readying herself for the dinner they’ll take at the Hux’s residence. Cavenham House.

The not so modest estate in the border of the next county. A gorgeous house if she’s being perfectly honest. Terracotta red bricked exterior, of modern Georgian design. Huge arched white windows. Rococo interior. All gilded with cherubs frolicking on the murky painted ceilings and baroque trim on every door. Rolling scrolls. Frescoes and pastel colours. Gilding, moulding and trompe l’oeils giving the illusion of motion and drama. Raining down from every ceiling.

A handsomely kept garden was also what it was resolutely famous for. Though it would not be pictured to its best quality in this dead winter. Spring will liven it soon. The hardy bright bulbs will crop up through the frost. But for now it remains speckled in snow with only the evergreens surviving.

Iris can see it all as they pull up the long stretch of the torch lit drive. In the coach Maratella was kind enough to send to collect them all.

Once again she was wedged beside Posy and Flora, and their shrill gossiping. Mother and Father opposite. Noiseless and as disagreeing as ever. Silence blazed between them as somber as a churchyard. They were about as animated with each other as two gravestones.

Iris dressed in her navy silk gown with 3/4 sleeves and a sheer white chemisette swirled with stitched white flowers, decorating her shoulders and neck. Meg cleverly weaves that teal ribbon into her hair coiffure again. She finishes the look with pearl droplet earrings and white satin gloves up to her elbows.

They are welcomed inside by stony faced servants in the blue Cavenham livery. Taken into the drawing room to meet their hosts. Maratella had invited some local flavour along also. Everyone’s merry and mingling. Posy offers to play a Handel piece on the Pianoforte before dinner is announced. She does so rather well. Thunks the opening notes in shocking volume but she picks up from that point onwards.

Iris is admiring the scenery from the drawing room window. Even in the dark she can see how lovely the gardens are. It doesn’t dissolve the fact that this house would still be a prison to her. There weren’t bars on the window and she won’t exactly be stitching mailbags - but it will still be her cage.

A handsome cage, she won’t deny. But a cage nonetheless as she mothers the children and lives for planning fine parties to boast of her and her husbands excellence. And slowly becomes a woman of high rank and no substance.

Hux moves to stand by her side, hands folded behind his back. A tall lean column of red, black and white in his ceremonial dress. Medals shining. Hair groomed. Perfectly respectable. Infuriatingly loveless, as always.

“You shall like the gardens in summer. I should think.” He remarks.

“They are most handsome.” She comments. “A fine prospect indeed.” She agrees.

They perfectly form the vision of lovers conversing by candlelight. She can hear Mama and Mrs. Hux cooing proudly behind them. It’s infuriating. Iris can’t spend the rest of her life in a manner such as this; being prodded and manoeuvred and gossiped over like a chess piece on a board.

“I care little for being out of doors. Save for riding with my regiment.” He impresses.

Iris nods. “I am perhaps overfond of walking. I take an excursion each day if I can.” She tells him.

He sniffs. And coldly watches the view before them. “Well. You shall have to make allowances and sacrifices when we are wed. I can’t have you scampering around the countryside when you are with my heir.” He insists.

Iris’s mouth turns dry. She makes little response to his words. He turns away to speak to someone else but she catches his arm to stop him.

“Please I just want to say-“ she starts.

She looks up into his face. The bright copper of his hair and the steel of his eyes. The surety of his rigid auburn brow. She doesn’t dislike him. He’s not an unpleasant man. Just, misguided.

She says what she’s thinking now before she loses the chance. No doubt he’ll think very badly of her when all is done.

“I think well of you. You know. You are a gallant man. Not lacking in honour or credibility. I admire that about you. Hux.” She says. Even if I can’t marry you for it.

He nods. Accepting her words. Then their granite faced butler coughs dryly and announces dinner to the room.

Maratella lets the engaged couple be seated next to each other at dinner. Wanting to encourage the tepid affection brewing between them. Iris doesn’t know what the woman expects from them. They weren’t matched for love but it’s as if that’s what she’s hoping to see blossom.

Maratella is hoping for romance to pass betwixt them.

It could and never will be that. Iris thinks.

Iris remarks inwardly to herself as she sips down her soup a la reine. Served alongside several large golden Bouchée à la reine’s.

The next course is of stewed beef and venison steaks, and a whole champagne poached salmon with slithers of white and black truffles decorating the cooked fish acting as scales.

More seafood came served in the form of fried then boiled sole, heaped in a terrine and a whole platter of pickled crab. A haricott of vegetables and mashed turnips. There was enough food spread on this very grand table, to keep them dining for a fortnight. Mrs Hux organised a feast intended to show off.

She gets everyone to toast to the newlyweds. The gentleman stand to raise their glasses and the ladies stay seated.

The pudding banquet is brought out and quite rightly enough, as she suspected, the whole table is flouncing in ruched fancy french sugar concoctions.

Silken French pies. Syllabubs of lemon and rose and brandy. Ice’s of all flavours. Custard tarts smothered with fat ripe fruit drowning steeped in syrup. Sugar plums and cinnamon and mace laced apple tartlets with baked custard. Iris indulged in some of the tarts and the fruits.

Posy and Flora fall upon creams and dainty fancies like hungry wolves. And eat until they are stuffed.

The ladies retire to the parlour for music and snifters of sweet ruby port wine. Iris indulges in a glass as her sisters and various other young accomplished ladies take to the pianoforte to sing and show off. Posy drags a reluctant Iris up to sing whilst she plays. She grumbles but bends to her sisters will.

She gives a shortly sweet chorus of ‘Let no man steal your thyme’ for it was the only song she could sing comfortably well.

She never much liked performing for amusement. Some girls were a glutton for it. Iris is no such a one. She stands with one hand on the pianoforte and the other folded behind her hip. She sings her choruses and smiles meekly at the small scattering of applause offered for her when she is done.

She heads back to her spot on the settee. Maratella is remarking to her mother how divine it will be to have a songbird in the house once again. Iris sits back in her seat and spends the rest of her evening in silence. Though she wants to say a great deal.

The evening slips past well enough. Night spills past her relatively quick. Another day gone. Another day closer to her happiness. She’s almost too giddy to contain it.

Then the time comes to bid goodnight to their hosts;

Iris watches as Hux fondly kisses her hand. Seeing her off out the rich gilded foyer out into the black black night. Sky so dark it’s a whole void studded with freckling stars. Cold shudders at the shivering trees.

She wants to say something impactful and veiled. To speak of her regard for him. She cannot think how best to do so. She swallows down her thick tongue. Remains a coward.

She can only hope in time, after the wake of her scandal settles. That Hux will find someone better suited than her. Maybe even find someone that he can love? She prays deeply for that little happy happenstance.

She is not so unfeeling as to wish a joyless life on the man who just wasn’t correct for her.

Her teeth grits with all the things unsaid. “I hope you’ll be happy.” She smiles lightly. He thinks her to be referring to the engagement that stands between them.

“I’m sure.” He comments. “Goodnight.” Is his curt response.

It doesn’t incense her. Tonight it vexed her. Caused a tiny crease between her brows. It seemed such fickle words to part on. But she leaves them be-

Let’s those words spirit up into the quiet undisturb of the night. The heavens can have those words. Iris wishes it could have been more. But how appropriate is it that even his parting words are found wanting.

She gets into the coach after curtseying a polite goodbye to Brendol and Maratella. She says something sweet to Iris about her singing. Iris cringes a smile. She won’t be thinking such good things about her shortly. She imagines she’ll curse her name for all of hell and heaven to hear. She’ll wake the sleeping dead cursing the day Iris was born.

Iris thanks her. For her hospitality. For her kindness. Under all her airs and graves, she’s a fairly nice woman and she should find a more amicable daughter-in-law to crow over.

She slots herself into the coach beside her sisters. Listens to the door slam shut. The rattle and crunch of it shifts on the gravel. Rumbled away up the long elegant curve of the drive.

Iris twists to look back. She isn’t sure why she wanted too. But they weren’t a dismal family. And she’s sorry for the pain and offence she’ll cause to them all.

She watches Hux’s stiffly-posed, regimented figure. Shadowed against the night. The scarlet of his blood coat. The ice white of his breeches stained blue, glowing in the night. The stars glimmer off his shining boots and off the pierce of his pale eyes. She wishes him well. She truly does.

They trundle on home. Full of food and as usual with Posy and Flora spouting gossip on and on endlessly. Mother chiming in. Father and Iris retain their silence. Eyes cross firing in a glance when they all agree on something cruel and senseless.

Westwell’s windows emerge gold out the dark. Surrounded by the bustling trees. All of the landscape is merely dark moulded shapes. Looming and shifting in the shadows. The moon casts washy film of silver to try and spill over the cover of smeared clouds.

They are just to the drive when a small dark shape flits overhead. Iris looks upwards, and sees the definable shape of a bird landing on her windowsill. She smiles giddily.

She exits the coach quick. Bidding them goodnight and rushing off up to her room. Her skirts picked up in her hands. Mama remarks how odd it is. Posy shrugs and supposes she’s got a secret missive to read from Hux.

Iris absolutely flies for her door. Twists the handle and launches herself in the room. Shutting the door firmly after herself. Pressing it with both hands flat to the wood.

The warmth of the fire hits her. She doesn’t even pay mind to the tiny crack of her open window. Or her swaying curtains that shift on the breeze.

She can only focus on the huge frame of a dashing vampire stood fireside. One elbow resting on the mantel as he gazes into the flames.

His big frame swallows up the whole room and strangled out all the air. The ochre of the blazing flames captured his skin. Turned that milky-cream of his complexion into pale fire.

She smiles and he does too. “Thank goodness it’s you. I was worried I’d scare seven shades out of your maid.” He drawls softly so his voice doesn’t carry. Smirk curling at the corners.

She crosses the distance. Her feet eat up the floorboards quick. She avails herself of an embrace. Throws herself into his arms.

The cloak of his fire warmed clothing envelopes her as his arms do. He smells like the damp snap of frosty woodland and the acid tang of woodsmoke. The night air of wild outdoors clings to every inch and fibre of his clothes. Swirls about him like a clouding tempest.

He chuckles as she gets herself in his hold. The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her skin and sinking to her bones. Her cheek mashed to his sternum. His arms close around her. Stroking her body through the rasping silk of her dress.

One big warmed hand clasps the back of her neck as the other holds the back of her waist. His nose nudges into the crush of her muddy hair. Her scent teases him just as much as his had, to her. Lavender and sage. The plain spice and calm floral scent.

“I could feel the happiness pouring off you as you alighted the stairs.” He smiles. She steps back and gazed up at him.

“How pretty you look tonight. Dove. You’re exquisite in silk.” He remarks when she steps away. Hand toying with the loose tawny curl at her ear. The sapphire dark of her dress suits her very well. Throws her complexion into brilliance. Does something to make the tones of her hair look rich.

She always looks ravishing to him.

She blushes. “I missed you all day. Isn’t that mad?” She asks.

“If missing is madness, then I’m out of my sane mind whenever you’re not in my sight.” He promises gently.

Big hands cupping her hot silken neck as he leans down to plant a firm, slanting kiss to her lips. His mouth is cold and he tastes of frosty air and wine.

Kissing him is like kissing someone who just stepped inside, taking shelter from a bitter cold wind.

She’s beginning to wonder if there is some clever addiction woven into his lips. One kiss never seems to be enough. She holds his wrists as he grabs her. Makes her feel small in his arms. She’s lost in his hold. It’s powerfully thrilling.

He breaks the kiss and his thumbs stroke at her cheeks. Her eyes glitter keenly at him. He spies the ring on her finger. The one that doesn’t belong there. It makes him smile.

“I’d like to surmise you snuck in here just to steal a kiss. But I suspect a different motive altogether?” She asks.

He broke into a grin that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a smile. She was no thoughtless woman; his darling Iris.

She’s always thinking. Always fretting. Always mulling over things in her head.

That was one of the first things that that came to his notice about her. She tended to be introspective about all manner of things in comparison to her acetous mother who spewed vile words. And her daft sisters who spouted out their every dangerously silly thought.

He kisses her for that clever remark- slow and paced and soft. Languid like melting warm honey. Lips curling to hers.

“I do have some news. But kissing you will always my first priority.” He husks against her rosy lips. Her warm cheeks blaze from under his icy fingers.

“The date is set. We must leave tomorrow eve.” He tells her with a smirk.

Her stomach completely soars in giddiness. She doesn’t have to hide her grin here.

“It feels as if I’ve been waiting at eternity to hear those blessed words.” She cries in happiness.

“Slip away to me after everyone’s gone to bed.” He instructs. She agrees.

“Mother has been pleased with my conduct of late. She’ll have let her guard down over tonight. I’ll leave once everyone is abed. Even the maids.” She tells him.

Stroking her fingers down the finery of his waistcoat where they’re still stood close to each other. The material was so soft. The softest grain of velvet she’s ever felt.

“You don’t have to bring too much. I can buy you everything you may ever need.” He leers. Cupping her cheek. Feeling the smooth of her skin. Right up her jaw.

His eyes carve flinty paths down her neck as he strokes his fingers there. Her pulse quickens. He can feel and hear her blood slushing hot through her veins.

She shrugs. “I cherish very few possessions. Posy and Flora can have the rest.” She insists. Her hand coming up to stroke over his thick crook of elbow with the hand that’s touching her neck.

He drags the edge of the chemisette down and strokes along the flat of her collarbone. His eyes turn into a palette of bittersweet autumn. Orange and gold swirled with flecks of russet brown.

“Is it difficult?” She asks suddenly.

“Restraining from the need to...” Her face fixed on his. Words trailing away. Air bursting with heat and lust. His eyes snap from her neck to her face. Her cheeks bloom rose petal red. Blood red and hot.

“To feed?” He asks her. She swallows and nods.

His other hand catches the back of her hips reels her right in close. She gasps. Air around them thick and full of snapping sparking static. Her hands press to his cavernous chest.

“I have got several hundred years of restraint up my sleeve.” He crooks a smirk.

His eyes flicker to watch her jugular pulse. The thrum of her little timpani heart makes his mouth wet. He knows she’d taste like salt and sickly Turkish roses and warm bronze coins.

He presses the chemisette aside again and nudges his nose against her pulse point. Right at the epicentre of his life’s greatest desire. He hums a kiss against her neck and she almost faints-

“You shake all those very hard learnt lessons right down to their very foundations.” He promises.

“Iris my love, you are the hardest thing, I’ve ever had to resist.” He tells.

Swooping upwards to kiss at her cheek. Sighing in need against her hot warm skin. If he indulges the temptation of tasting her blood. He doesn’t even want to fathom what the raw animal in him will do to her. Such debauchery he’d surely scandalise her innocence to tipping point.

He will have her on their wedding night and not a second before.

Though the rogue in him does think how goddamn glorious it would be to have her on that bed of hers right now, torn out of that gown. Screeching his name for the whole house to hear. And they can listen to her rapture and whimper, and beg and writhe under the man who really does love her.

Bite her neck as he pumps deep into her slick heat. Gather up every groan as she opens those sweet pink thighs for him and claws at his back. He’d kiss her neck until she yanks her fingers into his hair and tugs. Opens that sweet songbird mouth and calls for him in her bliss, with that ambrosial voice.

He holds the backs of her hips and strokes the silk there with arcing curves of his thumbs. Drawing shapes on that stiff silk.

“I must tell you-“ She starts. “I never was much good at resisting you either. Even after knowing what you are. It shocked me I won’t deny. But it somehow in its twisted way, it made all the sense in the world. It didn’t alter me for my knowledge of it. It didn’t even begin to change the severity my feelings for you.” She tells him. Reaching up and stroking along the handsome plain jaw.

Wholly, un-confinably, remarkably handsome.

“My love-“ He begins warmly. “If I had to, I would throw you over my shoulder to carry you up the aisle to marry me. Even if I had to tear you from your bed and steal you away in the dark of night to be mine. I would have done it. Because this, what we share, it cannot and will never be undone. Can never be ignored.” He promises her.

“Vampires love more deeply than any mortal longing. What I feel for you, it is not fickle. It will never fade. Never wane. We love each other and that will last for as long as we exist on this earth. I thought I had better edify you with these clear facts about my nature, before we are to be bound in matrimony.” He pledges to her. Declaring his undying devotion to her.

Iris rather wants to swoon into his chest - if she had ever been inclined to be a swooning sort of woman. Instead she just beams. A smile so glad it touches the frosty barren place his dead heart inhabited.

“These last few hours will be such a torture.” She comments seriously. But giddy. So giddy it felt like her sides would split open. And molten happy gold would pour out.

His eyes turn promiscuous. As does his domineering smile.

“I can safely offer you nothing but pleasure once the torture is done.” He filthily promises.

She blushes. He wants to lift her up and devour her in a kiss again. Taste those saccharine sweet lips in an animalistic kiss. He savours holding her instead.

Tomorrow he can let the animal roam free over his delicate dove. Tonight is the last night it must be caged.

“Not long to wait now. The last of my household servants left today. I sent Jomar and Jones off to London to make passage to France. Erland and Kana remain to take us to Scotland with one driver, and the coach.” He tells.

She liked that he’s bringing Erland to their elopement. It’s quite fitting when the creature loves her almost as much as he does.

“Then it’s just us. Riding into the wild of the Highland. Roaming over the Scottish moors, and glens and lochs, as a Lord and his Lady.” He paints a vivid picture for her.

She sighs a smile. “Us, has never sounded so splendid.” And she beams brighter than the sun.

He clutches her close for another kiss before he slips away.

The appointed hour loometh. And Iris won’t sleep a wink for thinking of his sharp smile or those savage eyes.

She eventually dreams. And thinks of kissing his soft plush lips once more. Like kissing pink rose petals.

The next time she will, they’ll be well on their way to being man and wife.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire au #vampire!kylo #vampirelovestory #very wolves and doves #adam driver #Iris vibes 🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #more swooning #secret lovers

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lonelypond · 3 years ago

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Love Is For Losers

NicoMaki, Love Live, 1.7K, 1/2

Summary: Yazawa Nico and Nishikino Maki are both key players on the Otonokizaka University Tennis Team. But now Nico has decided to "improve" Maki's social media and tennis game.

Love Is For Losers

Not the most flattering picture of herself, racquet ready, waiting for the return of a serve, but Maki Nishikino really liked her look of concentration. So she hit “Post.”. And the hearts and reactions and fire emojis piled on. Wait, what was that comment, from @NicoNi? “With squinty eyes like that, how can you see the ball?”

WTF?!?!?!? Junior and top tennis singles player Nico Yazawa was notorious for living on social media. Since practice started in September, she’d been leading weekly social media best practice training sessions for the Otonokizaka University team that freshman Maki had proudly never attended. And now she was trolling Maki? Was that a social media best practice?

Maki never replied to a comment, but to let the smug Nico Ni have the last word would grate across every nerve Maki had.

To quickly type, “Who’s in the top 10 national standings again? Can you see that?” seemed almost an illicit thrill. To get an instant reply of eye emojis, plus a sweatdrop made Maki laugh out loud. Quickly scoping out the coffeeshop to check if she’d drawn any attention to herself, Maki clicked through to NicoNi’s home page, Nico’s last post was a bikini shot with an obscene amount of hearts and various emoji combinations in an endless comment scroll. Maki snorted, too obvious an attention grab. Maki would ignore it and stick to tennis, which she knew very well. Ah, there was a pic of Nico rushing the net, one of her favorite ways to use her sprint speed. Maki had an in.

“Spend less time looking at my pics and more time on your approach shots.”

Another instant reply. Another sweat drop. “Nico knows. But you’re so pretty. See you at media training ; )”

Did Nico think she was going to get Maki into one of her stupid sessions like that? Maki dropped her phone on the table, sipping her espresso with a frown.

###

Maki’s phone pinged explosively. A series of messages from her self proclaimed bestie and doubles partner, Hoshizora Rin.

R: hahaha Maki Ma you really need to be here

R: Nico’s going through your TWIG account as her “what not to do on social media” slideshow

R: it’s so funny, Maki

R: (*≧艸≦)(*≧艸≦)(*≧艸≦)

R: you missed out Check out Nico’s LIVE.

Maki stared at her phone. Nico’s Live, that happened when you went to someone’s TWIG profile and clicked on their pic, right? Maki did, grimacing as she clicked on Nico’s face. Nico was in front of a whiteboard, drawing pictures of tennis rackets, disgustingly cute tennis rackets. She leaned forward, checking her phone, then grinned like someone who’d just served a winning ace.

“And @Nishikinoshot has just joined the fans watching Nico on TWIG Live…”

Maki heard Rin yell “Hi Maki!!!” in the background as Nico continued, “One of the best ways to learn how to properly conduct and promote yourself on social media is to find an influencer you respect and build a relationship with them. @Nishikinoshot has chosen @NicoNi, the smartest move she…

“I have not.” Maki shouted at her phone and then felt silly when she realized there was no way for Nico to see or hear her, or was there? TWIG kept floating an “ask to join the Live” teaser, so Maki thumbed it. Nico paused, obviously her notifications were on, another one of those winning serve grins and suddenly Maki was sharing Nico’s screen.

“Jumping into the Live. Good initiative, Nishikino..”

“Maki.”

“So why’d you pick your TWIG handle?”

What kind of a question was that?

“Nishikino shot...you know...because of tennis...the Nishikino shot always scores.” Also worked with photography, a hobby Maki wanted more time for.

“Nishikino announces her prowess off and on the court.” Nico giggled, Maki glared.

“What are you saying? That’s not right.”

“Ah, so you admit it is confusing. Make a note of that, class, it’s always best to have a tag that doesn’t confuse people.” Staring right at Maki, ruby eyes twinkling, Nico made an elaborately surprised, amused face, raising a hand to cover her mouth. “We were reading it as Nishikino’s hot, ‘cause you are.”

Maki flushed. And fumbled with her phone to end the live, not even registering what other garbage Nico was saying. And then her phone pinged again.

R: Are you all right, Maki? Nico was just having a little fun.

M: I don’t want to talk about Nico.

R: Okay.

M: That was your fault.

R: Hey, I thought you’d want to know.

M; Yeah...but tomorrow, after practice, you’re on clean up.

R: Maaaaaki (⁎˃ᆺ˂)’

###

Grunting, Maki swung through at full velocity, then grimaced as yet another practice serve skipped out of bounds. She leaned over to pick up another couple of balls. Both buckets were empty. Tempted to throw her racket, instead she shook her head, tucked her racquet under her arm, grabbed a bucket and went to the other side of the court to pick up the balls.

“Hey, let me help you,” chirped an unfamiliar voice. Maki turned. Nico Yazawa had grabbed the other buckets and was hustling for the net. Nico was always hustling, all lean muscle and speed. Her sable hair, usually put up in twin tails, was loose, still wet from the shower. She’d changed from her usual practice uniform to casual pink and black striped biker shorts and an oversized pink t-shirt shirt that slid off her shoulder and read “Killer Cute.” “Coach ended practice an hour ago.”

Maki shrugged, starting with the balls as far away as possible from the spot Nico had chosen.

“You’re always out here.”

“I take tennis seriously.”

Nico hesitated, hands on her hips, watching Maki curiously over mirror sunglasses perched halfway down her nose, “Nico sees that. But you can get trapped in patterns if no one points them out.”

“I’m fine. I win.”

“Don’t you want to win better?”

“Win better? That’s not a thing.” Maki tapped her racquet against her leg, fidgety.

“Accuracy matters.” Nico picked up a tennis ball, tossed it into Maki’s bucket, and winked, “Crush your opponents with finesse, not raw power. Fewer wasted serves.”

Maki’s hasty rush of anger changed to curiosity. Nico led the team in aces, with amazing power for someone so short. “Coach hasn’t said anything.”

“Like you said, you get the job done. And Coach has other problems...like keeping Honoka from exhausting herself in the first few volleys.”

They both chuckled at how eager Honoka Kosaka was to chase down every ball, until she hit empty. As a joke, after their last practice, Rin had her girlfriend, Hanayo Koizumi, the team manager, post a photoshopped pic of a golden retriever playing next to Honoka’s double’s partner, Umi Sonoda. Honoka had laughed longer than anyone.

Nico was right, Maki realized. Coach had been spending a lot of time on the players with more basic problems. And their assistant spend most of the time on opponent research, editing video footage.

“Nico uses a platform stance, but Maki could get away with a pin-point stance. Watch my feet.” Nico grabbed a ball, tossing it up, swinging at it with a pretend racquet. Instead of her feet remaining the same distance apart, her back foot shifted closer to the front one and then she pushed off up into the serve. “You’ve already got natural explosive power, you don’t need a nitro boost.”

Maki considered, moving her feet through the change Nico suggested. It felt comfortable, offering more control. She nodded, then jumped back when Nico clapped her on the upper arm.

“You’re a quick learner. Hang on. Nico will hop over there and you can try it out. It’s more fun with an opponent.”

“I’ll win. You’ll be crushed.” Maki winked.

Nico laughed and it echoed. “Nico didn’t teach you everything Nico knows.”

###

“So you’re a local too.” Nico was scooping salad into Maki’s bowl. They’d decided to stop for dinner.

“Yeah. My family owns a medical center so I couldn’t just go off anywhere.”

Nico paused, eyebrow raised. “Why not?”

“I’ve been working there since…” Maki tried to remember her first job at the hospital, how old was she? She remembered sitting at her father’s desk, coloring in specially made anatomy chart pages in elementary school. Did that count as a job? “Forever.”

“Ah. Nico had to stick close for family too. Three sibs.” Nico flashed a smile and three fingers. “They’re the best, but they rely on Nico.”

“Your parents work a lot?” Maki understood that.

“Yeah, my mom does. My dad died when I was little.”

Maki paled, what did you say to that. “I’m sorry” came out as a mumble.

A sigh, weary, as Nico pushed Maki’s filled bowl in her direction, “Me too. But we survived. He taught me tennis. And…” Nico put on a sparkling smile, bounced her hands up to her temple, rock hands gesture, and her voice became brighter. “Nico Nico Ni.” Then she relaxed back to normal, “He said it could cheer up the whole world..”

Maki remembered something. “Nico Nico is the ideophone for smile.”

Nico leaned forward, “So the Nishikino isn’t just for show.”

Maki shook her head, “We have a hospital in Tokyo too. I’ve spent a lot of summers there.”

“Wow, a doc and a jet setter. So why tennis?”

“I liked it better than golf. My parents said piano didn’t count as a networking activity.”

“Piano? Classic stuff.” Nico created a melody on an air keyboard.

“Some. And jazz. I get to take a couple of music classes, at least this year.”

Nico wondered if Maki realized how robotic she sounded, and how laced through with sadness her mood was as she talked about her family.

“Hey, Nishikino…”

“Maki.”

“Maki. Play for Nico sometime. Nico loves singing. My dad always said I should go on American Idol.”

“Sorry.” Maki twisted a curl of hair, “I don’t play those kind of songs.”

Maki obviously just needed to know more about Nico, which was Nico’s favorite topic. “Nico is multifaceted. We can do Ella and Count Basie, if you want. With the time you save not practicing your serve.”

Nico winked, her multifaceted ruby eyes cheerful pulls as she hummed. Maki found herself intrigued. “I’ll think about it.”

“Nico will be your personal tennis coach to make sure you improve.”

“Not necessary.” Maki leaned back to signal the waiter. Time to start the main course.

A/N: Another AU Yeah August entry, college rivals was requested and the Olympics put me in a sports mood. Planning another chapter.

Still taking requests.

#NicoMaki #Love Is For Losers #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #au yeah august #AUYEAHAUGUST21 #tennis #rivals #college

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professional-benaddict · 5 years ago

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Starker Britain, 1938 AU

Tony, 18+ Peter, interwar period, Britain, chronic illness, doctors and exams, May and Richard Parker alive but absent, soft pxrn, 2.7k

For the mood boards here

Tag list: @carey-roza @annoyingcatto @strawberryparkers @starker-3000 @starkerprince @urfavisastarker @misssecretstudenttree @80zmdewrit3rbabe

It took two nurses and a very determined doctor to get Peter to breathe, and scream, when he was first born on a very hot and dry August day in 1920. Ever since that day, breathing has been a struggle for the boy and the blue tint in his skin when he was just a babe still lingers on his fingernails, around his eyes and on his lips till this day. Some would have thought that having a sickly son would make Richard and Mary Parker want to spend time with their only child, but in reality it had the opposite effect and made the pair hide away from the son, using work as an excuse. Some would say that it was no excuse at all, however, as Britain needed everyone to do their part to rebuild their homeland after the Great War. And, with another war building up in the Eastern horizon, international relations are not the only ones turning tense, but also family relations and the Parker family is no exception. Richard is called back to do his duty for his country as a Major, while Mary has to start training hundreds of new nurses to treat the wounded soldiers that are coming, which is her duty as head nurse at the hospital in town.

Peter’s parents are so rarely around the Parker estate, so Peter is left alone in the huge house with the maids, his books and Gladstone, a rough looking, but kind hearted English bulldog. Peter finds enormous comfort in his pet, as well as some irony in them both struggling to breathe. Besides petting Gladstone and reading books, Peter looks forward to his weekly visit from the family doctor, Tony Stark. The doctor is American, and even after all these years, Peter is still incredibly intrigued by the way the doctor talks and moves. The boy finds the older man very exotic and endlessly fascinating and always has a list of at least a dozen questions that he has prepared to ask the doctor when he arrives at 1pm on Thursday. The list includes mostly questions about how life is in America, but sometimes also about technology and medicine.

“Thank you, Hogan.” Tony smiles, stepping out of the car with his medical bag in one hand. The driver gives a wordless nod and exists the car as well to go and have his usual smoke as he waits for the doctor to return on one of the benches in the large garden surrounding the Parker estate.

Before heading in to see his patient, Tony usually always makes a quick stop by the stables, offering the happily nickering horses sugar cubes from the palm of his hand. The doctor has always been fond of horses. It reminds him of home back in America. But, to his disappointment and confusion, Tony finds none of the Parker’s three horses to be in the stables, which is odd to say the least. Waving a greeting to one of the gardeners, Tony heads down the gravel road to the back of the building instead of taking the steps leading up to the front door.

“Afternoon, Doc.” The gardener smiles widely, showing the gap between his front teeth as he pushes his hat further back on his head to meet the doctor’s eyes. “Back so soon?”

“It’s Thursday.” Tony points out with a chuckle. He always comes on Thursdays.

“Oh, right, right, silly ol’ me. This summer heat has been getting to my head, I fear.” The gardener huffs, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“You be careful, Barry, the heat is not to be messed with.” The doctor says, his voice a bit sharp with concern for the hardworking older man. Just like the doctor, the gardener has been serving the Parker’s for decades now. The gardener tips his hat with a grin and says his thanks before excusing himself to continue tending to the flower beds. But, the doctor does not let him go just yet.

“I couldn’t help but notice that the horses are all gone. Have they gotten sick?”

“Oh, the army came and took them, Doc.” The gardener says. Tony nods thoughtfully and thanks Barry before heading off, adjusting his hold on his bag and continuing ahead till he reaches the backdoor of the kitchen.

The kitchen is surprisingly quiet, so Tony guesses that the maids and kitchen staff have just finished with lunch and are taking a break. Setting his bag down on the counter, the doctor peels off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt before washing his hands thoroughly. By the time he is done, one of the maids enters the kitchen and startles with a little yelp.

“Oh, it’s you Doctor Stark! I didn’t hear you come in.” The maid squeaks out and resumes what she came to do by setting a tray down on the counter.

“Afternoon, Emily. Was that Peter’s lunch you just brought back?” The doctor asks, eyeing the considerable amount of food that is still left on the plate. At least the glass is empty.

“Yes, Doctor Stark, he hasn’t been eating much, sadly. Major Parker had to cancel his trip home last weekend.” The maid, Emily, replies dutifully.

“May I see?” Tony asks, extending his hand. Emily nods promptly and goes to one of the cabinets. From behind a large jar of flour, she pulls out a little notebook and hands it to the doctor. Tony accepts it with a ‘thank you’ and flips through the pages, humming thoughtfully as he looks at the newest food logs since his visit the week before. The boy has been eating less and less. “Thank you, Emily. I assume he is in his room?” The doctor says, handing the notebook back to the maid who puts it back in its hiding place.

“Yes, Doctor. Shall I make some tea for you?”

“That would be lovely. And some biscuits as well, if you could?” Tony smiles, placing his jacket over his forearm and takes his bag in the other hand before heading upstairs. He greets the maids as he passes them and then pauses by a door, knocking three times and chuckles at the familiar growls coming from behind the door before entering.

Like always, it is Gladstone who greets him, or rather comes to inspect to decide whether to let him enter his master’s bedroom. The bulldog has never bitten anyone, although he is fully capable of doing so and gets that point across with his growls and rough huffs as he blocks the way into the room.

“Hey, boy, will you let me in?” Tony chuckles and crouches down to let the dog smell his hand. After a sniff and another growl, the bulldog waddles back to his owner, using the seat at the bottom of the bed to climb back up to join his master on the queen sized bed. The doctor knows that he has been granted access and closes the door behind him.

With the thin and light silk curtains drawn, the large bedroom bathes in the gentle and pale yellow light that the midday sun casts. Everything looks peaceful and quiet and the curtains dance lightly in the gentle breeze coming through the open balcony door. The doctor is pleased to know that the boy is at least following some of his advice. Having all the windows and doors shut would just make his breathing worse.

Turning his attention to the bed, Tony finds Peter on his back, sleeping peacefully. Or as peacefully as he can with his slightly laboured breathing. The boy’s chest rises and falls a little too fast for the doctor’s liking, but at least it is even. He must have fallen asleep just a moment ago since the maid was just here. Tony hates the fact that he will have to wake the boy, but it is a necessary evil.

“Peter…” Tony starts gently, sitting next to his patient on the bed and taking his delicate hand into his own, feeling his pulse under his fingertips. “Peter.”

The boy stirs slowly, blinking his eyes a few times, but does not open them yet. He huffs a little, his lips curling into a soft smile at the familiar and comforting sound of his doctor, whom he has known his entire life. The doctor was actually the one who held him even before his mother did when he was first born.

“Hi…” Peter murmurs, not opening his eyes yet, but tilts his head towards Tony. The doctor feels how the boy’s hand tightens its grip in his, like an infant does on reflex.

“Hi.” Tony replies softly. “Won’t you open your pretty eyes for me?”

Finally the boy obliges and cracks his eyes open so that honey brown eyes meet darker brown ones. Peter feels his heart flutter just a bit at the warm smile that Tony returns him. He traces the smile lines in the older man’s face with his eyes for a split second. One can easily tell that Doctor Stark is a kind doctor based on those smile lines.

“Have you had trouble sleeping too?” Tony asks, getting to business. Peter frowns at him and coughs a little before placing his hand on Gladstone’s square-shaped head. The dog hums in content and settles his head down on his master’s hip to be pet.

“Too? Have the maids told on me?” The boy asks with a quiet chuckle. Tony notices the sad undertone in the sound in an instant. He does not even need to ask to know that the boy is quite disappointed with his father for canceling his weekend trip home, again. At least his mother does not make any promises, so she does not end up breaking them either.

“Yes, Emily tells me that you haven’t been eating properly. Must I stress to you once more how important it is that you at least maintain your current weight?”

“Don’t waste your breath.” Peter shoots back, a playful grin on his face as he looks at the doctor pull out the stethoscope from his bag. It is still the same bag that Tony had with him when he got the message that Mary Parker had started labour and delivered Peter into the world. That was now nearly 20 years ago. But, the stethoscope is a new one. Tony rolls his eyes at the cheeky response. Snarkiness is a good thing. It means that the patients still have some fight in them.

“Speaking of, how has you breathing been?” Tony asks, putting the earpieces in place after unbuttoning the soft and white cotton tunic that the boy is wearing. Peter of course lays back and lets the doctor do as he pleases, keeping his gaze fixed on Tony’s eyes as he places the diaphragm on his vulnerable and ghostly pale chest.

“Not any better, nor any worse.” Peter says, coughing weakly and clearing his throat.

“The same?” Tony rephrases, placing the chest-piece just under Peter’s left nipple.

“The same.” Peter repeats, still keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor.

The rest of the check up goes by like always with Tony checking the boy’s temperature, blood pressure, eyes and throat all the while Peter tells the doctor about the books he has finished since the last visit. The finished books include two different ones on botany and three of Doyle’s detective novels. Sometime during Peter’s summary of the second botany book, Gladstone had hopped down from the bed and trotted to the balcony to growl at the gardener down below.

“‘The Hound of Baskerville’ again?” The doctor asks, putting away his medical instruments now that he has finished the exam. Only one thing remains now.

“Yes, again! It is the best one I have ever read.” Peter replies, and it is hard for Tony to argue with that. The boy’s knowledge about literature is far greater than his own and after many heated, yet friendly discussions, he was wise enough to stop questioning the boy about literature when he was ten. “Is not Doyle famous in America?”

“I am not sure. It has been decades since I have been home.” Tony muses, taking out the neat case with the glass syringe from his bag. Without needing to prompt him to, Peter turns over on his side, pushing the expensive cotton sheets and his underwear down to expose his plump ass. The boy’s voice is slightly muffled when he speaks.

“Because you’ve been here.”

“Because I have been here.” Tony replies softly, readying the syringe and shushes the boy gently when he sticks the thick, metal needle into the plumpest part of the boy’s ass. Whimpering quietly, Peter tries his hardest to not kick and squirm, although he would very much want to. The injections really are dreadful, but he would have a hundred of them to get to converse with the doctor.

Finally, the doctor pulls the needle out, but the pain is still there, throbbing and demanding Peter’s attention. Tony knows this and sets the syringe aside before rubbing a comforting hand on his patient’s bony hip. Having a tendency to get lightheaded after the injections, Peter needs a few moments to collect himself and Tony provides comfort and sympathy through gentle touches. He brushes back the boy’s curls from his forehead and lets his hand slip down from his hip and to his lower stomach, resting there just above his public bone. It is a wordless question and Peter replies with a shake of his head.

“Not today, thank you, Doctor Stark.”

“You’re upset about your father.” Tony points out, pulling his hand back to rest on Peter’s hip again. The boy nods, staring right in front of him and watching as the curtains dance in the breeze coming through the open windows again. It smells dry and hot.

“I’m upset at my father.” Peter corrects, taking a deep breath before continuing. He shifts his hips slightly, allowing the doctor to pull his underwear back up. “They even took Lady.”

“Hmm, yes, Barry told me. I’m very sorry about that, Peter. I know how much you loved Lady.”

“Father would have known. Right? He would have known that they were taking everyones’ horses and he could have warned us. But, he chose not to.”

“It could have been out of his hands, Peter.” Tony points out, but Peter does not respond. The doctor frowns softly, knowing he made a mistake by defending the Major. “Perhaps they will return her. They might have collected too many horses.”

“Perhaps.” Peter says blandly, not believing the dumb lie at all. He is not a child anymore. Tony of course notices that he has only made the situation worse and backs off a little, letting his hand go from the boy’s hip. But, suddenly Peter grabs his hand and pulls it around his torso and to his mouth, resting the doctor’s fingertips on his lips.

Tony huffs out a fond little laugh and scoots closer to the boy, so that his thigh is pressed against the boy’s back where he is still laying on his side, facing away from the doctor. The boy’s breaths tickles his skin. He can faintly feel the soft flesh of the boy’s lips, then the soft vibrations when he speaks.

“Don’t go…”

“I’m still staying for tea. Emily will bring it up soon.”

“No, I mean- don’t go.”

“Where would I go?”

“To the war.”

Tony cannot help but scoff out a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the idea. Twisting his hand, the doctor gently presses his thumb to Peter’s bottom lip.

“Someone has to stay behind to take care of the ones at home too.”

Tony can feel Peter’s lips curl upwards in a smile at that, however it does not last long before he relaxes the muscles and purses his lips in a kiss to his thumb. Major Parker may have taken Lady, but he had made sure that Tony was not called in to the medical corps. However, the doctor decides against telling Peter that.

“Because charity starts at home? Like my mother always says.” Peter says, his voice slightly bitter at that, but his lips are soft.

“Because you are the future.” Tony corrects and moves his hand to cup Peter’s cheek, tilting his head towards him to finally kiss him on the mouth. Gladstone growls and barks widely at the gardener, but the pair in the bed do not pay the pet any mind.��

#my fics #starker #starker fic #starker fanfic #starker fandom #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #tony stark #peter parker

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timehealsfanfictionbka · 4 years ago

Text

Time Heals.....Chapter Fifty

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Robyn turned at the sound of Chris’s voice and smiled, “hey you.”

“Hey. You ok?”

“I’m good. Just thinking.”

“Anything I should be privy to?”

“Once I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

Chris moved to wrap his arms around her waist as far as they could go. Her widening belly made getting close harder than normal but he was fine with the reason why.

“How’s my babies?”

“They’re doing good. My God, having twins.”

“They may be some deep in our ancestry, probably. Things are known to skip generations.”

“True.”

“How long are you home? Don’t they need you back at work?”

“Took an extended lunch. I wanted to be with my family.”

“It’s just me home.”

“And what I said still stands.”

She leaned forward and kissed his lips, “you always know how to make a girl feel better.”

“I’ve had years of practice with you.”

“That is true. You talk to Mama?”

“Which one? Both of them are taking me to the edge about marriage.

“Did you explain that it’s me and not you holding it up?

“Of course I did. They don’t believe me.”

“Your reputation does precede you, Playboy”

“I am not a playboy.”

“Former ho then.”

“Ouch. Right in the heart.”

Robyn giggled and rubbed her hand across his chest, “you’re silly.”

“I’m so happy that I get to be close for this. Imagine if I was still in Paris and just visited instead of moved back.”

“There’s a lot of things that could’ve gone wrong, Christopher but they didn’t. No need to dwell on it.”

“OK, ok. You feeling ok?”

“I’m good. Will need to lay down in a few, these babies are on my back heavy.”

“You need me to get you anything?”

“No Babe, I got it.”

Chris smiled as he moved to take her hand and walk her back to the bed, “go ahead and lay down. I’ll get you something to eat, just in case.”

“Baby.”

“Robyn, don’t argue with me, please.”

Robyn just shook her head and climbed into her bed. Chris pulled the covers over her large belly and leaned down to kiss her forehead, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Chris left the room. Robyn leaned over to open the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a velvet black box. She opened it and took the diamond encrusted band to twist between her fingertips. Months since she got this ring and still haven’t found the courage to put it on. As much as a marriage between them made sense, it made no sense to her and that was her dilemma.

“Ok, Ms. Fenty. Mr. Brown. Here are your babies.”

Chris stared at the ultrasound in awe, watching the small figures move about the screen. He looked over at Robyn and brushed his hand along her cheek before pressing his cheek against hers, “it’s two girls, Robs.”

“I see.”

“Two little yous.”

Robyn laughed, “I kind of hope not, you got enough trouble trying to handle me.”

“And here I thought I was doing a pretty good job.”

Robyn turned to kiss his lips, “you’re doing an excellent job.”

“Doc, can we get a copy of this?”

Dr. Wilson smiled and nodded her head, “absolutely. I’ll schedule your next appointment while I’m at it. You’re getting pretty close, Ms. Fenty.”

“Good because I am ready.”

Dr. Wilson chuckled as she left the examination room. Chris glanced at Robyn’s belly then turned back to her, “just a few more weeks.”

“What if they come on my birthday?’

“That’d be awesome, Baby Girl. Also makes their birthdays easier to remember.”

“Like you’d even forget.”

Chris laughed, “you ready to get going?”

“Yea.”

Chris grabbed a napkin and wiped off her belly before helping her to sit up and pull down her shirt. A few moments later, the doctor came back with their appointment papers and ultrasound dvd so they could leave.

Robyn sat down on the bench and dug a spoon into her ice cream to take a bite, “Chris, can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can, Babe. What’s up?”

“What would you say if I proposed to you?”

Chris furrowed his brow as he turned to face Robyn, “if you what?”

“What would you say if I proposed to you?”

“Is this a hypothetical?”

“Depends on why you’re asking.”

Robyn took another spoonful of ice cream as she felt a box be sat in her lap, “what’s that?”

“Open it.”

She sat her bowl down next to her and grabbed the box to see a large emerald cut diamond solitaire ring, “you’re kidding me. You just carry this around.”

“Never knew when the right time was going to occur.”

“Well in that case,” Robyn dug into her purse and handed Chris a black box. He flipped it open to see the diamond encrusted platinum wedding band, “great minds think alike, huh?”

“Never knew when the right time was going to occur.”

“So are you asking me or am I asking you?”

“How about we both say yes and just skip the formalities?:

Chris laughed and leaned forward to kiss her, “you and this disregard for tradition.”

“There’s no need for it. Besides you know how I am being overly ceremonious.”

“I do. Can I at least slide the ring on your finger?”

“Yes but not now.”

“Why?”

“Chris, I wanna get married before the babies are born.”

“Are you only wanting to get married because of the babies?”

“If that was the case, I wouldn’t have waited until two months before my due date. Trust me, nobody plans on walking down the aisle looking like a swollen beach whale.”

Chris shook his head, “you do not look like a beach whale. You look like an amazing woman, carrying two beautiful baby girls.”

“You’re my baby daddy, you’re supposed to say that.”

“I’m your fiance and I don’t say anything that I don’t mean.”

“So are you with it or do you wanna wait until after I have them?”

“If you wanna get married before, I am all for it but we don’t have much time.”

“That’s fine. It’s gonna be something small and intimate. Just family.”

“So you have plans already?”

“I have ideas but I want this to be something we do together.”

“That works for me. Date?”

“2nd Saturday of next month.”

“Venue?”

“You know how much I love that garden Mama Joyce has in her backyard.”

“Then we'll have to give her the good news.”

“If she hasn’t telepathically figured it out.”

They both laughed as they each held their ring boxes in their hands. Robyn swiped her fingertip across the diamond as Chris gingerly twisted the ring in it’s slot, “you’re ready for this?”

“I’ve been ready since I met you in the 4th grade.”

Robyn leaned onto his shoulder and smiled.

“Babe, I really like these white roses,” Robyn murmured as they walked around the nursery.

“Me too but I was thinking about getting a few hybrids for you,” Chris replied as he took her hand and entwined their fingers together.”

“You think my bouquet should have hybrids?”

“Yea, it should be a unique mix like you.”

“I’m already marrying you not need to kiss my ass.”

“What I did last night is considered kissing your ass, this is me giving a sincere compliment.”

Robyn laughed, “just a few days left before our ceremony.”

“I didn’t think it’d come together so fast.”

“We got two very determined families who have been waiting since we were children for us to get married. I’m shocked our mothers didn’t already have plans drawn up.”

Chris laughed, “that’s true. How’s the babies?”

“They are good. A little more pressure as they’re growing but other than that, good.”

“You think of names?”

“I think we’ll go with the names you came up with. They’re pretty enough.”

“Cool.”

“Chris, you’ve been pretty quiet this whole time. You ok?”

“Yea.”

“Babe, don’t do that. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like we have to get married. Just a few weeks ago, you were really adamant against it and now-”

“Chris, I bought your ring months ago, I was just too scared to ask you.”

“What?”

“I saw it and thought it’d be perfect for you but I was so scared about whether I could do this right. The years we’ve known each other have been amazing but that doesn’t mean I’d be a good wife, you know?”

“If there was anything you never had to worry about, being a good wife to me is one of them. Ring or no ring, you’ve always been it for me.”

“Thanks Baby.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, I just didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

“It’s fine. You know how fussy you get about me being withdrawn and it bothers me when you get withdrawn too.”

“Understood. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. Which hybrids do you think should be in my bouquet?”

“I think those fire roses would be a nice pop with the white roses, maybe a few pinks and reds, give it an ombre effect.”

“Ombre? How much have you been reading up about this?”

“Well when you have me up at 3 am with baby kicks and belly rubbing, I get pretty bored.”

Robyn laughed, “Sorry Baby, your daughters just be killing me.”

“It’s cool. You ready to go pick a cake?”

“Yes, the best part of this whole thing. Food.”

Chris laughed as he shook his head, “you and these sugar cravings.”

Robyn winced as she sat down on the bed. Monica and Joyce glanced over at each other before going to each sit on a side of her.

“Anna, are you ok?” Monica asked gently.

“I’m fine. Just some baby pain.”

“Sweetie, you sure this is the right time to be trying to do this?”

“Yea, I want to do this before they are born and I really don’t think we’ll have time after they get here. I don’t want to postpone this any longer than I need to.”

“I’m sure Chris would understand.”

“I know but that doesn’t change anything. I’m ready and I want to do this right.”

Joyce rubbed her hand along Robyn’s back, “your breathing sounds a little shallow, are they pushing against your chest?”

“A little bit but they’ll move in a second. They always do.”

Chris started pacing around his old bedroom and wringing his hands together. His best friend grabbed his shoulder, “why you so nervous?”

“Because she’s pregnant and I’m really thinking she might go into labor after this stress of wedding planning.”

“You’re prepared, right?”

“Yea. Of course.”

“So relax. The hospital is close by. We got a car parked near the backyard entrance, just in case. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Man, I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve never seen you this ready before in my life.”

Chris laughed as he stopped pacing. His friend brushed down his lapel and fixed his tie, “I never expected this but then again it is Robyn.”

“It is.”

“Things will be perfect. Don’t worry.”

Robyn stood at the altar, holding Chris’s hands in hers when a sharp pain shoot through her stomach. She gritted her teeth to prevent ehrself from squeezing Chris’s hands. Her mind completely spaced away from the moment.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

Chris frowned, “No? Robyn?’

She shook her head, “what? No, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Robyn, the pastor is asking for an answer.”

“What? I- Nooooo.”

She doubled over and the wedding guests started to murmur in confusion.

“Robyn, what is wrong?”

“The babies are coming!”

“Holy shit!”

Chris gestured to their parents as he moved to wrap an arm around Robyn’s waist, “Baby, can you walk?”

“Not very- Owww!”

“Fuck it.”

Chris picked her up and started running down the aisle to the car they had positioned at the backyard entrance. Carefully placing her in the passenger seat. Chris rushed around to the driver’s side just as their wedding party started crowding at the gate.

“Mama, meet us at the hospital!” He exclaimed out the window as he pulled off from the curb.

6 hours and an epidural later, Chris stood next to the bed as Robyn cradled their babies in her arms.

“They’re beautiful, Bajan Girl.”

“They are, aren’t they? Erin and Erica Brown.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Robyn. Robyn.” Chris shook her body until she sat up, slightly heaving, “Baby, are you ok?”

Robyn turned to him like she was seeing him for the first time, “Chris?”

“Yes? You ok?”

“I’m fine. I just had a weird dream.”

“Obviously. You’re sweating, Baby,” Chris said with a chuckle as he ran his hand over her forehead and held it out to show her the perspiration.

“Was it a nightmare?”

“No, it was just- crazy. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s fine.”

“When’d you get here?”

“I’ve been here for the last three days since we got back from Florida. You sure you ok?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Chris wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently, “you wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

“I already think you’re crazy so that’d be a little too late.”

Robyn punched his side and Chris laughed before kissing her temple, “Come on Robs, talk to me.”

“It was about my pregnancy with the twins.”

“Oh.”

“But it was with you.”

“What?”

“It was like the last few months of my pregnancy but it was you instead of Michael. Like you had never stayed away.”

“Oh wow. Wait, we got married?”

“Almost but then the twins were born during the ceremony just like in real life. But what was odd was we proposed to each other.”

“Really?”

“Yea, it was just so weird but it felt real. I think I’m losing my mind a bit.”

“Well….”

“Christopher.”

“What? I didn’t even say anything.”

“I can see the thoughts going through your head.”

“So you proposed to Michael?”

“What? God no, he got down on one knee and did the whole traditional thing.”

“But we didn’t?”

“No. Like it was so regular, we were literally eating ice cream on a bench after a doctor’s appointment when it happened.”

“Sounds like us.”

“Chris, stop it.”

“What do you want me to say? It was just a dream anyway. It’s not like you’re pregnant now or planning on proposing to me. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Robyn sighed, “I guess you’re right.”

“It’s not a bad idea though.”

“What?”

“Us proposing to each other. Takes a lot of the pressure off.”

“There is no pressure because we’re not there yet.”

“You’re not there yet, let’s be correct.”

Robyn rolled her eyes, “Whatever.”

Chris laughed, “wait, us getting married freaked you out so bad you started sweating? You sure you don’t wanna meet my therapist?”

“Yes, I’m sure and it wasn’t the marriage thing. It just felt too real, that’s all.”

“I mean it could-” Robyn cut her eye at Chris and he closed his mouth.

“I really don’t need you laughing at me about this. I already feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Baby, seriously it’s not a big deal. It’s just a dream and this is real life. You think you can go back to sleep?”

“I can try.”

“Come on.”

Chris laid back against the pillows and held Robyn tighter against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he kissed her forehead.

#chrianna #timehealsfanfiction

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