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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts.

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls.

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents.

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it.

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation.

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks.

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment.

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own.

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice.

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only.

— I can fold my own pants, love.

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken.

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry.

— Little minx.

— Me or Lady Lasswell?

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine.

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light.

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya.

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him.

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons.

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about.

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea.

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him.

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you.

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny.

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness.

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least.

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price.

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least.

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move.

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are.

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker.

— Shite, love. Sorry.

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one.

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he?

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second.

— Not a chance.

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you.

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate.

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him.

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way.

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home?

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around.

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again.

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite.

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin.

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper.

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to.

— Help your captain, eh?

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t.

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him.

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his.

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here.

You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little.

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact.

Price moans.

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy.

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers.

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this.

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy.

God, what are you even thinking about?

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you?

— We really shouldn’t be doing this.

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir.

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here.

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly.

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly.

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are.

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave.

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this.

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife.

#cod #yandere price #price x reader #captain price #john price #captain john price #yandere cod #call of duty #cod imagine #cod fanfic

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live-laugh-legolas · 3 months ago

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FOR UR FELLOWSHIP REQUEST THING maybe the fellowship with an depressed reader? like how each of them would treat the reader (i wanted to go for su1c1d@l but idk if ur chill with it(ONLY IF U WANNA))

Remember that you are not alone so please reach out for help. There are hotlines to call/text if you are struggling, suicidal, or in a crisis

My messages are always open if you want to talk but I am no replacement for professional help and support of your loved ones

The fellowship x depressed!reader

Aragorn:

-He recognizes the signs quickly

-I imagine he’s had his bouts of depression

-He definitely takes a very gentle approach

-Offering a shoulder and an ear

-He’s kinda an unpaid and unlicensed therapist

-He gives lots of tips on how to keep going in your daily life

-For some people depression is kind of a way of life; you have to learn to live with it

Legolas:

-He doesn’t fully understand at first

-To elves, depression is really only experienced after loss

-So to have it chronically is a new concept to him

-He’s remorseful that you feel so low and he knows there isn’t much he can do

-But he will try

-He will force you to get up and out of bed, even if he has to throw you over his shoulder to get you some fresh air

-He will constantly point out little beautiful things to be grateful for; little joys

-Maybe it’s the smell of dawn or crunchy fall leaves

-Or maybe it’s him; he is very insistent that you would miss him most

Gimli:

-I literally love this dwarf so much; he would be such a cutie that you can’t help but smile at him

-Like he is so gentle and patient with you; which is saying something because dwarves are not patient beings

-He isn’t someone who will beat around the bush though; he will very bluntly tell you your worth and why he and everyone else needs and wants you around

-He gets you involved in anything he can

-Is it against your will? Maybe

-But I’ve found I sometimes end up feeling a little better and enjoy the time out even after I’ve bitched about it and my friend had to drag me out of the house by my hair

Boromir:

-Big brother mode is always active so he picks up on your subtle changes very fast

-Maybe even before you do

-He will tell you stuff like “even if you can’t, you must”

-Wether or not you find that helpful or not; just know he’s trying

-His experience with depression is seeing it with his soldiers

-And that’s the sort of thing he tells them so he just kinda hopes can be applied to you

-He is very action oriented; I think he may have a difficult time sympathizing with not feeling able to get up and do anything

-But damnit if he doesn’t try; he wants you to tell him everything so he can learn and be of better support

-He also gives the best hugs

Frodo:

-He is a very steady friend

-Like he’s not going anywhere; no matter how dark things look he’s still there with a torch

-He makes you go on walks like clockwork to give you some feeling of routine

-He always invites you over because if he can’t help he’s sure Bilbo can

-How can you be sad when talking to Bilbo?

-Well actually he talks a lot so maybe it’s a bit exhausting; but it’s a kind thought

Sam:

-So Sam wants to help so bad; the idea that he can’t fix it doesn’t sit well with him so he will keep trying

-He will help with tasks obviously because acts of service is his love language

-But I also imagine him trying to give comfort but not in the “let me hug you and you can cry on my shoulder way”

-More so in the “look at this photo of a piglet in rain-boots! You can’t be sad while looking at that!”

-Yes you can because that’s not how depression works but still; you put on a smile anyway because he’s just so adorable and he’s trying his best

-This may turn into a sort of “fake it till you make it” situation where eventually you may feel better from his antics

Merry:

-We know this hobbit likes to plan things and is always up for adventure with his friends

-And he’s basically Sherlock of the hobbits so you don’t have to say anything for him to read you like an open book

-He will set you a schedule and will hold you to it by joining you

-He’s not going to go easy on you ngl

-Not in a mean way; but he won’t give you a day to take a break and stay in bed

-Even if you have to half ass everything; you will be doing something

-“you don’t need to wash your hair but you do need to sit in this tub for at least 10 minutes”

-This can feel exhausting at the time and may make you snap at him sometimes but he’s determined because he loves you

-And sometimes tough love is the most helpful

Pippin:

-Can’t get out of bed?

-Don’t worry! Pippin won’t let you be lonely

-He won’t always drag you out of bed. Instead he will join you and talk your ear off

-He brings the “fun” to you

-With the hope that he will either annoy you so much you get up

-Or that his stories give you some level of intrigue to want to go out and see whatever it was he is talking about

Gandalf:

-This is a very old man, he’s seen depression in all states and forms

-He’s a quiet type of comfort

-He definitely says some vague poetic shit that isn’t necessarily helpful but it does have a meaningful lesson

-Offers his pipe

-He is also sort of they type that you are a little afraid to disobey

-Like if he tells you to get outside more; even if you don’t see him, he knows if you have or haven’t

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Idk how good this is. I personally do have depression so I know my own experiences with how it affects me, but it shows in different ways for everyone. In terms of comfort and support I’m not fully sure this does any justice, hopefully it’s a little comforting. I have a great support system but I’m notorious for being too stubborn to accept help. Don’t do that by the way, because eventually it will likely stop coming. Let your friends and family support you; it’s not out of pity; it’s because they care and want to help in anyway they can even if that just means checking to make sure you are alive each morning to let you know they are there.

Anyone can message me if they need someone to talk to. I’m no therapist or expert in any sense but I can be a friend :)

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surrogate-fawn · 10 months ago

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The Purple Butterfly

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory of a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's second surrogacy.))

{This drabble is Part 3 in a series of drabbles based on the story Mitty and I co-authored. This story will not make sense without reading the ones that come before it.}

[ Part 1 - The First Goodbye ]

[ Part 2 - Quartz and Sea Glass ]

[ Part 3 - Here! ]

Author's Note: A real-world initiative is mentioned in this story called The Purple Butterfly Project.

TW: Miscarriage, infertility, mentions of cancer, mentions of past abuse, pregnancy complications, past stillbirth/infant loss, grief and heavy emotional trauma.

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

Living with the Tariqs, I got to experience what it was like to be around a baby after it was born -- and every pounding headache that came with it.

Suri was a little spitfire as soon as she hit the atmosphere, and if she was unhappy the whole house would know it. The farmhouse wasn't all that big, and the guest room where I slept ended up sharing a wall with the nursery. So, you can bet I got woken up each time her parents did.

Those first couple nights, I would lay there in bed until Ray or Tess could stumble their way down the hall and quiet things down. Yeah, I wasn't very useful. I didn't have much of a choice, though. It was a miracle I could walk myself to the bathroom with how sore I was after Suri squirmed her way out of me.

It wasn't just soreness from the waist-down, either.

Being around a constantly crying newborn had an . . . unexpected effect on my body. After the birth of my son, aside from a little bit of colostrum, I had never produced breastmilk. I guess hearing Suri cry to be fed every few hours triggered something, because I suddenly had a full milk supply with nowhere to go.

Luckily, the Tariqs had a home remedy for everything. A couple of wet washcloths over upturned bowls in the freezer made some conveniently-shaped ice packs. Without those puppies, it felt like my breasts were filled with molten lead. So, my hands were occupied most of the day.

I felt guilty, watching either Ray or Tess get up from the couch to tend to their daughter while I was able to sit there with my hands on my boobs and continue watching TV.

I wasn't Suri's parent, but the fact I was the one who got her there made me feel like I had to help out.

Once I started to recover, that's exactly what I did. On a night when Suri refused to stop crying, I got up and poked my head through the cracked nursery door.

Tess was there, looking exhausted and defeated as she held Suri on her shoulder. That baby had been screaming in her ear for at least half an hour. She jumped when she turned and saw me in the doorway.

"Hi, Tess," I said with a sympathetic smile.

"Hey, doll," Tess sighed, continuing to bounce Suri up and down while she paced the room. She spoke a little louder than she needed to, likely 'cause she couldn't hear herself think. "I'm sorry she woke 'ya. I got no idea what 'ta do."

She sounded like she'd given up. This was how she was spending her night, and she'd resigned herself to it.

I thought about waking Ray, but his paternity leave ended in the morning. He had to be up in a few hours for his civil engineering job. Even with what little I knew about salary work, I knew eight weeks of unpaid leave for a brand-new baby was bullshit. Ray would've taken the full twelve weeks, but the city was jumping down his throat about finishing the blueprints for an overpass project on-time. Tess was about to be left alone with a two-month-old for the sake of ten fewer minutes of traffic. That wasn't fair.

"Tess, lemmie take her for a while," I said, walking into the room. "You need a break."

"It's fine," Tess insisted. "She'll calm down . . . eventually."

I held out my arms. "Tess. Give 'er."

The purple bags under Tess's eyes made her look twice her age, and her pale yellow hair was a rat's nest hanging down her back. She was at her wit's end. "Okay."

Suri weighed almost nothing as I settled her against my shoulder. It still amazed me how small babies were. They seemed so much smaller when you actually got to hold them.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked Suri. My ear started to ring as she wailed into it, her cries high-pitched and distressed. I started patting her back like I'd seen her parents do. "What's wrong, baby girl? What's got you so upset?"

Tess collapsed into the glider in the corner of the nursery, her hands rubbing circles into her temples. "I've changed her. I've fed her. I've prayed over her. I've got no idea what my own baby needs!"

"Well, I've got no idea, either," I shrugged, my toes digging into the soft sherpa rug by the crib. I continued patting Suri's back. Her feet were pressing against my chest, as if she were trying to pull herself upright.

"But I'm supposed 'ta know!" Tess whimpered. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair. "I'm her mama! Mamas are supposed 'ta know what 'ta do, but I can't even calm her down!"

"You're not a bad mama, Tess," I said, offering her a smile -- despite the continued screaming in my ear. "Trust me, I know what a-."

The screaming was cut short with a small 'gurk', and I froze when a wet glob of spit-up slithered down my back.

". . . think I figured it out . . ." I said, my smile now pinched.

Suri grumbled, and I carefully held her out in front of me. Her face was still red, but her expression was pure baby bliss -- milky spittle on her chin and all.

"Did you have a tummy ache, baby girl?" I asked. "Is that what was wrong?"

Tess shot up from the glider, sending it bumping into the wall. "Oh, Fawn, I am so sorry!" she said, taking her daughter out of my hands. She took the burp cloth off her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there, and handed it to me. "Here, clean 'yaself up."

"S'alright," I chuckled, cringing as I wiped up the gobby mess. "I've got other shirts. At least I got her to stop crying."

Tess looked down at the baby in the crook of her arm, and then back up at me. "Wanna try a hand at gettin' her 'ta sleep?"

Long story short, that's how I found my new job as the Tariq's live-in babysitter.

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

I wasn't expecting to do surrogacy again, at least not for a long while. The Tariqs were paying me a decent wage for domestic work and were kind enough to not charge me rent -- so long as I was saving a certain amount of the money each week. The last post I ever made on the surrogate agency's forums was an announcement celebrating Suri's successful home birth. After that, I let my profile go dark.

Not only did hiring me allow the Tariqs to keep their promise of helping me on my feet, it also gave them an extra set of hands around the house while Ray was at work. Tess and I worked out a system where I would work on smaller tasks while she took care of the most pressing matters. If she was feeding Suri, I was cleaning the kitchen. If she was cooking dinner, I was changing a diaper. If she had to do yardwork, I was keeping Suri entertained.

I learned to prepare formula, wash bottles, change diapers, and play peek-a-boo like a pro in no time.

Bath time was always a tag-team effort, though. Suri was a splasher, and her favorite bath toy was a rubber turtle called "Squirta Turta", so we usually ended up as soaked as she was.

When Suri was being weaned off formula, we made homemade baby food with the vegetables in the garden. Turns out, placenta makes a great fertilizer. I wondered if Mom had ever used it in her flower beds -- she'd had five of them to work with by the time all of us kids were born. I wished I could ask her. I wished I could ask her about a lot of things. I also wished Suri could eat her mashed squash without trying to wear the bowl as a hat, but I didn't get that wish, either.

This was my life for two wonderfully chaos-filled years, and I was mostly content with it.

Mostly.

I wanted to go to college. That was always my plan for after high school, but . . . plans had obviously changed. My grades hadn't been anything to brag about, so I knew from the start I'd have to pay my own way through. I had two years' worth of savings, but I didn't want to dip into it, yet. That money was meant to be the down payment on a house someday. What would be the point of spending all my money on school if I'd be right back to square one afterward? That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to get my degree and start my life over -- I'd been waiting long enough.

After sitting down with Ray and breaking down the costs of school, I realized I barely had enough to pay for one term. There were some small scholarships I could apply for here and there, but I wasn't about to rely on winning them. There were hundreds of smarter students out there vying for the same pile of money. What chance did I have?

I mulled it over for several days without saying a word to anyone, but eventually I made up my mind. When I did, Tess was the first person I told:

"I'm gonna get pregnant again."

I announced it out of the blue as I was helping Tess with the after-dinner dishes. She was at the kitchen sink, washing. I was at the counter, drying.

The steel wool in her hand scraped to a halt. "Pardon?"

I hunched my shoulders a bit as I toweled off a plate. "I'm gonna find another couple that needs to 'rent a room'. It'll be able to pay for my degree. In full. All four years."

Tess continued washing, but she didn't acknowledge what I'd said at all.

"So . . . what do you think?" I prodded, setting stacks of dishes in the cabinet.

Tess grimaced into the soapy water, concentrating way too much on the pan she was scrubbing. "Shug, I dunno," she said. "Do 'ya really wanna do that 'ta 'yaself so soon?"

"Whatd'ya mean 'so soon'?" I scoffed. "Suri's up toddling around the house. Isn't that when most moms get pregnant again?"

"'Ya ain't a mom, yet, Fawn," Tess said, her tone lovingly blunt -- the tone that can only be learned by disciplining a toddler.

I flinched a little, but I crossed my arms over my chest to hide it. All she'd done was state a fact, but it still bit.

"I'd like to be," I mumbled. I gazed out the kitchen window and saw Ray out in the backyard with Suri. He was blowing bubbles, and she was reaching up to grab them with high-pitched screams of laughter. She chased them as they swooped lower to the ground, and then stomped on them with her tiny flip-flops when they touched the grass. "Someday."

"I know, doll. That's why I'm concerned." Tess set the pan on the drying rack. "Pregnancies are risky. Wouldn't 'ya rather have as few of 'em as possible?"

"I've had two and they went just fine," I said with a shrug. "I'm young, Tess! Isn't now the best time to use what I got? I can charge more, now that I've got experience. No student debt and money left over to save for a house! Trade nine months in exchange for the rest of my life? How could I pass that up?!"

Tess didn't say anything for a long time, she just dunked a chili pot in the dishwater and started scrubbing. I stood there in uncomfortable silence until she said:

"School can wait, 'ya know."

"No, it can't!" I protested.

"Ray and I can pay what 'ya need for classes when we start tryin' again," Tess said. "What on Earth's the point?"

"Point is," I huffed, leaning my hip against the counter, arms still crossed over my chest, "I'm almost twenty-four and I've got nothin' to show for it!"

"Fawn, 'ya gotta think about-."

"I'll still be able to help you guys out, Tess," I added. "Don't worry about that."

"It's not us I'm worryin' about," was her deadpan response.

It was frustrating as hell, but I wasn't too angry at her. I knew why she wasn't a fan of the idea.

The three of us had recently discussed growing their family in the future. The Tariqs wanted to wait until Suri was a little more independent before welcoming a second baby, so that plan was at least two more years out.

Following that conversation, we'd decided not to return to the surrogate agency we used the first time. The agency was helpful with the fine print and legal stuff, but the Tariqs had not been too thrilled to learn that a desperate, homeless, childless young woman had been allowed to become a surrogate of theirs.

"I can do it independently," I said, pleading my case. "I know how to be careful."

Tess turned to lock eyes with me. "Fawn . . . I just need 'ta know you're doin' it for the right reasons. I don't like the idea of 'ya going through all that for nothing but a stack'a cash."

"It's not just for money" I insisted. "I wouldn't go through it again for anyone, not even you guys, if I didn't find it meaningful."

Tess didn't seem any more at ease with my promises. "I just don't want 'ya health 'ta suffer. If 'ya do this, you're choosin' 'ta put 'ya body through a lot in such a short time."

I didn't argue. She was right. "I know."

Tess turned back to the sink, sighing while she rinsed out the pot. My toes curled inside my shoes.

"I want to help another couple while I still have the chance," I said, trying to justify my decision -- partially to myself. I could sense how strong Tess's disapproval was, and it was giving me serious second thoughts. "If I can't be a parent right now, I want to make it possible for other people to be parents. It makes the wait feel . . . less long."

Tess dried her hands on her long bohemian skirt and turned to gently hold my shoulders. "Doll, it's 'ya own choice. Ray and I can't stop 'ya from doin' whatever it is 'ya wanna do."

I nodded, my eyes cast down. I didn't need their permission, nor had I been asking for it, but some support would've been -- .

"Just know that we'll be here 'ta help 'ya," Tess continued. "Anything 'ya need, just ask. If you're gonna do this, I want 'ya as healthy and happy as possible."

I nodded again, this time with a smile on my face. "I'd appreciate that."

Tess wrapped me in a hug. "But please, shug," she added, patting my back, "don't put 'yaself through too much."

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

"Easy there, doll. I've got'cha."

Tess held my curls back as I wretched into a blue emesis bag. I'd started growing my hair out in the months it took for this surrogacy to be arranged. I hadn't been thinking ahead.

I'd thought I was in the clear after I had to have Tess pull over on the highway so I could vomit up breakfast, but the antiseptic smell of the hospital kicked up my nausea again. I'd made it through the halls, but by the time I'd sat on the exam table my stomach had enough.

I choked on thick saliva and spit a mouthful of colorless bile into the bag. "Okay . . . okay, I'm good now," I spluttered as I lifted my head. I cinched the bag and handed it to the technician without looking them in the eye. "Sorry."

"Don't be," the tech laughed, "morning sickness is par for the course in here. I'll be right back, just make yourself comfortable." They dragged the privacy curtain closed behind them as they left the room.

Tess wet a paper towel in the hand sink for me. My skin was clammy and cold even before I wiped the towel across my face -- so I wasn't left feeling any better. My hands had a tremor so deep inside the tendons it registered as numbness. I raked my front teeth over my tongue to scrape away the acidic taste.

I hadn't really needed that blood test. I'd known the IVF had worked when I woke up clinging for dear life against the Earth's rotation. My head hadn't stopped spinning since, and it was two damn weeks later. The doctor overseeing my IVF had sent me in for a six-week ultrasound -- which was earlier than I'd ever had one done before -- because my hormone levels were "suspiciously high" this time around. Whatever that meant.

I'd been pumped full of fertility drugs like a chicken with GMOs for a solid four months by that point. No shit my hormones were off the charts, especially now that I was pregnant.

"It's never been this bad," I groaned, coughing on the burn in my throat.

"Yeah, that's why the doctor wants 'ya in here," Tess said with a chuckle.

"I hate it," I scowled. "I want the old morning sickness back."

"Each time is different," Tess said. "I had it once or twice before, but when I was pregnant with Ravi it never really went away." Any time Tess mentioned her angel baby, a little bit of the light left her eyes -- and I saw it happen again right there in that ultrasound room.

Tess helped me pull off my jeans and tucked my discarded underwear inside the back pocket for me. I covered my hips with the paper blanket just before the tech came back into the room.

"Looks like we're ready to start!" they chirped, taking their seat between me and the rolling ultrasound cart.

"Hang on a sec," I said, pulling up the FaceTime app on my phone. "The parents really wanna see the first ultrasound."

"Ah," the tech said with an understanding nod, "is this a surrogate situation?"

"My second time," I said with a proud grin. I pointed at Tess, who was folding my pants over the back of a chair. "I carried her baby first. Most amazing thing I've ever done."

Tess beamed at me. She was smiling, but the shadows on her face were a bit deeper than normal.

"Really now!" The tech exclaimed, keeping their peppy tone as they typed my info into the computer. "It's rare I see surrogate mothers as young as you. Bless your heart!"

"She's a trooper, that's for damn sure," Tess said, "but, God love 'er, she's been so sick."

"I'm sure your care provider can prescribe something for that at your follow-up ," the tech told me. "It won't feel this bad for much longer, sweetheart."

"It's worth it, though," I said. My phone bubbled with the ringtone of an outgoing video call. "These guys will be amazing dads."

The tech smiled at me. "I have such respect for traditional surrogates. That's a lot of sacrifice."

"Oh, no," I corrected them with a small hand wave. "This isn't traditional. These are the bio parents."

I hadn't willy-nilly accepted the first eager couple I'd found online. I'd put half a year's worth of thought into carrying this pregnancy. The Tariqs always gave me my birthday off, and I'd spent that entire day talking to prospective parents. I wanted to prove to them that I was taking this seriously; if I was doing this just for the money, I wouldn't have cared whose baby I carried. I wanted to vet my options and choose a couple that I well and truly felt honored in helping -- and the Gillespies were exactly that.

My phone screen flashed with a mixture of bright pixels before the video came into focus. An odd pair of men sat beside each other in what appeared to be either a kitchen or a dining room -- perhaps it served as both, they lived in a small condo. One was a tall, tanned athlete with a dark stubbly beard and a sculpted figure rippling beneath his loose-fitting tank top. That was Silas. The other was a willowy, ramen-haired man with thick blue octagon frames on his glasses and the quote, "It's only a passing thing, this shadow" from The Two Towers tattooed on his forearm. That was Owen.

"Hey, guys!" I said, holding my phone up and giving them a wave.

There was a slightly-too-long pause due to lag, but both guys lit up with smiles and greeted me in unison. I saw the tech looking at the screen from the corner of my eye. I could see the math trying to play out in their head.

"You don't mind if we record this, right?" Silas asked. They must've been watching from a tablet, because he reached his finger under the camera and swiped a few times as if he were checking a separate app. As he lifted his arm, a crescent of silvery scar tissue became visible from under his shirt.

I saw the tech look back to their computer with a subtle nod of their head. God love 'em, they must've been too nervous to ask.

"Go ahead! It's a special occasion," I said. "I'm gonna hand you over to Tess. We're about to start."

"Yay, Tess!" Owen said with a clap of excitement. He waved as I passed my phone over. "Hi, Tess! Where's Ray?"

"Hi, boys," Tess said with a soft grin. She adjusted herself to be closer to my side. "Ray's workin' from home today so he can watch our 'lil darlin'."

Of course the Tariqs had wanted to meet my new clients. They said it was because they wanted to vouch for me as a caring and capable surrogate; but I think it was mostly to judge the couple for themselves. The Gillespies had both Tess and Ray's number as my emergency contacts, which came in handy when they needed help with some legal paperwork.

Silas and Owen were my age, both of them twenty-four. They'd poured all their savings into the process of hiring a surrogate and had none left over for a lawyer. At the Tariq's behest, all three of us had stayed up late on a call to talk the Gillespies through the steps of writing a surrogacy contract. Silas and Owen seemed to hold a lot of respect for the Tariqs after that.

While Tess had the camera on her, I reclined on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. The paper blanket gave plenty of privacy -- which was good, because I didn't want my clients to see the long plastic wand the tech was prepping while it was in there doin' its thing. I'd never had a transvaginal ultrasound before, but apparently it was the only way to get a view of the Gillespies' baby so early.

I couldn't help but tense as I felt the rounded tip of the wand slip inside me like butter, aided by the warm jelly I was used to having on my belly. I could feel the blood flooding my face as the curved device slid under my public bone and pressed against a part of my anatomy that hadn't been reached in years -- though not for lack of trying, I had short fingers.

"Relax a little more, please," the tech said.

"Sorry . . . not used to this."

Don't judge me. I was living with my employers. The idea of one of them finding an adult toy in my room -- or worse, their daughter finding it -- made me shrivel.

I felt a subtle buzz inside my tissues when the device turned on. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Okay, let's have a look at that baby," the tech said as they began angling the wand.

Tess flipped the phone around so the dads could see the action. I saw Owen grip his husband's bicep and pull him closer. The room was silent for a moment while the technician moved the wand around my pelvis.

"Can we listen to the heartbeat?" Owen asked, hugging Silas's arm.

"Not yet," the tech said, eyes glued to the screen. "Their little heart is only a few cells big right now. It's too quiet to pick up, but we'll hear it in a few weeks."

Owen and Silas shared a grin. I could see their story written on their faces and in the way they looked at each other. They'd been dating since high school, the odd-ball pairing of bookworm and athlete. After graduation, a preemptive doctor's appointment before Silas started testosterone saved his life:

Cervical cancer, stage two. The doctors had no choice but to take everything, but Silas chose to freeze a few of his eggs before the surgery. He'd gotten into non-competitive bodybuilding to deal with the effects of chemo, and it'd been his favorite hobby since. Luckily, Silas had been cancer-free for years -- Owen had gotten his first and only tattoo in celebration.

Now that they were newlyweds, the Gillespies were choosing to start their family right away -- knowing the frozen eggs wouldn't last forever. We'd lost a lot of hope when most of the eggs didn't thaw right, meaning we only had one shot at this. The Gillespies were more than open to adoption, but . . . having a baby together was something they'd hoped for since before Silas's diagnosis.

I'd known I wanted to step up to the plate as soon as I heard their story. I was proud to be helping such a sweet pair of guys have their much-wanted family. When I saw the way they looked at each other in that moment -- the excitement and love of a dream finally coming true -- I secretly hoped doing this for them would grant me some sort of karmatic favor.

I hoped one day I'd share that same ecstatic smile with someone, for the same happy reason.

The tech hadn't said anything for a while. They kept moving the wand from side-to-side between my hips and squinting at the screen. They took several images, judging by how often they hit the same loud button on their keyboard. They hadn't even turned the screen around, yet. I couldn't wrap my head around the baby being so hard to find -- not with the ultrasound wand jammed so far up.

"Are they hiding from 'ya?" I asked with a joking lilt. Something was starting to sink inside my chest.

"No, I see them," the tech said. They squinted harder at the screen. "Just taking their picture for the doctor."

"That's a lot of pictures," Silas commented from my phone speaker.

"Well, I . . . just want to make sure," the tech said. Their keyboard clacked as they took another image.

It felt like I'd swallowed lead. "Sure of what?"

The tech finally tilted the screen so the rest of the room could see it. In the grey-and-white fuzz on the monitor, a round dark void was highlighted in a bright yellow square. Resting in the void was a blurry white bean with a small flutter in the curve of its shape.

"So, here's the gestational sac," the tech said, outlining the yellow square with their cursor. They circled the cursor over the fluttering movement. "That's baby's nice strong heartbeat right there."

"Silas, oh my god!" I heard Owen cry. "Look! We made that!"

The tech turned the wand slightly and the image on the screen rolled to the left. The same black void and white bean slid into view, except now it was upside-down. The tech once again circled their cursor around the flutter. "And this is another nice strong heartbeat."

"They have two hearts?!" I gasped in panic. I realized how stupid I sounded after it was too late. "Or is it . . . ?"

The tech flicked the wand from side-to-side, and each time they did a little black void with a bean remained on the screen. It took a few back-and-forths for me to realize those weren't two different angles of the same image.

"Holy shit . . ." I wheezed. My hand covered my throat, as if that would loosen the strangling tightness that was setting in. "Holy shit . . ."

“What? What’s wrong?” I heard Silas ask, his voice glitched and laggy.

“Boys, can ‘ya see?” Tess asked, holding my phone closer to the screen. “Can ‘ya see that?”

I wanted to turn my head and see the parents’ reaction, but I could not move my eyes from the ultrasound. The Gillespies were quiet for a minute as the tech continued to swivel the image from side-to-side.

“How many embryos did you transfer?” the tech asked.

“There were only two that made it,” Silas answered. I could sense the moment reality washed over him. “Wait . . . wait, are they both there?!”

“Yep,” Tess said. I have no idea what emotion was in her tone, but it had a glaze of forced excitement. “They both took root.”

“I can’t quite get an image of both of them,” the tech said. “I’m trying, but it looks like they’re on opposite walls of the uterus. That flipped one is way up there, too. They’re hanging onto the roof like a bat.”

“A bat bean,” Owen said. His voice was flat, like the quip was a reflex.

“So . . . twins, right?” Silas asked. “We’re having twins?”

“Congratulations!” the tech chirped.

My pulse was pounding under my hand. That lump of lead was sitting hard in my guts, right alongside those two tiny beans. Two. Two beans. Holy shit. Two.

Tess turned the phone towards me and I saw the moon-eyed shock on the Gillespies’ faces. “Fawn, honey?” Tess prodded. “Wanna say something? What’dya think?”

“I . . .” My saliva felt thick and hot in my mouth. My tongue fell numb and it nearly flopped down my throat as I shot up on the table, my legs still up in the stirrups. “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

Tess jumped for a trash can. She aimed the camera at her face while I loudly wretched in the background of my clients’ first family video.

“This explains a lot,” Tess told the fathers with a sheepish grin. “Two times the baby, two times the morning sickness.”

The Gillespeies were quiet for a while, an awkward pause with only the sounds of my suffering to fill the void.

“We’re having twins, Owen,” Silas finally said, just as I was pulling my face from the trash.

“Yeah . . . wow,” Owen’s voice answered.

I heard a subtle thumping from their end, like one of them was bouncing their leg. The tempo was frantic.

“What’s wrong, Owen?” Tess asked. She held the phone to be more level with her face.

All I heard was a harsh sniffle.

“C’mere, you big softie,” I heard Silas say.

“Don’t cry, honeybun,” Tess said. “It's a blessing!"

“I’m happy!” Owen insisted over the phone. “I’m so happy!” His voice was muffled, like he was hiding his face in his husband’s shoulder. “This is . . . whew! This is overwhelming!”

“No kidding,” Silas said with a laugh.

“No fucking kidding,” I said with my head in the trash.

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

It took a few days for the shock to wear off. The anti-nausea pills cleared my head so I felt less like I was walking in a fever dream. Once that edge was taken off, it made reality slip in a little smoother. I was pregnant with twins. There were two little jellybeans inside me that would be two full-sized babies in eight months. That was fine. Yeah, that was fine. That had to be fine. If it wasn’t fine, I was going to start losing my mind! So, it was fine.

I mailed the printouts of the ultrasounds to the parents. They had the digital pictures I took, but those physical copies were what really mattered to them. The three of us had never met in person. They lived hundreds of miles away, in Michigan. They wouldn’t be flying down to Tennessee until it was nearing my due date, so any physical memento of their babies I could send to them was much appreciated.

I wanted the Gillespies to feel included in my pregnancy as much as possible, even if they couldn’t be with me in-person. Each week I’d take a picture of myself turned sideways in the bathroom mirror and sent it to them. I basically sent them the same picture four times in a row. There was nothing much to show except for the tummy flab I’d collected my first two times around the block. By week ten, though, I could feel that familiar little lump starting to form below my navel. I had slightly too much of a pooch for there to be any trace of a bump, though.

Almost three months in, I was surprised by how normal my pregnancy was – aside from the intense bouts of nausea I relied on my medicine for. I’d thought having twins inside me would up the difficulty level, but up to that point my life had changed very little. I still got up every day to housekeep and nanny for my allotted shift, and I did so with the same ease I did before. The only change was how much of an eye Tess kept on me. It was very annoying.

“Fawn, no!” Tess trotted up beside me and took hold of my hips. “‘Ya don’t need ‘ta be up there.”

“Stop it!” I gasped as the stack of plates in my hand jittered. “Don’t grab me like that if you don’t want me to fall!”

Tess gently pulled me down from the stepstool I’d been using to reach the cabinet. “I can take care of those,” she said, taking the stack of dishes.

“Jesus, you’d think these were your babies,” I muttered.

“It’s easy now, doll, but you’re not far off from those little ‘uns hittin’ a growth spurt.” Tess climbed the stepstool and I rolled my eyes behind her back at the oh-so-dangerous foot and a half of height she stood above. “I can go ahead and take over the chores ‘ya need help with.”

I shrugged, lifting my hands and then letting them slap down onto my thighs. “Alright. Want me to take over Suri while you handle the dishes?”

“Yes, and I’ll be wiping down the countertops and stove with bleach. So, I don’t want either of ‘ya in here until I say so.”

“Right. Grabbing snacks.”

Arms full of Cheerios, applesauce pouches and beef jerky, I joined Surinder in the living room. She was watching one of her preschooler shows on TV from inside her pop-up play tent. Her toys were strewn all over the floor – the living room had become her territory and she marked it with Duplo blocks and miniature plastic food.

I bent over to start picking up and I grunted when the ligaments around my waist pulled tight. Tess was right about the babies, I hadn’t gotten round ligament pain so early before.

It wasn’t long before Suri crawled out of her tent and patted my leg to get my attention. “Fa! Fa!” she called my name until I turned around and acknowledged her.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Go! . . . Go potty!”

“You gotta go potty? Okay, let’s go-oh!” I winced as I stooped to pick her up, my hands flying to my sides. There was that ligament pain again. I rubbed my hands into my lower belly, trying to work out the tension in my stretching muscles. “Let’s walk to the potty.”

I kept feeling that growing pain. I got a charlie horse in my back as I was helping Suri in the bathroom. That nerve-deep pain flared up in a ring around my hips as I sat down for dinner, but a slight adjustment in my posture made it nothing more than an annoyance. I went to bed that night safe in the knowledge I would wake up to another day of normalcy.

I woke up to my alarm, bright and early as always. I woke up to that ring of pain around my hips as I stretched out under the covers. I woke up to the sensation of wet fabric, something sticky plastered against the curve of my rear and up my lower back. I woke up to blood, both crusty brown and damp red, on my pajamas and sheets.

I woke up wanting to scream. Instead, I tip-toed past Suri’s nursery and padded down the hall to her parents’ room. I knocked once before opening the door. I was like a child needing to be comforted from a nightmare, appearing in the Tariq’s doorway and softly whispering their names until they stirred.

“Ray? Tess?” I leaned a little harder against the doorframe as I watched their silhouettes sit up in bed. “Can one of you drive me?”

Tess yawned. “Where, doll?”

“The ER.”

With the yank of a chain, Ray’s bedside lamp clicked to life. I didn’t need to scream. Tess did it for me.

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

Ray held my hand while we waited in the emergency room. I’d cleaned up and changed clothes – Ray had lent me a pair of his sweatpants, just in case I bled through my pad. All that remained of my pregnancy was sealed in a sandwich box on my lap. Tess suggested I take the large clump of blood and tissue I’d found in my underwear with me for the doctor to look at, but I hated holding that box knowing someone’s lost dream was inside.

Tess hadn’t come to the hospital with us. She stayed at the house until her parents arrived to take Suri for the day and then met us in the waiting room. I sat between them, resting my head on Tess’s shoulder while both of them wrapped an arm around me. We waited like that for over an hour.

Most of that day is a scrambled signal in my memory. There was a lot of waiting. A lot of fluorescent lights and white-beige walls. We watched TV together in the room they put me in, but I don’t remember what we watched. Only one memory of that ER visit is clear:

A nurse came in and confirmed what we already knew. They’d found the stringy prototype of a placenta in the tissue I’d passed, along with one of the gestational sacs. That was concerning, though. One. They’d only found one of the twins. There was a possibility I needed surgery, so they had to go in and see what was left. The Tariqs weren’t allowed to follow me as I was wheeled down to radiology.

The ultrasound room was dark and warm, the only light coming from the idle monitor of the computer. It was easy to close my eyes and drift into a trance as the tech smeared gel over my lower belly. I’d been scheduled for my next ultrasound in two weeks. I didn’t think I could handle seeing how empty I was.

“Did everything clear?” I asked, resting my hands over my sternum. Even if I didn’t want to see it, I still wanted to know if they were gonna have to scrape me out.

“I can’t say for certain until the doctor has a chance to look at these,” the tech said. “I’m just here to take pictures.”

I wished this was the same tech from my first ultrasound. I could’ve used their friendliness.

“I stopped cramping a while ago,” I said, “so hopefully it’s over.”

The tech rolled the wand up from my groin and I felt it press on the solid lump in the front of my hips. They were pressing hard – trying to get a good image, I assume – but eased off as they moved the wand just below my navel.

“Ope, no. Wait,” the tech said, “there’s the other one. Gosh, that one is way up there.”

Bat Bean. That’s what the Gillespies and I had been calling Baby B. We’d been calling Baby A “Jellybean”. I wondered what their real names would’ve been. My throat closed up and I had to stop wondering.

“Oh . . . my . . .” the tech said, nearly in a whisper. Then, much louder: “Well, hello there, little guy!”

“What?” I asked, opening one eye in hesitation.

I saw their face in the light of the monitor, saw the crescent moon of a smile below their reflective glasses. “It’s kicking!”

“What?!”

My neck arched and suddenly I was staring at the high-def image of a grey gummy bear on the screen. Nubby limbs twitched as the oval-shaped body curled and uncurled, swimming around its bubble of fluid like a tiny fish. The bulbous head turned and I watched in utter amazement as Baby B’s whole body flipped over in a summersault.

The tech hit a key and a steady whop-whopa-whop-whopa played as a line of white peaks and valleys appeared below the image. “And we have a heartbeat!” they announced, all monotone gone from their demeanor.

I must’ve been in a state of shock, because my memory after that moment is almost entirely blank. I have a vague recollection of signing some paperwork and a surgeon standing over my bed, listing off possible side effects. I remember a needle going into my arm, and then my memory is a void.

My memory restarts at the point I woke up in the recovery ward. Please understand that before this point, I had never had any kind of knock-out juice. I’d never had surgery before. So, please don’t make fun of me when I admit that I woke up crying. My vision was blurry, my head was in a vice, my anti-nausea medication had worn off, and it felt like I had a cactus in my vagina.

I saw a silhouette at my bedside, a woman’s silhouette with a ponytail of dirty-blonde hair. For a second, I thought my mom had forgiven me – I thought that someone, somehow, had reached her. I thought she cared enough to be worried about me. I reached out to her, craving to feel her hold me again. I felt horrible. I wanted my Mama to make it all better.

“M-om?” I mewled, my mouth slow and dry.

I touched the woman’s arm, causing her to turn towards me. She wasn’t my mom – just a nurse who styled her hair the same way. “No, sorry. I’m not Mom,” she said softly. “She’s probably waiting for you outside.”

I knew she wasn’t. I felt more tears trail down my neck.

“Just lay back and try to wake up a little more,” the nurse told me, “then we’ll let your family come back and see you.”

I dipped in and out of a fugue state, gradually returning to reality as the drugs wore off. Although I couldn’t remember much before surgery, I was inately aware that my cervix had been sewn shut. There was no telling what had caused me to lose Baby A, but Baby B was still considered at-risk. Sealing the exit shut was the best bet to keep ‘em in there. The fact I was still pregnant at all after so much blood loss and cramping was miraculous. Just to be safe, they hooked my IV up to something that would stop my uterus from contracting.

When I was awake enough to feel hungry and ask for food, the Tariqs were allowed to come sit with me in my cubicle of curtains. Tess sat on the side of my bed while Ray tried to nap in his chair. It’d been nearly twelve hours since we arrived at the hospital and we were all exhausted. I barely had the energy to lift spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup to my mouth. After I’d gotten some broth and crackers down my throat, and Tess and I had run out of small talk, Tess leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into my ear. “I know what you’re feelin’, and it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

They weren’t empty words – far from it. Tess had been where I was time, after time, after time. Only, for her, it was worse – those lost children were her own. Then . . . there had been Ravi. I didn’t want to imagine how his loss had felt. Well . . . perhaps I could make a light comparison, but I at least knew my son was alive and well somewhere. I wrapped my arms around Tess in return, blinking back tears.

“No, Tess,” I said, my face covered by her long flaxen hair. It smelled like her mint shampoo. “I’m sorry you went through this so many times.”

Tess held me tighter.

“Have you told them?” I asked.

“No. We wanted ‘ta hear what the doctor said first,” Tess said. “Everything’s lookin’ okay with the baby right now, but he wants ‘ya on bedrest.”

“Can you . . . please call them for me? I don’t want to hear them . . .”

“I will,” Tess said, patting my back. “I’ll go outside and let them know.”

“If they ask which one it was . . .” I sniffled and choked back a small sob. “. . . tell them we lost Jellybean.”

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

I continued to send the Gillespies bumpdates every week. I never missed a single one. I continued mailing them printouts of their baby’s ultrasounds. We never talked or chatted about what happened, nor did we discuss medical updates about Bat Bean. For those, the Gillespies waited for either Ray or Tess to contact them. I didn’t want them to associate me – the woman carrying their one and only child – with talk of heartbreak and loss. I wanted Silas and Owen to be excited when they saw an email from me, not dread clicking on it. Ray and Tess stepped up to be the bearers of heavy news for us. My doctor had me going in for ultrasounds every two weeks, which meant a lot of baby pictures from me and a lot of medical updates from the Tariqs.

My stomach remained flat for quite a while, with just the slightest bump in my lower belly for weeks. But one morning, around fifteen weeks in, I swear I woke up looking like I’d swallowed a cantaloupe. I guess the baby had finally hit that growth spurt Tess had predicted.

His name was Milo Bennet Gillespie. Silas and Owen named him shortly after we discovered he was going to be a boy. Owen was a fan of classic books who worked at Barnes & Noble, so I had no doubt he was the one to choose the middle name. Sometimes we playfully referred to Milo as “Bat Bean”, but that nickname faded out in favor of his real name. I worried over him – a lot. I bought a home doppler online so I could check if his heart was beating. Whenever I noticed he hadn’t moved for a while, I would pull up my shirt and rub the doppler on my bump until I heard the whoosh of his pulse. The doctors kept saying everything was looking good with him, but I worried.

I was essentially given leave of my housekeeper duties until Milo was done cooking. The doctor wanted me off my feet, so I spent most of my days on the couch watching cartoons with Suri. She was observant enough to ask about my big belly in her two-word-sentence manner. Unsure how to explain the situation, I told her there was a small person living in my stomach and that his name was Milo. I even took her tiny hand and let her feel where Milo was wiggling around. She didn’t like that very much, it freaked her out and she ran to her mother. I didn’t want her to get excited for a baby that wouldn’t be coming home with me. That wouldn’t be fair to her . . . or to me.

It wasn’t the best experience, being pregnant without the baby’s parents there. When I was growing Suri, her parents were there with me at every doctor’s visit. They took me on day trips just for fun and to make sure I had enough to eat. They were able to put their hands on my belly to feel their daughter kick, and put their lips close to my skin so she could hear their voices. Milo didn’t have that. His daddies were hundreds of miles away. They’d never felt him squirm around, only I had. He’d never heard their voices close-up, just over the phone . . . maybe. The clearest voice he’d ever heard was mine . . . and my voice wasn’t going to follow him home.

Although I had the Tariqs there to support me and love me, I felt alone in my pregnancy. Milo was just a little visitor in the household – we had no toys or bedding or bottles for him, all of that was with his fathers. After he was born, no one would mention him – his future didn’t involve us at all. I was the closest thing to a mother Milo would ever have . . . and I wasn’t going to be a part of his life.

It was an experience I’d had before, with the last baby boy I’d held under my heart.

It took a toll. It really took a toll.

Before I knew it, I’d blown up big as a barn. I no longer had a lap when I sat down, my belly nearly reaching my knees. Milo was a big boy – the doctor estimated he was around nine pounds – and he was squishing all the fluid in my body into my lower half. My legs were hot and heavy and my feet were too swollen for my shoes, so I shuffled between the bathroom, kitchen and couch in flip-flops. God, I hated being on my feet. I spent my days either dicking around on my laptop – using my belly as a desk – or watching TV while sprawled out on the couch.

Surinder got really upset with me one day, when I refused to play tag with her. Ray and Tess were very mindful of how much Suri “bothered” me, but I never considered it bothersome. I loved Suri, she was practically my niece. I was sure to let her know that I wanted to play with her, but my “belly buddy” was making me too tired. I made up for it with lots of hugs and kisses, and I promised that once I was feeling better we’d play tag as much as she wanted.

As soon as I hit thirty-seven weeks, I was on high alert. I’d warned my doctor that I delivered before my due date at least once before, but he wanted to keep Milo in there until he was full-term. So, he refused to remove my stitches. As miserable as I was, I agreed. I wanted Milo to bulk up as much as he could, even if it added to my discomfort. If I could give Silas and Owen a perfect, healthy baby . . . maybe it would make up for what happened.

My body had failed one of their babies – and so help me God I was gonna force it to nurture the other! I was determined! I would make it to forty weeks!

Yet, I would not.

I pulled myself off the couch one afternoon to grab a snack and my knees almost folded. I leaned against the arm of the couch as a deep downward motion slid over my organs. My lungs were slowly relieved of their crushing burden and they eagerly filled to their maximum. I lifted the weight of my belly with one desperate hand because I had a blaring instinct about what was happening.

“Milo, don’t you dare!” I muttered under my breath.

Like a Duplo block clicking into place, Milo’s head slipped into my hips. My belly visibly dropped, I felt it shift to hit heavier in my hand. Almost immediately, I felt the baby’s heft sitting directly on my sutured cervix. I groaned and pressed my thighs together. The pain throbbed between my legs, sharper than I’d ever felt.

“Hey, Ray?” I called, knowing he was upstairs in his office.

“Yeah?” his distant voice rumbled through the ceiling.

“Can you bring me my phone?” I called. “I need to call the doctor.”

A few minutes later, Ray thumped down the creaky stairs with my cellphone. He paused when he saw me leaning over the back of the sofa, kneeling with my thighs apart. “You okay?” he asked, handing me my phone.

“I need to call the doctor and tell him I need my stitches out, like . . . tomorrow,” I said, unlocking the screen. “Milo’s in my hips, he’s not gonna wait another two weeks.”

Ray rubbed my lower back, scratching his goatee in thought. “Is he going to wait until tomorrow? You’ve been having cramps, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re irregular as hell,” I said, putting the phone up to my ear. “I’ll be in labor soon, but not that soon.”

I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was so horribly wrong.

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

“Silas? Hi. Yeah, it’s Ray.”

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“We have a situation. Fawn’s having contractions and you boys need to get on a plane right now.” Ray ground his knuckles into my back while I wailed face-down on my bed.

I gripped a bag of frozen peach slices in a towel between my thighs. My arms hugged all my pillows to my chest beneath me, and I buried my head between them to yell my way through this latest contraction. My belly was squeezed into a perfect sphere, peeking out from under my shirt as it hung down to my mattress. The contractions were actually pretty mild, all things considered. They didn’t hurt that bad at all.

However! My body was forcing Milo down hard against my cervix. That pain was far, far worse than the contractions. His head was grinding against a closed exit, but the sheer force was spreading that exit open anyway. The baby was a battering ram and my cervix was a fortress door, splitting apart around its locks and bars with every slam.

“Fuck, I want these stitches out!” I cried into my pillows. “I want them out!”

“Yeah . . . yeah, you can get a refund on the tickets you already bought,” Ray continued on the phone, and on my back. “I’ll book a room for you, don’t worry about that. Just focus on getting here. Bring an overnight bag for each of you and some basics for the baby. I’ll pick you up from the airport, don’t bother with an Uber.”

Tess walked into the room, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hair thrown into a messy bun. “Everything’s in the car,” she said. Her hand squeezed my shoulder until my posture relaxed and I lifted my head from the pillows. “You ready to go have a baby, ‘shug?”

I nodded. Tess helped me to my feet and I waddled down to the car doubled over and holding my belly up. Even without a contraction, the pry and pull on the strings holding my cervix closed was constant. My seam was literally about to pop. I had to recline the passenger seat as far as it could go so I could somewhat lie on my side. My contractions were regular, but very far apart; so, thank god, I didn’t have to deal with any while cramped in the car.

My chest tightened when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. I knew I’d be having the baby here. I’d prepared for it, but thinking about it was so different from doing it. Because of the complications with this pregnancy, I had no choice but to deliver in the same maternity ward I’d walked into years ago. I . . . didn’t like thinking about what I went through in that ward.

Tess came around to my door to help haul me out, but I didn’t move. I stayed on my side, staring at the clouds hovering above the cars – they were painted with the summer sunset.

“‘Ya want me ‘ta get a wheelchair?” Tess asked, leaning on the open car door.

“Yeah,” I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand. “Tess, I don’t wanna go in there. I wanna do this at home.”

Tess looked over her shoulder, scanning the hundreds of windows looming ten stories over us. “Me neither,” she said, then turned and hustled toward the hospital entrance.

At eleven-thirty that night, I found myself sitting on a birthing ball in a stagnant delivery room. The only light was the yellow wall lamp mounted over my bed – anything brighter and my head would pound. A monitor belt was pulled snug around my belly, leashing me to a gaggle of machines beside the bed. An IV bag of pitocin hung from a hooked pole beside me, the tubes trailing down to a needle taped in place on the back of my hand.

I bounced on the ball, my hands braced on Tess’s knees while she sat on the side of the bed in front of me. I felt my torso squeeze and held my breath. The monitor beeped, registering a contraction.

“Blow the pain out,” Tess crooned, ghosting her fingertips up and down my arms.

I grabbed her knees and rotated my hips on the ball. A small “Ack!” bubbled up from my throat before I sucked air in through my nose and forced it out through pursed lips. I blew hard until my lungs went flat, then filled them again and continued the process. Salty water leaked from my shut eyelids and slid in thick droplets down my neck and back. I blew so I wouldn’t scream. I knew I could scream, but I didn’t want to come unglued only a few hours into active labor. Hell, my water hadn’t even broken yet.

I could still be in control of myself, even if this birth was not going according to plan.

I was hoping labor would be smoother after the stitches were out, but they’d only caused more complications. I’d dilated quickly regardless of the sutures, already three centimeters open when the doctor snipped the strings. He’d gotten to me too late, though. The stitches had ripped small tears in my cervix as Milo’s head pulled them apart. The swelling was immense – within minutes I was sealed shut again and my labor stalled. Hence, the pitocin.

The pitocin hijacked my body, forcing it to crush inward on itself like a soda can in a hydraulic press – at a strength and speed beyond what felt natural. I had never felt labor this intensely! I would desperately cling to any self-control I had in that beige nightmare of a room.

“Mmmmh,” I hummed through my nose, my hip swivel morphing back into a bounce as the contraction eased.

“Good job,” Tess grinned at me. “You’re doin’ so good, Fawn.”

I moaned and leaned back, bracing my hands on my hips as I rode that birthing ball like a rodeo star. “Have they landed yet?”

“Doll, they ain’t on the plane yet,” Tess said. “The only direct flight they could book on such short notice leaves at one-fifteen. Ray’ll call us when they take off and when they land.”

“God,” I huffed, my chin falling onto my chest. “They gotta be here. They can’t miss this!”

“Everyone’s doin’ their best and that’s the only thing they can,” Tess said. “It’s only an hour flight. They’ll be here in time, don’tcha worry.”

My hair had grown past my shoulders during my pregnancy, and it was suffocating me. I lifted my auburn curls off my flushed neck to cool down. Tess watched me for a moment before pulling the elastic band from her hair. A cascade of blonde fell down her back, sun-bleached highlights vibrant even in the low light. Without a word she came ‘round and gathered my frizz into her hands. A few flicks of the wrist and she had my hair up in a damp, poofy bun.

Tess kneaded the back of my neck for a while. I rested against her, letting her work my muscles like dough. Milo kicked, causing a dull ‘thump’ on the doppler.

“Fawn,” Tess broke the silence, “there’s nothin’ wrong with askin’ for pain relief.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Doll, I can tell it’s hurtin’ like hell. You’re hooked up ‘ta stuff that could rocket a foal out’a ‘ya.”

“I’m. Fine.”

“Just ‘cause ‘ya managed before doesn’t mean-.”

“I don’t wanna be stuck in that bed!” I cried. “I don’t wanna lay there like a lame horse ‘til they strap me up in stirrups! I’m NOT doing that again!”

I pulled away, using the bed’s railing to lift myself to my feet. My hand wrapped around to support my lower spine, exposed by the untied loops of my hospital gown. Tess picked up the absorbent pad on the birthing ball, folding it over to hide the bright spot of blood where I’d been sitting. I saw it, but it didn’t scare me – I knew it was from all the swelling. She retrieved the pink water cup from the table and let me drink from its straw.

“I had my baby here, too,” she finally spoke. She sat back down on the bed and smoothed her hand over the starchy sheets. “The beds feel the same.”

“Ravi was born here?” I rocked myself from foot-to-foot, holding onto the railing to keep steady. “I didn’t know that.”

“Four years ago as of January,” Tess said with a nod. “I was in here a few months before ‘ya, ‘shug. Who knows? Maybe they had us in the same room.”

God. Had it been four years already? I had a four-year-old somewhere out there and he had never seen my face. What toys did he like to play with? Did he watch the same preschooler shows that Suri and I watched together? What were his favorite foods? I wanted to know all of that. I wanted to know him! I wanted to know the sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair . . . or his name.

A scar somewhere in my chest ripped open and I swear I could feel a black void pouring over my ribs like paint. I held my breath. Tears dripped from the tip of my nose and onto my belly. I was in so much pain, but not from labor. My soul was bleeding – the wound as raw as the day it was carved.

In my mind's eye, I saw myself reaching for my son as the doctor held him up. I saw my arms cradling his little naked body against my chest while he took his first breaths. I saw my lips pressing kisses into his bald, wrinkly scalp while my eyes cried phantom tears onto his skin.

None of that had happened at all – but it should have! I should have been given the chance to say goodbye – to look into his eyes and tell him how much I would always love him, even if he couldn’t see me. No, not even that. He should have stayed my baby! I should have gotten pregnant by a different man – a good man. I should have been on the pill instead of relying on his father’s cheap, oversized condoms that were probably expired. I should have fucked up my life less. I should have made a thousand better choices, so he could have stayed my baby!

I screamed along with the frantic beeping of the monitor, but all physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional. I’d cried through my heartbreak once before, but being back in that damn ward, in an identical room, brought all my grief pouring back out. Tears and liquid snot flowed down my face as I white-knuckled the bed’s railing to keep me upright. I gulped full lungs of air, only to wail and scream and sob until they were empty.

I think Tess knew my tears were from deeper down than they seemed. She leaned close and gently took hold of my contracting sides. Her palms rubbed large, soothing circles into my hardened womb. Her sympathetic eyes never left my face.

“Good girl,” she crooned. My eyes were blurry with salt water, but I thought the skin around her eyes looked red. “Scream it all out.”

“I want my baby, Tess!” I cried. “I . . .” my shoulders jerked with a sob, my diaphragm spasming from lack of air. “I n-never got to ho-hold him!” Another hiccup. “H-He’s going to think I . . . think I didn’t w-want him! But I . . . I wanted h-him so much!”

“Hushhh,” Tess shushed me. She wiped my face with the scratchy hospital blanket. “Hush now, doll. Calm ‘yaself down and get some air in.”

“Okay,” I nodded, still choking on sobs and panting for breath. “Okay . . . okay . . .” The awareness of the contraction began creeping into my brain. “Ohh . . . ohh . . . oh, shit!”

Blinded with tears, I threw my arm out to grab onto Tess. I balled her shirt collar in my hand and restarted my “blow the pain out” technique.

Tess continued massaging the sides of my belly, waiting to speak until she felt my muscles start to uncoil. “Are ‘ya sure you don’t want somethin’? I can call the nurse.”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Able to see again, I realized I hadn’t been wrong. Tess had been crying. My hand released her shirt, and my arm snaked around her shoulders to pull her into a hug.

“Tess . . . I just want you.”

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

Three-thirty in the morning. We hadn’t heard anything from Ray, and even less from the Gillespies.

A nurse had been in to check me twice in the last hour. Milo was still in his comfy water balloon and that seemed to be cushioning him from the extra-strength contractions. I nearly started crying again when they told me his heart rate was fine and I could continue to labor on my own. With how damaged my cervix was – and how many liters of pitocin they’d given me – I’d been terrified of an emergency C-section.

By then I’d lost the use of my legs, but I refused to stay on the bed for more than a few minutes – usually just long enough to pull my knees back and let a nurse stick her fingers inside me. With the help of an orderly who’d come to swap out my IV bag, Tess had taken the mattress off the bed so I could have something soft to lie down on without feeling trapped.

I’d taken to half-lying on the floor with my arms and upper body resting on the birth ball. I couldn’t keep myself quiet during contractions any longer. Making low, rumbling noises like a cow in a ball gag was a must. It was how I was surviving. Between those moments, I was just tired. It was a relief that I couldn’t feel my cervix anymore, but that was likely because it had effaced. My eyes were heavy and full of grit, but the sixty-something seconds I had between contractions didn’t allow me to sleep.

At that point, I was beyond the mental capacity to worry about Silas and Owen. Milo and Tess were the only other people who existed in the world as transition’s brutal hand crushed me in its fist.

In hindsight, I think that’s why I didn’t panic when the pressure set in.

Tess was kneeling on pillows on the other side of the birthing ball, humming a lullaby to relax me between contractions. Her tune tapered to a halt when I shifted my hips, one leg pulling up to my side. “What’cha need, ‘shug?”

“I feel him.” I stated it like a bland fact.

My eyes were closed, but I felt Tess’s hand touch my shoulder. We’d already decided what we’d do if this happened before the Gillespies arrived.

“Alright, doll. It’s alright,” she crooned. “Lemmie come around.”

I heard the soft ‘pap pap pap’ of Tess’s socks traveling in an arch around me on the faux wood floor. Her weight settled on the mattress by my feet.

“Promise I won’t touch,” she said. “I’m just eyes.”

I grunted and rolled my leg outward to open my hips. Oh, I knew that pressure so well by that point. I knew better than to doubt my body. More pitocin mixed with my blood, drip-by-drip, through the needle in my hand. I wasn’t sure if someone should’ve removed it by then, but whatever. I was gonna use it to my advantage.

The monitor around my belly beeped. I pressed my toes down and pushed before I truly felt the pain. Milo kicked the doppler again, like he realized he was finally being evicted. After a solid ten seconds, I relaxed with a nasally whine.

“He’s coming, Tess.”

“I know, doll.” Tess gently nudged my foot to a more grounded position. “Soon as I see ‘im, I’ll call a nurse. Ain’t no one gonna put ‘ya in that bed, I’ll make sure’a that.”

I scooted up more into a half-squat, one arm draped over the ball and the other wrapping around my knee. Chin-to-chest, I used the rest of the contraction to bear down against the familiar sensation of a baby sliding down my passage. I took frequent breaths between my efforts so I wouldn’t get dizzy, panting a small “Uh . . . Uh . . . Uh” with each exhale.

I didn’t need to throw my all into pushing, the contractions were doing most of the work. Maybe that pitocin was a blessing in disguise – I don’t know if I had the energy to make progress without it. Five pushes in, and I felt my inner walls stretch around the baby. My quiet whines and grunts escalated into growls as the pain grew sharper, and I flowered open wider.

“Damn, he’s huge!” I moaned as I eased off my most recent push. Forget “Bat Bean”, the fucking Chicago Bean was coming out of me!

“Remember, you’re pushin’ out the sac, too,” Tess said.

I hugged my hiked-up leg closer to my side, teeth gnashing in my skull as my face turned purple with effort. “Ugh!” I released a small bark of pain during a brief pause, then spent the rest of the push with a low growl in my chest.

My labia brushed the crease of my thigh, the skin bowing out and preparing to stretch. I felt the inner structure of my clit get crushed as the mass of the baby pressed its way down. It was something I’d felt before in the past during childbirth – but never to the extent that it fired electric shocks of nerve pain down both legs. My toes curled as a ghostly, stabbing pain assaulted the arches of my feet.

I relaxed against the ball with a loud huff of air. “Tess, rub the bottoms of my feet,” I begged, my head falling back against inflated rubber. Thank god she did it without question, I was too embarrassed to explain.

Two contractions later, I was mid-push when a gout of hot water splashed onto the mattress. My focus was broken by the release of pressure, and I leaned forward to peer over my belly. A saw an expanding area of wet sheets between my thighs, darkening the color of the mattress as more amniotic fluid drained from me.

“He’s makin’ his way out, doll!” Tess grabbed the blanket and bunched it up around my rear to soak up some of the mess. “You’re openin’ up!”

“Ahh!” The arm holding my knee in place flew down to pry open my leg, fingers pulling at the skin where my thigh met my groin. My body pushed for me and my perineum thinned out and spread over the head as it dropped past my tailbone.

“Fuck, Tess!” I whined, vocal chords straining. “Fuck, he’s hurting me!”

“Take it slow,” Tess said, patting my thigh. “Let it stretch.”

I arched back against the ball as my lips bulged outward with the size of Milo’s head. The arm draped over the ball was numb, but it was the only thing keeping me upright. The room reverberated with a roar I didn’t realize was mine as I felt that all-too-familiar fire blaze to life. My entire world shrank down to that inferno between my legs. The only thought in my head was to push down into it. My fingertips migrated beneath me, pressing against the hellfire in my perineum as the flesh pulled dangerously tight. I was aware Tess got up from the floor, but I was blind and deaf to the world.

The ringing in my ears muffled the sound of the door bursting open. My eyes flew open in surprise as a gloved hand gently nudged my fingers aside and cupped my perineum. A scrubbed nurse knelt in front of me, a mask covering her face from the nose-down – but even then, her eyes smiled at me.

“Good job, Fawn!” the nurse praised me. “Baby’s crowning. You’re nearly done!”

I flinched when someone else took my leg and hiked it up to my side. It was Tess. I finally understood she must’ve run and got help. I thought I heard a cell phone ringing, but no one else reacted to it. I accepted the fact I was hallucinating.

I threw my arm around Tess’s waist, unaware my fingers were coated in blood, and held tight as I pushed again. I gasped deep and screamed as I felt myself make quick progress once the top of his head breached the air.

“Don’t stop, doll. He’s comin’,” Tess said, her lips brushing my scalp.

Sweat stung my eyes, so I kept them squeezed shut. My whole body trembled, my nerves going haywire as Milo surged forward with a massive, unstoppable push. I felt the little bump of his nose traveling through the pouch of my perineum. The nurse palmed the crown of his head, trying to let me stretch easily over his brow.

A loud slam caused everyone to jump, and the bright light of the hallway sent a migraine through my skull. The nurse turned to scold the two men scrambling into the room, but Tess saved the day:

“They’re the parents!” she cried. “They’re stayin’!”

I couldn’t pay attention to anything going on around me. With a roar of effort, I bore down until I heard the wet little ‘shlip’ of Milo’s head pushing free into the nurse’s hand.

“Owen! Silas! Here, now!” Tess ordered.

I heard two more bodies thump to the ground beside the floor bed.

“We’re so sorry, Fawn!” I heard a familiar voice yell – a voice that belonged to a man I’d only ever heard through the static of a screen.

“Later, Owen!” Tess snapped. “Focus on your baby right now! Do not miss this!”

I didn’t care about anything – I knew this baby was on his way out right then and there! Nothing else in my mind or body would function until he’d made his journey earth-side! I clung to Tess, who pressed my leg back wider as Milo’s thick shoulders started to press out of me.

“Push, doll. Push on ‘im hard,” she encouraged me softly, her voice like warm honey.

The nurse began pulling down on the baby, forcing his shoulder to pry my public bone out of place to come through. I don’t quite know what the sound I made was, but it didn’t sound human. The nurse pulled upward, and . . .

“And we have a baby!” the nurse cheered as Milo’s body gushed out onto the mattress. A small trickle of leftover fluid followed his feet.

“Holy shit.“ My whole body relaxed as soon as that relief came.

My eyelids slid open when I heard that little guy make the sweetest newborn cries I’d ever heard. For a big baby, he had a small voice. Thin, blonde baby down was plastered to his scalp, and even while he was all squished and blotchy I could tell he looked like Owen.

“Oh, look how sweet!” the nurse sing-songed while she toweled Milo dry. “Isn’t he a perfect little man?”

A second nurse mysteriously appeared in the background. I peeked around Tess and saw the extra nurse fanning Silas with a laminated paper while he sat slumped against the wall, looking dazed. Owen kept looking at his husband over his shoulder, but his attention was constantly pulled back to his son.

“Oh . . . hey, guys.” I sleepily waved to the fathers. “When did you get here?”

Owen glanced back at Silas, who was rubbing his forehead and seemed to be coming around. “Just in time.”

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

I flipped through the pictures in my phone while I rode home with Tess. Milo and I had stayed in the hospital for a few days for observation. I’d needed a few internal stitches (wow, real shocker there) and they just wanted to keep an eye on Milo because of his troublesome gestation. At first, there was a little bit of concern because of how lethargic he was – but his bloodwork was fine, so I guess he was just a sleepy lad. He wasn’t awake in any of the pictures the Gillespies and I had taken.

There were countless photos of Milo being snuggled by all of us. Ray and Suri had popped in to see me the morning after I gave birth – mostly for Suri’s sake, she’d woken up crying over not being able to find me at home. I had a picture from that morning of Tess holding Milo in the room’s armchair while Ray held Suri up so she could see what my “belly buddy” looked like. Suri somehow looked confused, disgusted and amazed all at once. My favorite picture was the one Tess had taken of me and the family together. I was sitting up in bed and holding Milo while Silas and Owen sat on either side of me. All of us – except Milo, who was asleep with a binky in his mouth – were smiling wide at the camera.

One of the first pictures in my album was of Milo swaddled like a burrito a few hours after he was born, fast asleep in the baby cot beside my bed. His name, weight and time of birth were written on a card taped above his head. Beside that card was the paper cutout of a purple butterfly.

In Silas’s first picture with his miracle baby, he was pale as death but still smiling. He’d needed to sit down for a while after passing out, but he’d held his little boy nearly every minute in that chair. He’d held Milo while they performed his medical tests, only allowing the nurses to take him away for his first bath. In the picture I’d taken after that, Silas was gazing at Milo with all the love in his eyes that a father could give – and Milo was wrapped in a fresh blanket with an embroidered purple butterfly on the corner. The Gillespies had brought that blanket with them.

At first I’d thought the purple butterfly cutout was just a decoration choice the hospital had made; but when Milo’s first gift from his parents had the same image, I’d asked why it was showing up so often. Turns out, that hospital had adopted The Purple Butterfly Project – an initiative that offered support for patients who had lost a child in a set of multiples. The cutout on Milo’s cot was meant to celebrate the life of his “flown-away” twin, as well as make staff members and visitors aware that he was the wingless half of a pair. It took on the burden of explanation, so Silas and Owen could bond with their son without worry.

My phone buzzed with a new message from my clients. It was a selfie Owen had taken of himself and Silas at the airport, with Milo snug in a sling around Silas’s chest. The picture came with the message: “Thank you for blessing us so deeply! We hope the joy you’ve given us will be repaid – with interest! Milo is going to be showered with love every day of his life. You’re more than welcome to keep in touch with our family, Fawn. We’re happy to let you watch Milo grow up with us. Love, Owen and Silas.”

I locked my phone and sat it face-down in my lap. “Hey, Tess?” I asked, watching the road unfurl beyond the windshield as we traveled the rural roads. “When will it be my turn?”

Tess glanced at me. “For what?”

“Being happy,” I deadpanned. “I’ve made three different families happy. You and Ray, the Gillespies . . . and my son’s parents. I just wanna know when my turn is.”

The rest of the car ride passed in total silence. When we parked in front of the farmhouse, Tess turned to look at me while she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Doll, there’s somethin’ I want ‘ya ‘ta see.”

Going upstairs was a herculean task with how stiff and full-body sore I was, but Tess held my hand and walked with me step-by-step. She brought me into the master bedroom and sat me down on her side of the bed. Tess opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a wooden box that was roughly the size of a checkerboard. She plopped down beside me and stared at the box in her lap for a moment before saying:

“I haven’t opened this since we brought it home. I couldn’t. But . . . I think now’s the time.”

I watched as Tess lifted the lid of the box, revealing a carefully folded fleece blanket with pastel stars printed on it.

“What is it?” I asked.

Tess lovingly took the small blanket in her hands and began unfolding it. Beneath the layers of fabric was a blue crystalline teddy bear sculpture holding a silver heart between its paws. Tess picked up the bear and held it in her palm – that’s how small it was.

“This is Ravi,” she said.

Once light hit the silver heart at a different angle, I saw the engraving on it: “Ravi Idris Tariq”, with a single date underneath. Tess turned the bear over in her hands so I could see the second engraving on its back: “I carried you every second of your life.”

“I wrapped ‘im in his blanket,” Tess said, her thumb stroking the bear urn’s head. “It made it feel more like I was puttin’ him down ‘ta sleep instead’a . . . y’know.”

I was too stunned to speak.

Tess set the baby blanket in the box and – tiny urn still in-hand – got up and walked to her closet. A quick rummage, and she returned with a different fleece blanket. This one was pastel rainbow colored and was covered in white stars, an inverse of the other.

“These came as a set,” Tess said. “We donated everythin’ he never got to use, except for this. This one’s special.” She rubbed the blanket on her cheek. “I prayed over this one. I asked Mother Gaia ‘ta allow my baby’s spirit ‘ta be linked to this earthly object, so that I could hold it and it would be the same as holdin’ him.”

Tess re-joined me on the side of the bed, clutching Ravi’s urn to her heart while she cuddled and kissed the rainbow blanket. “I still miss ‘im. I miss ‘im a lot,” she said. “Having this connection to him helps.”

After a minute, Tess set both blankets and the urn inside the wooden box. Then, she took my hands into her own.

“Neither of us got ‘ta hold our little boys,” she said. “Mine was already in the arms of Mother Gaia, and yours was in the arms of his mama before you had the chance. That’s what’cha told us, right?”

I nodded, silent and enraptured. Tess smiled at me.

“Well, when you’re feelin’ more ‘yaself, I’ll teach ‘ya how to use my sewin’ machine,” she said, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “You’ll pick out the fabric and you’ll make a baby blanket. That’ll be his baby blanket, ain’t no one else’s. I’ll ask Mother Gaia ‘ta bless it for ‘ya. When you feel all that love buildin’ up with nowhere to go, hold it. Hold your baby. He’ll be able to feel it, no matter where he is.”

I returned her smile, but my throat was almost too tight for me to speak. “I’d like that.”

We made a small shrine for Ravi’s urn on the mantle that night. Ray and Tess had Suri help set it up, explaining the existence of her elder brother to her in a way she would understand:

“Mama had a baby in her belly just like Fawn did,” Ray said, lifting Suri up so she could drop a few cut flowers from the garden beside the tiny blue bear. “That was before you were born. You were just a twinkle in Mama’s eye back then.”

“Where the baby?” Suri asked as her father plopped her back down.

“This is the baby,” Tess said, tapping on the silver heart between the bear’s paws. “He had ‘ta go back ‘ta Mother Gaia while he was still in my belly. This is where his body sleeps.”

I lit a few jarred candles and placed them on the mantle. From my back pocket, I pulled out the laminated purple butterfly cutout that had been taped to Milo’ cot at the hospital. I placed it upright against the mantle wall, so that two purple wings appeared to be sprouting from Ravi’s bear.

It wasn’t my turn to be happy, yet. I had a long way to go before I could start making my own dreams come true. Maybe school could wait a while. Maybe the money I’d earned throughout my surrogacy could be put to better use.

Maybe I was sick of staying on the path my own stupid choices had led me down. Maybe it was time I started making the choices I’d wished I’d made earlier.

I was tired of living in the shadow of grief Alexander had cast over my life. I’d lost everything because of him . . .

. . . but I was ready to start taking it back.

~ END ~

#Fawn Drabbles #birth kink #labor kink #mittysins #RP Drabble

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catnipaddictt · 9 months ago

Text

Too sweet

wc: 1.9k

series masterlist ⭑ co-creator @memoiich

Anakin's wakes slowly, eyes blinking open at the soft light coming through the half closed curtains. He looks to the side of his bed at the same clock from his childhood bedroom. The red letters read 10am and suddenly he was alert and terribly late. His momentary panic came to a close when he realised what day it was; Friday. Over the years he had worked at MustaCar his talent had gained him a lot of privilege. One of those he was granted was a shorter working week than the other mechanics. Deep down he knew that it was because the shop couldn’t afford to pay him for a full week, but he ignored his suspicions. He technically didn't have to work Fridays, but he always ended up anyway. Even if it was unpaid, he basically owed his entire life to the garage, meaning he could go a day without pay. If he could help out with the other projects, his fellow workers could be paid quicker.

Rolling out of bed, he took a quick shower which was definitely too hot before pulling on his work overalls and heading over to the garage. Upon arrival he made himself a mug of coffee before going to nose at what Ahsoka was doing.

“Girl, you are running late again” Ahsoka sasses at the young man when she sees him. “Sorry queen” he replies without thinking and proceeds to physically cringe. Ahsoka chokes on a laugh before pointing at the engine of the car she is working on. “Can you look please” she asks, batting her eyelashes dramatically. Anakin gives her a look of disapproval before pairing at the car in front of him. He squints while adjusting something. “If you keep looking at things like that, you are going to go blind prematurely” Ahsoka points out only for Anakin to push up his metaphorical glasses.

Someone in the distance yells for a bit of help and Ahsoka dashes off to their rescue, always wanting to be involved. Leaving Anakin alone with the car he twists something and continues to investigate the source of the problem. He is so concentrated that he doesn't notice the fluffy animals perched on the edge of the car as it stalks over. The loth cat brushes its tail over Anakin's face as it walks by slowly, causing the mechanic to spit hair out of his mouth.

Looking up at the creature he sees its eyes piercing into his own face close to his. It makes a sound before butting its head against Anakin's, silently asking for attention. “Why hello there” he says before getting reminded of someone he doesn't want to think about. He reaches out a hand to scratch the loth cat under its chin, making the animal hum in appreciation. Its sandy fur stands out almost the grease and grime of the MustaCar workshop, but it remains untainted by the grit. “What's your name huh?” Anakin asks. Clearly the animal didn't belong to anyone, it was definitely malnourished and in need of shelter.

It made another sound of indifference before rubbing itself over Anakin’s face. “You look hungry, let me see” he rummaged through his pocket before pulling out some sort of processed jerky stick. Un wrapping it, he pulls off a chunk and offers it to the animal, taking his own bite of the stick. The loth cat sniffs at the meat before taking it out of Anakin’s hand happily. He gives it the rest of the stick before looking around at the now empty garage. It must be lunch time. “Hey what's one more friend” he shrugs before picking up the creature gently and carrying it out of the garage.

He hears Ahsoka say something similar to “what in the world” as he walks past the people sipping their coffee. He then sees the main man himself, Palpatine chuckling softly at the sigh before he joins him in walking. “New friend I see?” he says looking at the loth cat which snarls in return. “You could say that,” Anakin replies. “Make sure you take good care of it, it will make a loyal friend” Anakin nods in return. Palpatine leans in and speaks in a hushed voice even though there is nobody in earshot; “These are dark days Anakin, we need all the friends we can get.” And with that he says his goodbyes and walks back to his office. ‘Interesting’ is all Anakin thinks as he makes his way over to his residence.

Unlocking the door, he knees it open before stepping inside and shutting it. He walks over to the small laundry attached to the bathroom, placing the loth cat on top of the washing-machine. He grabs a spare old blanket and a cardboard box, then gets to work. After a few minutes he had constructed a sort of animal bed complete with cushioned blanket. Perfect. He sets it down in the living space, the loth cat following behind him. It sniffs around the room before settling down on its new bed. Home sweet home.

You woke up to the engine of a motor outside of your apartment complex. Knowing it was Saturday and you didn’t have any plans, you rolled back over and tried to fall back asleep. Only to be met with the ringing of your phone. You grabbed your phone only for the Home Screen to flash alive for a second or four and then die. From the second look you got, it clicked, today wasn’t Saturday, it was Friday. Your last workday, Friday.

You rushed out of bed and got ready. Before you could leave, the com rang. All the coms were connected to the downstairs, so you didn’t know who was calling. “Hey, with y/n?” You answered questioningly. “I’m picking you up to go to work” you recognized the voice as Maul’s. You were about to respond but he hung up.

You ran down the stairs. When you got to the parking lot, you saw the red zebrak leaning against his bike, helmet under his arm. “get on” he stated. “Oh no that’s fine, I have got a car now” you answered. You were fiddling with your hands while you answered. “ You don't have to be nervous, plus that beat up thing will get you there late... again" he said with a smirk "my bike will pass the traffic“ he finished it with a wink. “that's nice but I don't have a helmet and I don't want to die“ as the words left your lips, Maul moved to the side revealing a second helmet .

You also got a better look at the moto. It was a Kawasaki ninja 400, which was oddly in red. The helmets were both also red with black detailing, yours also had little horns on top matching mauls. You were looking at those when a question came to mind. “How do you wear a helmet?” Instead of telling you how to, he picked up the helmet and put it on your head Taking extra time and care to click the lock into place.

“Let's get going“ you said, the unexpected touch of Maul was a bit odd but safety first.

Obi Wan's morning was quite peaceful, especially since his last two nights had been horrible. Boga had woken him up a little earlier than normal, she was probably hungry so he gave her food. Qui Gon jinn was going to drive him to work, he had about 2 hours to kill. He took a shower. When he got out, he realised that it had been a while since he trimmed his beard. Obi Wan was astonished by how good it looked afterwards, to be fair he always thought so afterwards.

He got dressed and was surprised by how good he looked. He had always been a bit self conscious but today he felt great. He prepared his work bag and petted boga a little before going outside.

Shaggy rolled up to his front yard near the selling sign. Qui Gon Jinn walked out of the van and pulled obi wan in a hug. “Morning” Obi Wan greeted. Qui Gon and obi wan got into the car.

Qui Gon closed his door and said “are you still in a funk?” Obi wan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the comment. He was referring to yesterday, after Satine's call he just couldn’t quite collect himself. He wasn’t mad and he couldn’t call it jealousy either. “she doesn’t owe you anything you know “ “I know and it isn’t that“ okay he might have been a bit snippy at his friend now. He had made the mistake of telling qui Gon about it and he definitely wasn’t forgetting about it. “plus i think you’re a real catch“ obi wan let out a bit of a giggle. Qui Gon was only a few years older but to Obi Wan he was always more of a dad.

Then an idea popped into his head .”hey Qui Gon, could we pick up y/n ?” Qui Gon gave him that 'oooh' look. “Just as a nice gesture, you know" Obi Wan added way less smoothly than he had hoped. “Of course, of course, only a nice gesture." Qui Gon could not keep from glaring at Obi Wan. He blasted 'weird fishes' just a bit louder as he drove over to her apartment complex.

“TURN THE MUSIC DOWN I NEED TO CALL HER" Obi Wan yelled over Radiohead. He typed in her phone number and called only for it to go to voicemail 3 times. “Maybe you should just go to her com when you get there,” Qui Gon said with a sympathetic look on his face. “I do not need your pity, old man" Obi Wan said back. Qui Gon faked pain for a few seconds before, “alright then” he laughed sadistically and went back to blasting his music.

The mood quickly turned when they pulled up only to see y/n on the back of Maul's black and red Kawasaki, holding onto him for dear life. It was unmistakably his. He even had the same S.A.D sticker on the side.

“I’m sorry” Qui Gon stated after letting out a long sigh. “No you're right Qui Gon, she doesn’t owe me anything" he looked out of the window and for one of the few times in their friendship Qui Gon let him have a moment. He turned down his radio and lined up in the packed traffic. The motorbike was already far ahead.

Maul parked the bike in the parking lot of Paperforce. You stepped off and strangely had to catch your breath. Motorbikes were definitely not for you. It only made you miss Shelby a little more. You should visit her after your day of work. You could also walk there, which was good. That way you could ditch the murder-machine behind you.

Maul reached for your chin and unbuckled the helmet. “You liked that, didn't you?” He asked “ miss my car” was all you could say, you giggled a little and Maul's annoyed face. You weren’t surprised when he just walked off.

You ran up the stairs behind Maul but he didn’t wait. You went to sit down behind your desk in the lobby and were pleased to see that you were on time. However what did surprise you was that Obi Wan wasn't in front of you. You looked around trying to spot him. Yesterday, he was acting a bit different than before so you hoped he was alright.

As if on cue, Obi wan and Qui Gon walked in. “Morning” you greeted. “Good morning to you too" Qui Gon stated “you’re on time” he said. “Maul gave me a lift, but I'm afraid that bikes aren’t quite my thing" you said with a sheepish smile. Obi Wan saw an opportunity, ”would you like to drive home with us?” He finished with a dashing smile. You noted how good he looked today. “I would love to”

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paingoes · 5 months ago

Text

Rubies

Web 2.0

(Content: living weapon whumpee, guilt, conditioning, past abuse, caretaker new master)

Apollo had stayed true to his promise of making the room less sparse. He’d brought down books from upstairs so Delta would have something to do besides staring off into space whenever he locked himself in his room. He’d given him a journal too, which Delta found tremendously suspicious. Delta had a habit of destroying everything he’d ever written just as soon as he had finished. He would continue on in this tradition. Anyone having that kind of direct access to his thoughts terrified him. He was grateful for the books, though.

It was Kitty who offered her old laptop.

“Don’t…look too hard through that,” She said with a nervous smile. She’d done all she could to reset it, but she couldn’t be sure there weren’t still some gems lying around in its SSD.

Delta reflexively recoiled at the offer. There was such a strong impulse in his head to avoid getting caught with the laptop. It carried over now, even when freely offered. She left it on the desk for him. He would only use it in the dead of night, out of pure habit. It didn’t feel the same as it used to. It couldn’t hold his attention for very long.

There was a practical reason to reintroduce it, though. Kitty acted a bit furtive about it; Apollo said they weren’t supposed to be working. That’s what unpaid leave meant. But there wasn’t really anyone else they could kick it off to. They had to go through the archives.

Kitty had already backed up everything he had posted publicly, plus all the exchanges they’d had in private. He’d focused in more once she’d mentioned it, agreeing it needed to be deleted as soon as possible so that there was nothing left to piece together about his alleged death. But there was other information on there that only he had access to, that they now needed to preserve before scrubbing.

katkittykat: ok we also were gonna try and offer u whistleblower immunity

katkittykat: but forget it i know u wont accept it

ndhakdvsnnd: im not a whistleblower

katkittykat: see what did i say

ndhakdvsnnd: can you fuck off

They scrolled through the archived chat logs in dim silence. Kitty was sitting next to him on the floor with the new old laptop up on the coffee table. Neither of them needed to say it. It was weird to go through their old texts while in person.

It wasn’t Kitty’s first time meeting an internet friend. She had done it more times than she could count. Almost all of them had been shyer and more reserved in person, so she had already expected Delta to follow in that trend. But it was clear that what was going on with him is a different beast entirely.

When she turned to look at him, his eyes were cast down again and his head was bowed. Loose strands fell in his face. He removed his hand from the touchpad, letting it rest in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I…shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“Just bants, man.” Kitty elbowed him — not a good idea. He winced, the pain reigniting in the handprint-shaped bruise around his upper arm.

“It was disrespectful.” He closed his eyes. It was guilt — not fear — that was audible in his voice.

“I’ve never done anything respectable,” she joked.

He opened his eyes to meet her own. His expression was wholly disbelieving. It wasn’t a joke to him. She remembered how sincerely he’d spoken the other day. Thank you for saving me. She’d tried to brush it off, but her heart had hurt badly afterwards. It hurt again now.

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” She had to resist the urge to squeeze his shoulder the way she would with her other friends; she saw how he had flinched whenever she touched him. Thankfully, he didn’t mention it again.

The loading icon went around and around as the account was deleted. Just as soon as it stopped, the home page of the forum appeared. In bold letters, it read Sign Up.

“You gonna make a new account?” She asked.

“Do you think I should?” His hand hovered over the button.

“I dunno. You were active way before you started posting all the leaks. I thought you were having a good time with it,” she paused, “Guess it might be kind of touchy now though?”

It did make him really anxious to be on the computer. It made him feel too much like he was about to be caught out, as little sense as it made. He started to shrug, then stopped himself. Disrespectful.

“Yes, miss,” he agreed, “It’s…touchy.”

That was putting it mildly, but he had no desire to say more. He pocketed the thought, though. He probably would get back online later. It just felt like too much to do it now, without her explicit guidance. The thought alone was starting to overwhelm him. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Can I go back in my room, miss?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Yeah, whatever. You don’t have to ask.” She tried to reassure him. He’d gotten scared at some point; she could see it in the way he held himself. She didn’t really want for him to go off to deal with it alone, but she wasn’t going to force him to stay. She watched as he disappeared behind the door. He’d left the laptop behind. She shut it for him, then stretched upwards, climbing up onto the couch.

=======

“Does he talk to you?” Apollo would later ask her. He added, a bit dejectedly, “He doesn’t talk to me.”

“Nah.” She shook her head.

“Well, it’s still early,” Apollo started arguing with himself when she wouldn’t, “I guess he’s still scared. I’m not sure what I can say to him that isn’t going to sound trite. He always hated it when I tried say stuff like that to him over text. So defensive. I don’t know if it’ll go over better or worse now.”

She could tell he’d been thinking about it often. Fussing came so naturally to him. She’d liked it a lot when they were a little younger, when she was even crazier and badly needed someone to try and reel her back in. It isn’t lost on her that Delta has the exact opposite problem, that Apollo’s delimiting nature could have the opposite effect. He badly wanted for things to be clean.

“You shouldn’t take it purrsonally.” The pun slipped into her voice even when she was trying to be serious.

“I know,” he agreed, “I…don’t think he was allowed to talk before. It’s rude to speculate. I don’t want to be presumptuous. But.”

He threw his hands up at the wrists, not finishing the sentence. There was nothing to do but speculate. It was clear enough Delta had not been treated well; the bruises spoke for themselves. But the particulars of his behavior were a kind of puzzle box. He offered no key for it.

Galatea had dealt with Empire’s lot before, both refugees and defectors. Apollo had met many of them personally. There was always a stilted manner in which they spoke. The customs of Empire still remained enigmatic to all those living outside of it. Apollo had no way of telling how much of Delta’s behavior was just a cultural difference — or even a linguistic one — and how much of it was something deeper. He could not tell how much of it was motivated by fear or confusion or simple exhaustion. How much of it was what he wanted vs what he thought he was supposed to do. Apollo wished desperately for some kind of candor between them. Still, he understood that it would be asking a lot of him at that point. He sighed.

========

The knock was soft and rhythmic. Delta jumped, immediately moving to hide the laptop beneath his blanket. It wasn’t as good as beneath the mattress, but decent enough on short notice. He mechanically slid off the bed, dropping onto his knees at the foot of it. The door did not open.

“Can I come in?” It was Apollo’s voice on the other side. Yes, obviously. It wasn’t locked.

“Yes, sir,” Delta answered anyway.

Apollo pushed the door open. His eyes widened a little to see Delta kneeling, but he did not show the same visible alarm that he had before. He slid the door shut behind him, leaning back against it.

“I thought it might be good for us to talk,” Apollo said. He tried to read Delta’s body language, but it did not shift by much. Deliberately controlled. He didn’t answer, staring up at Apollo with huge eyes, patient and expectant. Apollo pushed himself on. It was trite, but if there really was any confusion about Delta’s position, it wouldn’t be right to leave him hanging.

“You can sit. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Levon told you he wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t he? And you know that me and Kitty won’t either? You don’t have to be scared of us. You’re safe here.”

Delta didn’t move off of the ground. His head had lowered a little bit, as if he was being scolded. He didn’t take his eyes off of Apollo.

Apollo squatted down onto his heels, trying to get to Delta’s level.

“Are you scared?” He asked.

“…Yes, sir.” Delta nodded slowly.

“Okay,” Apollo nodded too, rubbing his chin, “That’s okay. Can I ask why?”

Delta’s wrung his hands anxiously; it was a childhood habit, one he’d mostly gotten out of by the time he’d graduated. It’d returned with a vengeance.

“I don’t know.” He said shamefully. “Sir. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay. I just wanted to check in on how you’re feeling. I can’t tell a lot of the time. You know you can talk to me or Kitty if you’re upset, right? We want you to be comfortable here. You can tell us if something is wrong.”

Apollo doubted it even as he said it. It seemed unlikely that Delta would come to them for anything, that he might not be physically capable of it at this point. But if he introduced the idea early — and reminded him often — it might start to sink in. For the time being, Delta did not respond.

“I’m assuming the kneeling is a habit, right?” Apollo ventured. Delta seemed a bit alarmed at the suggestion.

“It’s just to be respectful. Sir.” Delta explained in a quiet voice.

He considered this. It might’ve been easier if it was just muscle memory, not a deliberate effort on Delta’s part. The mindset would be harder to get him out of. But Apollo was very glad that Delta had been willing to explain his reasoning to him. It was a good sign.

“Okay. You don’t have to,” He stated very clearly, “You can stand up. We won’t think it’s disrespectful. No one else will, either. You don’t have to do it.”

Again, not much changed in Delta’s expression. He offered the same quiet noise of affirmation, not voicing anything else.

“Do you have any questions?” Apollo cursed himself for not asking sooner. But Delta didn’t take advantage of the opportunity the way he had hoped.

“No, sir.” Delta folded his hands in his lap. He’d answered too soon. Apollo wondered if the question had come across as bullying. He got the sense he was starting to push too far out of Delta’s comfort zone.

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything. Like I said, you can talk to us whenever. We’re right out here.” He stood up, feeling a little bad that Delta was still kneeling. He started to close the door.

He heard a soft “Thank you” just before it clicked shut.

…………

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat

#whump #whump community #whump scenario #whump prompt #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #whump writing #caretaker new master #conditioning #past abuse #rubies #delta #kitty #apollo #guilt

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Text

I did another chapter!!

Ooooh this whole productivity thing is so wonderful. sighhh

And awaaaay we goo—

OPLA!Mihawk x OC

Previous Chapter Link

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Chapter 5: Eavesdropping

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

All remained still and silent aboard the small vessel for a long, tense moment—and then Mihawk heard the girl sigh, heard a shift in the fabric of her clothing as she stood, the heavy footfalls of her boots as she set to undocking the boat. That was decidedly better, even if she was making a show of it. He listened in silence for several seconds, and she worked without saying a word, though clearly being aggressive in her movements and actions with the intention of conveying her agitation.

He only spoke up when he heard her raise the sail.

“I suppose you must have a name?”

She gave a snort from somewhere behind him as she steered the vessel slowly away from the dock. “How gentlemanly,” she said coolly. “Order me around and then ask if I have a name.”

“I do think it appropriate that I know the name of my servant.”

“Oh, servant,” she said, clearly taking offense. “I personally prefer ‘employee.’ Unpaid or not, I am essentially working off a debt.”

“Indentured servant, then.” He found himself smirking the slightest bit at the noise of disgust she made at that.

“Because that sounds so much better,” she grumbled under her breath. Then, with a resigned sigh, she spoke up, her voice still laced with sarcasm. “Well then, Karimi Lionne, at your service, sir.” Lionne. Something about that name struck him familiar for a moment—but it was fleeting enough for him to let it go for the time. “Shall we draw up a formal contract? It is a business arrangement.”

Mihawk gave a quiet hum, his mouth turning down in a thoughtful from. Sarcasm aside, that wasn’t the worst idea. It would ensure that she couldn’t find some loophole that would allow her to bolt before her time was up. “Fine,” he said finally. He shifted in his seat, looking over his shoulder at her, around the back of his seat, as she peered down at a compass and adjusted the position of the sails. “We will. Once I’ve concluded my business with Vice Admiral Garp, we will make port at Syrup Village. I’m sure there’s a tavern with a private parlor or inn that could be made use of for the task.”

“There is,” she said. “Saw one or two while I was there with…” She jerked her head toward the ship she had just left. “There we are…” she added, glancing from her compass to the horizon ahead, toward the haze of heavy fog spread out across the ocean before them. “Due north-east.” And with that, she took a seat on the deck once more and leaned back against the railing, laying her head back and tilting her hat down over her green eyes. “Only took us a few hours to get from Syrup Village to Baratie. As long as the wind holds we should be nearing the docks around noon.”

It was clearly no lie that she had some degree of experience sailing. That was somewhat reassuring. Though she claimed to have been working as a mercenary for six years, Mihawk had certainly never heard of her; though perhaps that wasn’t too great a surprise, if she had spent that stretch of time operating solely in the East Blue. It had been quite some time since the warlord had left the Grand Line. Still, she appeared quite young to be as seasoned as she claimed, even if her work had been solely in the calmest of the four Blue seas. His eyes scanned over her briefly.

“Exactly how old are you?”

“Twenty-four,” she said shortly, clearly intent on not being disturbed—though that wasn’t exactly her choice.

“Twenty-four,” he repeated slowly, his eyes scanning over her. He scoffed a little. She looked younger, but he would give her the benefit of the doubt for now; a great deal of that had simply to do with her small stature alone. “You’ve been working as a mercenary since you were eighteen and haven’t acquired a bounty?”

“I don’t take jobs that involve Marines or the World Government,” she said, her tone just as short, not bothering to lift her tattered tricorne from over her eyes. “I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.”

“And yet you planned to steal a map of the Grand Line from the base in Shell’s Town.” Karimi gave a short sigh at that accusation, and didn’t bother asking how he was aware of it—she didn’t even bother using her devil fruit powers. There was no doubt that Usopp had blabbed the vast majority of what he knew of the entire crew’s personal business amid his drunken ramblings at Baratie. “That’s quite the abrupt change of heart.”

“It is,” she agreed. She hadn’t even really wanted to accept the job, but the offer had been too great to refuse—Buggy had claimed to have information on her father, information that he wasn’t calling to the forefront of his mind because he had heard about her devil fruit powers from other crews she had worked with. She had been able to ascertain one thing from the clown captain’s passing thoughts—that he had, at one point in time or other, known both her father and Red-Haired Shanks personally. She shook her head a little. “Special circumstances. Some things are worth more than money.”

“And what is it you’re seeking, then?” The warlord’s tone remained a bit bored, and particularly haughty…but she could hear some degree of genuine interest dawning in it. “Six years avoiding Marines and then you’re willing to dive headlong into one of their bases? Sounds like the reward must have been quite valuable.”

“Yes, well, it turned out he was lying, anyway,” she said, dodging the first half of the question; that was her business and her business alone. She stretched out her legs across the deck, tucking her hands behind her neck. “I’d probably have killed him if Luffy hadn’t insisted on taking pity. Just toss the bastard one piece at a time into the ocean and watch him sink.” She sighed slowly. “Might have done anyway if I hadn’t needed transportation.”

He was quiet for a long moment at that, before giving a thoughtful hum. “You at least sound the part of a hired gun—or blade,” he commented —and left it at that, leaving Karimi for the time in peace and silence, broken only by the sound of the sails fluttering and the waves rolling around the sides of the small craft.

Karimi lifted her hat every now and again to check her compass; stood once or twice to make small adjustments to their direction. There were no visible landmarks amid the thick fogbank, and for them to veer off course for any amount of time could double the length what should have been a relatively brief journey. She was well aware of Mihawk keeping watch on her from the corner of his sharp gaze, no doubt silently assessing her abilities. There hadn’t yet been any formal contract written or signed. Until it was in writing, the man could go back on his word at his whim and either finish what he had started with Zoro, or simply do away with her if she didn’t seem she would be of any use to him. She had to be careful in that respect, to ensure that he could see she knew what she was doing.

At worst, he could leave her with the Marines aboard the ship they were heading toward, and the thought of that made her stomach churn and a chill creep through her whole body.

Time seemed to drag on in the seemingly endless expanse of fog—when they finally emerged, the sun was nearly at high noon, and Vice Admiral Garp’s ship was clear as day against the backdrop of Syrup village, anchored not far from the islands. The closer they drew Hitsugibune to the much larger vessel, the more tense Karimi seemed to grow. As much as Mihawk would have loved to see how the girl would react to being made to board the ship, to see if she could keep her wits and resolve about her, now wasn’t the time. It wouldn’t do for any Marines, much less a vice admiral, to know he was even considering taking any sort of associate.

So as he tethered the craft off to the Marine ship himself, he glanced down at the girl where she leaned against the side of the deck, staring out toward Syrup Village.

“You will remain here.” She lifted her eyebrows at that, glancing toward him and meeting his eyes. “You will remain silent. I would also like you to utilize your…unique abilities for the purpose of reconnaissance. I wish to know what the hell was going through the vice admiral’s head when he saw fit to send me on this farce of a mission.”

“I’ll be able to hear your thoughts, too,” she said, eyebrows still raised, and he lifted his own.

“Is that a threat?” he said slowly—and you scoffed.

“No, it’s how it works,” she said, resting her hands at the railing behind her, pulling herself up to sit upon it. “I can’t just turn it on and off for individual people. It’s either everyone or no one.”

Mihawk observed her for a moment, trying to decide whether she was being truthful or not. Finally he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Then keep it off. But that will be something I expect you to work on. Any ability can be honed and sharpened. Yours are no exception.”

She gave a lazy sort of salute. “Can do.”

For as smart as her mouth was, she at least seemed compliant at taking instruction. That, if nothing else, went in her favor.

“Remain here, remain silent,” he repeated once more, before boarding the Marine vessel.

Karimi did as she was told, taking a seat on the deck at the opposite side of the craft against the side of the throne at its center, obscuring her from anyone that might glance over the edge of the Marines’ ship and notice Hitsugibune. Still, silent, out of sight; she was sure that stealth had played a great deal in her avoiding accruing a bounty over the past half a decade, as it went hand in hand with the set of abilities she was typically sought after for.

But she did do one thing she had been told not to—she closed her eyes, expelling a deep sigh, and released the barrier of her haki.

She clenched her eyes shut a bit tighter; the chatter of the more than fifty Marines aboard the massive ship was almost deafening at first. There were only two voices that she would recognize among them, and she quickly found Mihawk’s. They were moored as close as they could be to the Vice Admiral’s own cabin, and he was able to enter without any notice. Lay his sword across the desk and sink back into the chair there, propping his feet up.

Waiting, eyes glued to the door, sure that Garp would be around before long.

And Karimi found Garp’s voice relatively nearby, on the quarterdeck with a young cadet named Koby that he seemed to have taken under his wing—the cadet Luffy had saved from servitude aboard a pirate ship and accompanied to Marine Town.

And Garp was aware of it. Now that was interesting.

Garp’s mind briefly went silent as he and Koby stopped just inside the double doors of his cabin and caught sight of Mihawk.

“Mihawk,” he said after a moment. He paused a moment, his thoughts a bit of a jumbled swirl, before choosing to respond to the surprise with sarcasm. “Nice of you to announce yourself.”

“I thought this was a conversation we might have privately.”

Garp didn’t take his eyes off of Mihawk for a single moment, even as he addressed Koby behind him.

“Dismissed, cadet.”

“Aye, sir.”

And Koby did leave, pulling the double doors shut behind them…but in his curiosity, he lingered, crouched behind the door. Listening—terrified, but resolute in his intent on learning more, on learning exactly why a Vice Admiral, a man with Garp’s standing and authority, was so bent on bringing someone like Luffy to justice. Karimi found herself distracted by the young cadet’s thoughts for a moment, his torn opinions over Luffy; a pirate, yes, and therefore his enemy…but at the same time, his friend, who had saved him from a life under the thumb of Captain Alvida’s cruelty.

“So where is he? Where’s Luffy?” asked Garp after a brief pause.

“At the moment, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I decided to let him go.” Karimi did her best to keep her attention trained on Garp—little as she liked the warlord, Mihawk had expressed clear disapproval at the idea of having her listen in on his thoughts. It was an invasion of privacy that she wouldn’t have wanted directed on her, and she preferred to extend the courtesy to anyone who found the idea of it uncomfortable.

Garp definitely wasn’t pleased with the audacity of the warlord, showing up in his cabin unannounced, sitting behind his desk as if he owned the place.

“I specifically told you to bring him to me.”

“Come now, Vice Admiral. I don’t take orders.” And Mihawk’s condescending tone was doing nothing to stay the growing anger of the Marine. “Not even from the likes of you.”

“As one of the Seven Warlords, you serve at the pleasure of the World Government. Without our immunity—”

“I would still do precisely what I want. No more and no less. And what I want is to see what becomes of that young man when he enters the Grand Line.”

Hardly able to believe what he was hearing, Garp just gave a scoff, shaking his head as Mihawk pulled his boots down from the desk and stood. He knew damned well that Mihawk wasn’t wrong. He knew that had there been any possibility of bringing the dangerous swordsman to justice, he would never have been offered a position among the seven warlords in the first place. Infuriating as it was, he was right.

“I won’t let that happen,” said Garp finally.

And yet there was a small voice, buried deep, that said he might let it happen. He might just let Luffy sail right by and head for the Grand Line. Karimi’s lips tugged down into a thoughtful frown at that.

“Then you have your work cut out for you, Vice-Admiral, because that boy is interesting.” Garp watched Mihawk lift his sword from the desk, securing it to his back again as he slowly approached the older man. “Who knows? Maybe your grandson will be the one to find the One Piece after all.”

The men exchanged a glare—though Garp was immediately wondering to himself how Mihawk had come to learn of his familial ties to Luffy.

And a thought struck him.

One single word—no, one single name.

One that had Karimi immediately focusing her haki again, her eyes flying open.

Her name. Her name had passed through Garp’s mind.

“Nope,” she said under her breath, swallowing, her heart suddenly racing a great deal faster. She had no doubt that Garp had seen her aboard the Merry during his attack. Little doubt that he might have recognized her as the fourteen year old girl he and his men had found amid the ruined wreckage of a small village on the Grand Line ten years ago, in the aftermath of a vicious attack by one of his own deeply unhinged comrades—

“No,” she said again, through her teeth, pushing the thought away before it could form, shoving the memory down somewhere dark and deep, somewhere that she intended for it to stay.

She had hoped that perhaps she might find something, might hear something that would increase her value in the eyes of her surly employer, but that was too much. Garp could let his thoughts return to that travesty, to the massacre of her home, her friends, her family, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, not even for a moment.

She remained still and silent as she heard Mihawk drop back down onto the deck of Hitsugibune. Remained hidden around the other side of the throne-like seat situated beneath the mast as he set the sails and sat down heavily again, crossing one of his ankles across his opposite leg. He leaned his elbow into the arm of the seat, glancing down at her.

“I take it no one noticed you?” Karimi shook her head. “Good.”

His tone was short, clearly no less pleased with the outcome of the brief meeting than Garp, and didn’t speak up again as the boat sailed toward the docks of Syrup Village.

Karimi, however, did—after several minutes of silence, not moving from where she was sitting, her arms crossed over her knees as she leaned back against the side of the throne, she forced out two quiet words.

“I listened.”

More silence, for several long seconds—and then an irritated sigh.

“And?”

“The cadet was eavesdropping.”

“Obviously,” he said.

“Friend of Luffy’s,” she went on.

“Seems the boy has managed to make quite a few in his brief stint as a ‘pirate,’” he commented, and gave a small scoff. “And is Garp aware of this?” She nodded shortly. There was another brief pause, and he sounded just a bit more intrigued when he spoke again. “How likely is this cadet to defect and side with his friend over his employer?”

Karimi shrugged a shoulder. “I was listening to Garp more than him. I…can hone in on one person at a time. It doesn’t entirely mute everyone else in the vicinity, but it muffles them a bit. Like listening to one person speak in a crowded room. I can still hear everyone else, but I can focus on one at a time.” He gave a brief, thoughtful hum. “The cadet’s name is Koby. From what I gathered he was aboard the ship of a pirate called Alvida as a cabin boy, and not of his own choosing. Luffy saved him, encouraged him to follow his dreams and enlist as a Marine. He still considers Luffy a friend but he has a strong sense of duty, which has led Garp to take him under his wing.”

“And Garp?” he asked. “What of his relationship with his grandson?”

Karimi shook her head, and laughed a little. “I briefly caught that he…might just let Luffy enter the Grand Line. He pushed the thought away pretty quickly, but it definitely crossed his mind.” She laid her head back, gazing up toward the few fluffy white clouds trailing across the cyan expanse of the sky overhead. “He’s an interesting kid.” A small laugh escaped her. “Has his own ideas of what a pirate’s supposed to be. He’s not in it for money or glory, he just wants the adventure. Live it a day at a time and encourage everyone around him to do the same. Just let go and follow your dreams. It’s sort of hard not to root for him.”

Perhaps she was pushing her luck a bit, but she turned her head enough to look back at Mihawk, from the corner of her vision, watching as he frowned thoughtfully himself.

“You said you wanted to see what happens when he enters the Grand Line,” she said. His eyes shifted down to her. “Why?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Were you not listening the entire time?” he said, a bit dryly.

She rolled her eyes away from his gaze. “You made clear you don’t want me listening to your thoughts. I did my best to tune them out and keep my focus on Garp.”

“Did you?” She hummed in affirmation. She tensed when she felt his hand brush her hair around behind her shoulder, drawing in a slow, deep breath as she steadied her nerves. “And why should I believe you, little bird?” he said, sounding amused at her claim.

Karimi swallowed, her gaze falling to her knees. “It’s your choice whether you do or not,” she said simply. “But if someone expresses that they prefer I not use my devil fruit power on them, I do my best not to. I appreciate my privacy and I respect the privacy of others. It’s why I trained in Armament Haki in the first place. I focus it here.” She lifted her hands and pressed the pads of her index fingers behind either of her ears, perhaps an inch above her earlobes. She then tilted her head, pulling her hat off and lifting her hair on one side to reveal the small, black circle there, barely a pinprick that could have been mistaken for a birthmark at a glance. “At two points, with a line drawn between them. Shuts it off entirely.”

“Hmm.” She swallowed again, closing her eyes as she felt his fingertip brush across the point, before shaking her hair back down over her shoulder and pulling her tricorne back onto her head. “And how exactly did you figure out that would work?”

“My grandmother did. Years ago.” She crossed her arms over her knees. “I just do what she did.”

Karimi’s tone was quickly becoming short again—it seemed her personal history might have been a source of discomfort for her. Mihawk frowned down at her, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Perhaps she was telling the truth, and perhaps she wasn’t. Either way, the enigma of the young woman and her powers did have his interest piqued. She had garnered quite a bit of insight into Garp’s relationship with his grandson during an exchange that hadn’t lasted five minutes, and she was at least adept enough with haki to switch her own devil fruit abilities on and off at will.

At the least, she did have the makings of a useful tool—and at best, she could prove to be an incredibly powerful weapon. She had said it so herself only last night, when she laid out her offer of servitude.

There was no weapon more dangerous than information.

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

#opla #one piece #dracule mihawk #mihawk #mihawk opla #mihawk one piece #one piece fanfiction #opla fanfiction #mihawk x oc

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theskeletonprior · 1 month ago

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Write Time: Day Sixteen

This month, my goal is a cool 30 000 words written. I’ll be carrying on with more RAVENOT. If you’re curious, you can take a look at my WIP intro right here. And if you’re really keen, you can read the first chapter (sort of a pilot as I toil) right here! Now onto the daily ramble.

I'm still a bit cloudy-headed today, and I'm far behind my count after the last couple of days. Weekends are the hardest for me because I have so much travelling to do to get to my job. Things are going well at work, and I think there's a lot of opportunity for things to get even better, but it's slow going and that makes it hard to resist the fear that I've made a mistake, sometimes. My mind pulls in a lot of different directions, and it can be hard to find focus, and hard to prioritize. It's harder, too, when a lot of the things I'm doing aren't going to have an immediate yield. The dead-end jobs I've been working did have that going for them--the hours weren't predictable, but the money was consistent. DMing, some of the money is consistent, but it's taking time to build the network I'll need to be really successful. It gets in my head sometimes that I may think I can do this thing, but I'm wrong, and I'm actually just wasting time and money. And writing? Forget about it. The sheer amount of unpaid labour writing a book requires can be an overwhelming thing to think about. But I am going to write these books, and I am going to keep working on my DMing, and hopefully for once in my life being stubborn and working hard will actually pay off. And I must admit, despite the pressure that I feel, I do like it more. There's just a lot at stake, and that's sometimes intimidating. I never feel like I'm doing enough, and I'm not sure how to stop carrying that feeling around. Anyway, I'll keep after it. And now, this. Sometimes cute things happen in my stories.

“Once we’ve had our look at the wall, I can go to Yarrowling for you. I ought to tell her about the woods and look in on Tanabel while I’m at it.” Hadan fiddled with the strap on his quiver. "That’s good of you, Hadan.” Dia smiled again, and that made him feel a little lighter. “I’ll have to owe you one.” Suddenly he was on the wall again, looking at the dark silhouette of the Unmade, thinking this might be the terrifying end of his short life. And hadn't he had so much to live for? Hadn't he known right down to the soles of his boots that he was going to fight to get back to those things? "A dance," Hadan said, quickly, as if his tongue might try to stop him if he didn't get it out fast enough. "I'd like a dance, sometime." He could feel the heat rising all the way into his ears when he saw that open, beautiful surprise on Dia's face. "You-don't-have-to-say-yes!" Hadan buried his face in his hands, spinning on his heel to turn his back, wondering all the while who had made him this way. What kind of joker had written this into the fabric of the universe? What cackling trickster had brought him to this terrible moment of mistimed bravery? "Oh, forget I said that," he groaned, muffled behind his hands. "You sure?" Dia's voice was sparkling with mirth. "Was going to say yes." Hadan whipped around to look at her, his heart thudding in his ears so loudly it felt like he'd have trouble hearing himself when he opened his mouth to speak. "Really?" His voice got wretchedly squeaky in moments of stress, and this was no exception. "It's just a dance," Dia said with a grin. "I think I can handle it, though I'm starting to get a little worried about you, honestly. Just have to hope your heart can take it."

Until next time!

Taglist: @alexanderflowerbird @void-botanist @carmillasboywife @ceph-the-ghost-writer @wintherlywords

As always, let me know if you’d like to join or leave the taglist, and I’ll act accordingly. You can reply right on this post, if you’d like. Divider by @/strangergraphics, from this set: here. Thank you!

#Write Time November 2024 #wip: ravenot

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years ago

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something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)

Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he's off limits, and not just because Mark's niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark's 20.

To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark's like, he finds he might be in over his head.

Chapter 1 | next mlist

Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout

Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au

Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun

Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark), alcohol mentions, poor decision making perhaps

Rating: Teen And Up (for this chapter)

Length: 3.1k

mandatory disclaimer: I'm not trying to romanticize or condone real-life age gap relationships because of the inherent power imbalance, blah blah, I'm writing this for fun and if you don't think you'll have fun go ahead and leave now, etc.

Mark drums his fingers against the cold metal pole as the bus lurches to a stop. He checks the time on his phone—5:25 p.m. He should just make it, unless this prehistoric bus takes any longer to open its doors.

After what he swears is a full minute of ominous creaking, Mark steps out into the muggy air. It’s still only the beginning of June, but already this summer seems like it’s going to be absolutely scorching. Mark supposes he’ll be doing a lot of swimming.

He crosses the street and heads up the sidewalk to the cluster of buildings beyond a small, uneven parking lot, squinting to make out the sign. Little Hands Musical Academy. It’s smaller than he imagined, somehow, but kind of quaint.

A receptionist greets him when he enters the lobby. Though the outside of the building is a bit understated, the inside is clean and bright. Mark says hello back to the receptionist, looking around as he steps up to the counter.

“Uh, I’m here for Lucy Lee?” he says tentatively. “I’m Mark Lee, I’m her uncle. My brother said he put me on the, um, the list?”

The receptionist nods with a smile, typing something in and then looks up. “Could I just see some ID please?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, one sec,” Mark stutters, fumbling for his wallet. He hands the receptionist his passport, feeling a little silly as she leafs through to the right page.

It’s all a little silly, really—that Mark is even picking Lucy up in the first place. He can’t drive, which is mostly fine since James’ house isn’t that far, only like ten minutes on the bus and a few blocks of walking, but Mark thinks if James and Annie are that worried about safety, having an irresponsible, driver’s licenseless twenty-year-old come fetch their only child is hardly helpful.

Still, they asked, and they also bought Mark a new AC unit after his old one finally kicked the bucket the very first day it was over eighty degrees, so here he is. James doesn’t get off work until 5:30, which is the pickup time, and though Annie works from home and can come drop Lucy off in the afternoon, she said she’d rather get a head start on dinner in the evening. And Mark’s internship lets him go at 5. So maybe it is kinda helpful, as long as Mark doesn’t lose his three-and-a-half year old niece on public transport.

“You’re all set,” the receptionist says, handing Mark’s passport back to him. “It’s the classroom at the end of the hall. A lot of parents are already here, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” Mark says, putting his passport away and heading out of the lobby towards the back of the building.

There are many parents gathered outside the large window that looks into the classroom from the hall. Mark sidles up next to the group and spots Lucy’s pigtails instantly. She’s plunking away on a tiny keyboard. As Mark watches, the teacher—at least, Mark assumes he’s the teacher; he’s the only adult in the room—strolls by and pauses to say something to her. Mark can’t hear anything, but when the teacher walks away, Lucy is wearing a big grin.

After a couple more minutes, the teacher opens the door and gestures for the parents to file in. Mark gets his first good look at the teacher’s face and swallows. He’s hot. He’s also definitely a little older—forget Mark, he’s visibly older than James. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s fucking pretty, with handsome dimples appearing every time his expression leans towards a smile.

Mark is so busy staring that he ends up last in line, but it turns out to be a good thing because the teacher stops him at the door.

“Sorry, would you mind if I just checked your ID really quick?” His eyes are a warm brown, Mark’s brain notes unhelpfully. “I’m sure you already got cleared by the front desk, but—I just like to make sure, you know?”

“Oh, totally, no problem,” Mark says, once again struggling to extract his wallet.

“Come with me, I have the list over here,” the teacher says, waving Mark into the classroom.

“Mark-samchon!” Lucy zeroes in on him right away and totters over, pigtails flouncing with each step. “I played the piano today.”

“I saw,” Mark says, grinning at her. “Hang on, your teacher just needs to check that I really am your uncle and not a bad guy, and your Appa really did say it was okay for me to pick you up.”

“But he really is my uncle, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim,” Lucy says to her teacher.

Jaehyun, apparently, has produced his list. He gives Lucy an amused smile. “I think I’ll be the judge of that,” he replies. “Can’t let my students walk out with just anybody. Thank you,” he adds to Mark, accepting the offered passport. After a second, he hands it back. “All set,” he says. “Sorry again about the trouble, it’s nothing personal.”

“No worries!” Mark says swiftly, filing his passport away and pocketing his wallet again. “It’s cool that you’re looking out for them.”

Jaehyun gives him a somewhat wry smile, nodding. “I try,” he replies. “Well, see you in a couple days, Lucy! We’re doing percussion next time, you don’t wanna miss it.”

“I like the shaky ones,” Lucy tells Mark very seriously.

Mark’s pretty sure she means stuff like maracas. “Yeah, those are pretty neat, huh?” He holds out his hand to her and she takes it. “Thanks—ah, Jaehyun-seonsaengnim, right?” Mark’s never sure about honorifics in a mixed setting like this—they’re mostly speaking in English, and they are in America, but the area they’re in is really Korean, so he just goes for the way Lucy called him and hopes Jaehyun will correct him.

He’s right. Jaehyun’s smile turns warmer. “Just Jaehyun is fine,” he says. “It was nice to meet you, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach flops. “You too,” he replies, then hurries out of the classroom before he does something stupid like trying to flirt in front of his niece.

Mark lets Lucy chatter about class as he walks them down to the bus stop. He wants to be paying closer attention to what she’s saying, but his mind keeps drifting back to her handsome music teacher. Jaehyun. It’s not like he needed a reason to do his brother a favor—and besides, Lucy’s reason enough—but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.

They get home in one piece. James stops working to play with Lucy and Annie tells Mark to stay for dinner. Mark’ll take a good, free meal with his family over a shitty expensive one alone in his apartment any day, so he stays and helps with the dishes, too. They send him off with leftovers, and Mark can hear Lucy’s laughter all the way down the street as he skips backwards, waving at her until the front porch of his brother’s house disappears behind a line of trees.

He sighs, slowing to a walk as he turns to face forward, dropping his hand to his side. In some ways, he wishes he was like his brother. Found his person early, finished school, got a good job, settled right down and started having kids. A life that’s small and perfect, full of little excitements and little joys.

But Mark’s not like that. He readjusts his grip on the leftovers, leaving thoughts of his family behind him as he focuses his attention on tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. He’ll have the time for excitement later. He can settle down when he’s satisfied. For now, his life has to remain boring—busy, and boring.

And from the looks of it, that’s how his summer’s shaping up to be. Busy and boring. And honestly? Mark doesn’t mind that one bit.

///

“Damn,” Johnny says as he pulls into a parking spot. “Didn’t know you had a thing for DILFs.”

“Wha—dude, no, he’s not a—a DILF,” Mark splutters, already regretting telling Johnny anything. “He doesn’t have kids.”

“How do you know?” Johnny arches an eyebrow at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“It came up once,” Mark says. “I didn’t ask! He was saying it’s nice his job is to hang out with kids, basically, because kids are fun and he doesn’t have any of his own.”

“Hasn’t it only been a couple weeks since you started going to pick Lucy up?” Johnny throws this over his shoulder before getting out of his car. Mark hurries to get out, too, so he can argue.

“Lucy has lessons twice a week,” Mark says. “So I’ve seen him three times, which is more than enough times to clock if someone’s hot or not. Woulda been four, except my fucking boss made me stay late on Thursday.”

“I’m telling you, man, unpaid internships are straight up bullshit,” Johnny says.

“If I could’ve gotten a paid one, d’you think I wouldn’t’ve gone for it?” Mark retorts, grabbing his guitar from the back and slinging the strap of the case over his shoulder. “If this shit doesn’t get me a good job after graduation, I’m suing the entire career counseling office.”

“I got a good job after graduation and I didn’t have a single internship,” Johnny points out. “You’ll be fine. Unless you let this hot children’s music teacher distract you.”

Mark shoves him once they’re through the mall entrance. “I just like to look at him, that’s all. Though, I mean—I wouldn’t say no, is all I’m saying.”

“Yeah. He’s how old?” Johnny asks.

“Shut up,” Mark grumbles.

Though they’re technically here to get Mark’s guitar looked at—one of the strings fucking snapped, he doesn’t know how—they meander through the mall on the way to the music store. Johnny ends up buying a couple of pieces of clothing and nearly convinces Mark to get a matching hat with him before Mark remembers, woefully, that he isn’t getting paid and truly doesn’t have the money to spare.

They finally get to the music store and Mark hands his guitar over, then follows Johnny away from the counter while they wait for it to be fixed up, poking through their record collection.

“Mark?” The voice is familiar, and Mark whips his head up to see Jaehyun of all people standing a few feet inside the door. He’s not in his usual casual clothes; instead, he’s dressed in smart business casual, a patterned button-down tucked into cropped pants.

Mark swallows, trying to put a single sentence together instead of staring at his waist. “Jaehyun,” he manages. “What are you doing here?” It comes out way ruder than he means it, but luckily Jaehyun just smiles.

“I own this store,” he says, tipping his head to one side and looking around at all the instruments hanging on the walls. “I founded this brand, actually.”

“Really?” Mark would’ve never pinned Jaehyun as a businessman of any kind, but here’s the proof—one of the employees at the store has come up to Jaehyun with his hand extended.

Jaehyun greets the employee, accepting the handshake. “I’ll come back in a minute,” he says, then turns back to Mark. “I wish teaching music class for kids paid the bills, but, ah…” He gestures vaguely. “Speaking of which, I missed you in the pickup line on Thursday. Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mark silences the part of his brain that immediately starts trying to make a pun about pickup lines. He can feel a flush rising up his neck, both pleased and embarrassed that Jaehyun noticed he wasn’t there. “My internship just kept me late is all.”

“Hope they don’t keep you too often,” Jaehyun says, and Mark absolutely does not know how to take that. “Lucy looked kinda put out her mom was there to get her instead of you.”

“Oh,” Mark laughs, wondering why he feels kind of disappointed. “Well, that’s probably because I’ve started bringing her snacks.”

Jaehyun nods, grinning. “That’s always a good way to win them over,” he agrees. “Well, it was a welcome surprise to run into you in my store! I probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, but I’ll see you next week—I hope.”

“Y-yeah, see you!” Mark stammers, giving an awkward half wave, watching Jaehyun disappear into the back of the store.

“That was painful,” Johnny says flatly. “You don’t just think he’s hot, you like him.”

“Shut up,” Mark hisses.

“You wanna fuck your niece’s music teacher,” Johnny continues blithely. “You really wanna fuck him.”

Luckily, the employee that was servicing Mark’s guitar appears at this moment and spares Mark from coming up with an answer. Because, he thinks somewhat miserably as he heads up to the counter to pay, the thing is Johnny isn’t wrong. But, fuck, Jaehyun’s literally fucking beautiful, and good with kids, and also apparently a rich business owner. What else could Mark ask for?

“I’m just saying, dude,” Johnny continues as they head back out to the parking lot. “If you wanna fuck that old man so bad—”

“Oh my god, he’s not old, he’s like maybe in his early forties at most,” Mark interjects, grimacing in embarrassment.

“If you wanna fuck that middle-aged man so bad,” Johnny plows on, undeterred, “at least get him to fuckin’ pay you or something. You’re young and hot, don’t waste it. No homo.”

Mark resists the urge to bash Johnny over the head with his newly-repaired guitar. “Shut the fuck up.”

///

Mark can argue with Johnny all he wants, but it won’t change the fact that he’s right. He wants to fuck that old man. It’s kind of all he thinks about, outside of basic things like work and what he’s going to have for dinner—and even then, the thought of Jaehyun is still percolating in the background, waiting for whatever has grabbed his more immediate attention to be completed so it can muscle its way back to the fore.

He sees him again the next week when he picks Lucy up and it’s all Mark can do not to drag his gaze over Jaehyun’s body as he waits for the parents in front of him to grab their kids. When he goes home, he scours Instagram until he finds him—a public account, a small mercy considering the fact that he only has three posts, but still. Mark pores over the pictures, thumb hovering over the Follow button before closing out of the app altogether and opening his text chain with Johnny.

Dude I’m spiraling <;<<

>>> The dilf?

yeah <;<<

It’s bad. fuck me man <;<<

>>> uh, pass

>>> I mean maybe you’re just horny

>>> download tinder or something

And get stuck in the talking phase all summer? <;<<

Or find someone to hookup with and it’s like their first time <;<<

I’m not teaching someone how to kiss again I know I’m just some guy but I deserve better than that <;<<

>>> ok fair

>>> if it’s experience you want……… go on one of those sugar baby websites

>>> remember what I said about him paying you

>>> your internship’s getting enough of ur free labor as it is

Mark sighs, dropping his phone on his mattress and flopping back. Maybe Johnny’s right. Maybe he just needs a good fuck and he’ll be cured. And there has to be some kind of market for gay sugar daddies who are bottoms, right? Besides, God knows he could use the money.

okay im gonna do it <;<<

>>> fuck the dilf???

NO try the sugar baby thing <;<<

>>> if it works out, gimme a cut of your profits

>>> since it was my idea and all

what are you, my pimp? <;<<

I’ll take you out to a meal, how’s that <;<<

>>> deal

So Mark does exactly that. He does a little research, chooses an app, and downloads it. He sets up his profile, just some basic information about who he is and what he’s looking for. The app suggests he not upload any pictures, for privacy, and Mark’s secretly glad the pressure’s off on that one. He’s not sure if it would help or hurt, but at least this way, the playing field is level.

He could scroll profiles if he wanted to, he supposes, but he has a feeling he’s going to start eliminating people because they don’t seem like Jaehyun, and that’s not going to get him anywhere. He’ll wait and see who’s interested in him, and go from there.

He sets his phone down instead and heads into his kitchen to see about dinner. But he’s only just pulled a couple things out of the fridge when his phone gives an unfamiliar buzz. With a sigh, he puts the eggs back and goes to his phone to see a new message on the app.

>>> Hey Minhyung!

>>> Are you new to sugaring? Know what you’re looking for?

Mark scans over his profile. CEO of his own business, dog person, plays guitar. Not looking for something too serious. Income between 600k and 800k.

Hi Yuno! Yeah, this is my first time sugaring haha but I did my research <;<<

I’m hoping for something more casual. I work during the week but my weekends are usually pretty free <<<

Not expecting a lot, just hoping to have a little extra spending money <;<<

Yuno is typing before Mark even sends the final message.

>>> sounds like we might be a good fit :)

>>> do you want to talk it over in person? We could go get coffee, get to know each other, see if we’re compatible

Sure! I’m free this weekend <;<<

>>> Perfect. How’s Saturday at 3?

Mark glances at his calendar just to double-check, but as expected, it’s empty. When he looks back at his phone, he sees that this Yuno guy has sent a coffee shop in the city, not too far from Mark’s apartment.

>>> there’s this booth in the back corner I like, let’s plan to meet there

>>> if it’s occupied, we can meet at the tall tables by the windows instead

Sounds good! <;<<

See you on Saturday! <;<<

Yuno likes his message but doesn’t reply, so Mark pockets his phone and goes back to cleaning. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, pulse jumping in his neck. It’s not like he’s in danger or anything. They’re meeting in public, and Mark likes to believe he’ll be able to tell if the guy is a total creep or not. Worst case, he wastes five dollars on a coffee he’s not even going to enjoy and has to keep searching. Besides, he’s not going to be young forever. He might as well give it a shot while he still can.

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