#until ofc she just sat in the room and her husband never showed up

[bronzebtch]

EDIT 7/? : RHEA'S WEDDING DRESS.

In 97 AC, Queen Alysanne wed her grandson Prince Daaemon to Lady Rhea Royce, the heir to Runestone.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Hello hello! I'm here with a request for a Brienne/female Reader fic if it tickles your fancy.

Brienne is Reader's personal guard, and is tasked to escort her to her future husband for her marriage. Problem being, Brienne is in love with her, but being the honorable soul she is, she would never let it show.

Luckily, Reader has a crush on her as well, and the time they spend together while travelling makes her fall even harder.

Angst! Jealousy! Drama! Happy ending!

Hopefully they end up running away together to a faraway land.

Love and War Part 1

Brienne x fem!reader

Warnings: Arranged marriage, light angst

A/N: Ofc it tickles my fancy! I'm combining this ask with another one that will be used in the second part:) I hope you like it<3

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair.

Slamming the door to your bedroom, you rush to your bed, sobbing. You knew you were betrothed since birth, but it never settled upon you until this year. You had only just met him months ago, and now you’re being forced to marry him for…advantage? Whose advantage? Certainly not yours.

“It’s for the good of the kingdoms!” 

Your father’s voice rang in your head. What else was there to do? You couldn’t run away, a search party would be sent out before you could get a mile away. You thought about all of your options and the biggest sacrifice you’d have to make came to your mind: Brienne.

Such confusing feelings lied with her. How your chest fills with butterflies when you simply think of her, but refusing to accept it as a feeling of love. But the way she stood by you, vowing to protect you and keep you safe from all harm–her loyalty, her honor, her empathy–all swayed you from feeling like this was an innocent friendship. But how would she be able to protect you from this? From a man ten years older than you whose only job is to create an heir to his throne.

A knock on your door drew your attention away from the window. The door opened and a woman entered. Brienne stood in the doorway, her hands fidgeting in front of her. “Your Highness? The carriage is ready.”

You turned around and smiled softly at her. “Thank you, Brienne. I’ll be down shortly.”

With a curt nod, she left the room and closed the door. You stared out the window at your reflection and took a deep breath. Within the past month, you had been fit for a wedding dress, forced to help plan this occasion, and now, in the coming days, you’d be tying it all together. Writing it in ink. Etching it into your headstone.

The carriage ride to the sea port was quiet. When the horses stopped, Brienne exited immediately, assisting you as you got out. You always liked how her hand felt in yours. 

In your cabin, you sat up in bed, reading in the light of a candle. Your shoulders were tense and your chest was filled with anxiety for the coming days, but when Brienne entered, the both of you having agreed to stay in the same room, your demeanor changed. Your heart rate seemed to slow, your breathing evening out, and every problem on your mind seemed to vanish. 

“I spoke to the captain,” she said as she began to unlace her armor. “We should be docking in two days.”

You found it hard to not stare at her–those perfect curves, the long legs, and–

“Your Highness?” 

You were brought out of your trace, “Sorry…Erm…alright. Thank you.” You turned your attention back to your book but looked up once again. “Oh, and, Brienne…please, call me Y/N.”

Watching as the ship sailed on the open ocean, Brienne looked to her right. There you were, doing the exact same thing. Watching. Waiting. Only your waiting was for a future you never wanted. 

Guilt raked her mind. How could she have feelings for a woman–a princess–that she swore to protect? And how could she protect this woman when she was being shipped off to marry a man she had only just met? The honorable side of her, the one that valued her status as a patron and abettor, the one that was all work and no play, told her not to do it. 

Don’t tell her. You’ll only regret it.

But the other side, the one that was carefree, the one that wanted to seize the moment in the grasp of her hand, the one that wanted to hold this woman tight in her arms at night, told her the opposite.

When you get off this ship, it’s over. She’ll be ushered off to another palace. You’ll never be able to voice your feelings.

It tore Brienne apart.

In the cabin below deck, you ate dinner in the quiet company of each other–nothing felt more right than this moment.

“It’s true,” Brienne laughed. “My father was so butt-hurt after it.”

You took a sip of wine, trying not to spill it from laughing at Brienne’s stories. “His poor self was beaten by his thirteen-year-old daughter in a sword fight. Any man of high ranking would be hurt over that.”

Brienne smiled softly as she cleaned up both of your plates. “He was definitely peeved, but he told me he was proud.”

An hour more of conversation passed before it fell silent. Brienne looked at you, her eyes giving away that she was deciding between something. Moments later, she decided. “Your Highness, I hope…I hope you don’t think me imprudent, but…”

Your hand reached across the table to take hers, smiling fondly. “Brienne, how many times will I have to ask you to not call me ‘Your Highness’? We’ve become too close for those formalities now.”

A light blush formed on Brienne’s cheeks and she hoped desperately that you wouldn’t be able to notice. “Erm…Your–” She paused. “–Y/N…You don’t want to get married, do you?” You stared blankly at her before your face changed–sorrow, dread? Brienne couldn’t tell. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this–it’s not my place. But, like you said, we’ve become close. I don’t think you should marry the prince. I only want you to be happy, and I don’t think you’ll b–”

“No,” you said. Your voice was low, and something in you flipped. “Of course I won’t be happy. I’m being forced to marry a man I don’t love, Brienne.” You stood from your chair and looked down at her, growing angry at the whole situation. “And it’s not like I can just run away! You tell me I won’t be happy? Of course I won’t be! I’d give everything to run away from this!” Tears were now choking your words and you didn’t even think before saying the next ones. “I would give everything to run away with you!” 

“What?” She was stunned. Had you truly just said that? 

“I’m–I’m sorry,” you muttered, hands clasped over your mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Brienne stood slowly, never breaking eye contact with you. She rounded the table and took your hands from your mouth. “No,” she whispered. “I’m glad you said it.” Her thumbs wiped away your tears and she smiled before kissing you lightly on the lips. “But now, it’s made everything more painful, my darling.”

You stood in your bedchamber, the room bustling with maids preparing for the wedding ceremony. That was it. You’d never see Brienne again. She was down in the village, staying at a boarding house and waiting to hear the wedding bells ring. 

With one last check from the maids, you were escorted to the sept. You waited behind closed doors, your heart pounding in your chest. You could do it. You could leave. But before you could make up your mind, the music in the hall was starting, and the doors were opening. 

You walked down the aisle, making sure the bouquet hid your trembling hands. The man you were to marry stood beside the Septon, his hands folded in front of him and his lips in a straight line. Guests stood in the pews, most of them having never met you before. If only Brienne were here. No. Perhaps it was a good thing she wasn’t here. It saved her the suffering of having to watch you be married off to a practical stranger.

Climbing the stairs, the man grabbed your hand to assist you–it felt nothing like Brienne’s. You flashed him a smile, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him. The pair of you stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand, and the Septon began. 

As he spoke, your mind drifted elsewhere–to the night on the ship, to Brienne’s lips on yours, to her hands holding your body flush against hers in bed, to her fingers touching every part of you, to the words of ardor that you both spoke in the heated hours of the night. You couldn’t live without this woman.

You were drawn back into the moment by your name. “And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take this man to be your wedded husband? Do you promise to love, obey, and worship him? For richer, for poorer? In sickness and in health?”

Your mouth opened, but no words escaped. Brienne. Her arms holding you close. Her light kisses across your bare skin. Her kindness. Her empathy. Her loyalty. Her capacity for love despite experiencing everything that she had. All you could think about was Brienne.

Your mouth opens again and you look between the Septon and the man who held your hand. “I–I…don’t.” Gasps could be heard around the room. “I’m sorry…I can’t..I…”

Not knowing what to say but knowing that, after this, nothing will be pretty, you dropped the bouquet of flowers, turned, and ran. Down the aisle, out of the Sept, running through the crowd that stood waiting outside, you didn’t stop. Your dress skirt was bunched up in your fists and onlookers watched in shock as you flew past in search of Brienne.

You finally made it to the boarding house she had told you she was staying in. 

“Morning, day, or night, I’ll be here for you.”

Bursting through the door, you go up to the counter, asking for her room number, and when he gives it to you, the keeper gives you a funny look as you hurry up the stairs. Without hesitation, you knock on the door, hoping and praying that she wasn’t out. When the door opened, you threw yourself around her neck, pressing your lips to hers.

Brienne pulled you in and shut the door. Between kisses, you sobbed out, “I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t leave you! I couldn’t!”

She kisses you hard and holds you in her arms, hand cradling your head. “I know…Everything will be okay. We’ll leave. We’ll go far away where they can’t get you. We’ll live, and we’ll be happy.”

Happy.

Nothing would be the same now. But, at the thought of being with Brienne for the rest of your days, any war would be worth fighting.

[tsumtsumrry]

Christina

the one where there’s a reminder 

(3.4k words; there’s smut, lots of mention of hate, husband harry :D, like two seconds of fluff at the end, ofc there’s language)

Everybody knows the media isn’t the most positive place. But Christina knows that all too well. 

Christina and Harry have been together for seven years, and while all seven of those years were heaven within the relationship, outside of it was hell. 

Out of all the people Harry has been with, Christina gets the most internet slaughter and hate. Neither of them really understand why, but Harry’s solution to the problem was always to ignore them because, “if they have nothing better to do than gossip about an incredible woman they don’t even know they aren’t worth your time”

Christina believes him of course, but sometimes she accidentally stumbles across some hateful words, opens a thread, and then she’s sucked into a rabbit hole of them. Other times, she can’t stop herself from venturing on to her social media platforms and seeing what people are saying about her.

This is one of the latter.

After she put Darcy to sleep, she sat down on the couch and went to town, finding every nasty tweet, post, and thread that she could find.

She’s fighting back tears as she reads every last word, down to the punctuation and grammar mistakes and wonders what she’s doing so wrong that everyone hates her. 

She keeps reading and reading and her heart is breaking and breaking and she can feel a headache coming on but yet she still doesn’t stop. 

It’s not until she hears heavy footsteps coming down the stairs that she even has a thought of putting her phone away. 

She can hear the footsteps getting closer to the bottom and she tries her best to wipe her tears before her husband sees her having a breakdown over some comments that were probably written by ten-year olds.

Harry was just up in their shared room watching television and relaxing when he missed his wife and wanted to give her a kiss. He’s always excited to talk to or see her even though they live in the same house, sleep in the same bed, and see each other all the time. He always wants to be around her, he can’t stand when she’s not there. He gets so pouty and down when he’s on tour and he just wants a cuddle. 

Christina always makes fun of him for being so extremely homesick, but she can’t deny that she misses him terribly when he’s gone too. 

Harry starts whistling a happy tune in glee because he still can’t believe his life is this perfect, but he abruptly stops when he hears a sniffle. 

His trots down the stairs slow and he starts to walk more cautiously down the stairs. They’ve been down this road before, Harry always wants to comfort his wife, but she doesn’t like showing that she’s in pain, whenever Harry even tries to catch her crying or down, she just plasters on a fake smile and gives him a bullshit excuse. He hates it, but he knows he can’t force anything out of her and Christina is safe knowing he won’t try to. 

Christina is still wiping her tears and she doesn’t even notice that the heavy steps have stopped, she’s just focused on putting on a good face for her husband. 

“Baby?” 

Christina practically jumps out of her skin when she hears his voice. She’s hoping he can’t see her swollen lips, wet skin, and that her puffy eyes and that he’ll just cuddle her to sleep and call it a night. 

She sniffles a little softer than before and prays he doesn’t hear it, “uh...hi H. Why aren’t you sleeping yet? It’s pretty late.” She internally curses her voice for trembling a bit and turns around a little more to smile at him. 

Harry usually tries to demand that he tell her what’s going on, but that never works because he’s a little scared of upsetting her and their volumes when they speak have always been inside voices unless they were in the bedroom. So he tries a different approach. 

He walks slowly over to her where she’s sitting on the couch and leans down to rest his head on her shoulder. He sighs at her intoxicating scent and warming aura and pecks her on the cheek. “Why aren’t you sleeping yet, my love?” 

She shrugs lightly and tries to lean more into Harry, god knows she needs to comfort (even if she won’t say it).

“Just put Darcy to sleep, she was a little more stubborn than normal today.” she mumbles. At least she’s not really lying. She did just put Darcy to sleep, but that’s obviously not all she did. 

At this, Harry pulls his head back, trying to get eye contact with her and he frowns, “I could’ve done that.” 

“It’s fine, I thought you were asleep anyways.” 

Harry nods and believes her at first, but then he thinks back to the sniffle and how she was trying to discreetly wipe away tears when he walked down and he frowns even more. 

Christina notices and her lips dip down at the corners too, wondering what’s got him upset. 

“If you just put Darcy to sleep....why’re you out here sitting on the couch?” Harry mumbles, trying his best not to sound too accusing. Christina is taken aback though. Harry always believes whatever lies about how she’s feeling that she tells him, she lets her emotions out through something else, and everythings good again. But this time she has a feeling that routine isn’t gonna fly.

She stutters out a rushed lie and that's when Harry’s heart breaks, “jesus, baby. You have to talk to me. Tell me what’s going on?” he says, his voice raising in volume and sternness in the slightest so she knows he’s not playing around this time. 

Christina doesn’t know how to say it, so she decides she’ll just show him, she pulls out her phone, unlocks it, puts it right in Harry’s line of vision. 

She can see his irises moving rapidly around the page opened on her small phone screen and she’s biting her nails, overcome with nerves. 

She knows it’s stupid, but she can’t help but think that maybe Harry is reading those words and agreeing with his fans. Agreeing that she’s a slut, a bitch, and someone who doesn’t deserve Harry. They are his fans after all, wouldn’t he agree?

Tears fall from her eyes at her thoughts and Harry is so engrossed in these disgusting messages that he isn’t even realizing them. 

With every word he reads, the urge to vomit grows stronger. He can’t believe that his fans, the people that claim to love and adore him so much , would talk so disgustingly about a person he loves and adores so much. 

In times like these, he’s exceptionally grateful for all the fans of his that respect his life, privacy, and relationship. 

He imagines Christina reading these messages with tears in her eyes and doubt in her heart and he feels his own heart crack even more. He’s trying to fight back some of his own crying and finally tears his eyes off the screen. 

“Why are you loo--” he stops when he sees Christina with tears streaming down her face and a pouty trembling lip. 

“C’mere.” Is all he says before Christina is tossing herself into his arms and sobbing into his chest. 

“None of those things are true, alright? Those people are fuckin’ assholes.” 

Christina wants to believe him, but she can’t shake the feeling that he’s lying to her face. She knows insecurity is something she’s struggled with for a while. She hates it but she can’t really stop it. 

Her friends tell her that she’s dating the Harry Styles and has nothing to feel insecure about, but the fact that she’s dating Harry sometimes makes it worse. 

The alleged cure is the cause. 

Harry tries to tell her everyday that he loves her, that she’s perfect and all he wants, but Christina’s mind makes her believe otherwise. Harry knows that she can’t help the fact that her brain is lying to her, but he can’t help feeling his heart break when he sees her crying and down because of it. 

“You know what?” Harry says all of a sudden and stands up abruptly at the same time. He grabs her arm from around her torso and pulls her up from the couch. Christina has no idea what’s going on, but she just goes along with it because she knows once Harry has something in mind (especially a solution to a problem) he’s not going to let it go. 

Harry’s in between fuming and being heartbroken for his girl. He’s stomping up the stairs into their bedroom and Christina is aimlessly following him with no fucking clue what’s going on. 

Once they get into the bedroom, Harry pulls her once more but this time he pulls her down on the edge of the bed in a sitting position. He has a stern, concentrated look on his face. His eyebrows are pulled harshly together and his thumb and pointer finger are picking at his bottom lip that’s set in a pout. 

Christina just stares at him with her eyebrows raised up to her hairline and her mind swimming with confusion and a little bit of amusement at how her husband is behaving. 

Harry is pacing back and forth in short quick steps before he stops right in front of her. He looks down at her and tilts his head to the side while pursing his lips almost as if he’s negotiating with himself about something in his head. 

He hums and then speaks “I think I have to remind you just how perfect you are. Just how wrong those people are.” 

Christina’s eyebrows pull down her face in confusion and Harry smiles slightly. 

“I wanna show you,” he pauses and leans down to kiss her lips slowly and passionately, “just how fucking perfect you are. Will you let me?” 

Harry hands move from his side to Christina’s full thighs and starts to knead them sensually until he lets his hands inch higher. Christina sucks in a breath and Harry smirks before he speaks. “Please let me show you, baby”

Christina nods, at all loss for words and before Harry can reprimand her she corrects herself and gives him verbal consent. 

He lowers himself down until he’s on his knees, watching her the whole time and Christina’s breath hitches at the sight. 

“Only woman who can get me on my knees like this. S’only for you, babe.” he whispers while using his large hands that are still set on her thighs and slowly spreading them apart. 

He leans his head a little further, still managing eye contact, and starts to leave wet, slow open-mouthed kisses up and down her thighs. He smirks when he feels a warming heat start up near her core and Christina is desperately trying to hold in her gasps. 

Harry reaches his hand up to pull down her small shorts, and then her underwear follows. Christina suddenly feels exposed and tries to shut her legs, but Harry isn’t having any of it. His grip tightens on her thighs and makes it so she can’t even think of moving them. 

Both of them know Harry has always been a bit shy and submissive when it comes to sex. Christina was quite the dominant herself so it worked out. But today, today is definitely different. It’s obvious that Christina is beyond surprised at the commanding inflection in Harry’s voice and the way he’s dealing with her right now.

Christina is at a loss for words when he leans even further and licks a slow stripe up her heat. She gasps and her hands instinctively go to tangle in his hair. 

He groans and with his mouth still on her, moves his hand under her thighs and picks her up slightly to push her further on the bed. She lays down on her back in the soft sheets and is suddenly grateful she has something else other than his beautiful hair to tug on (even though he loves it).

His tongue juts out to put just the right amount of pressure on her clit and begins his fast paced patterns. Christina throws her head back in ecstasy and moans softly into the air. Her eyes squeeze shut and her back arches. 

Harry’s always been good at going down on his woman, it’s never been anything he’s had trouble with. Pleasing his woman in general is easy and fun for him. He’s always told Christina he enjoys her pleasure more than his, and it’s true. Nothing beats the face his wife makes when she comes undone on his mouth, fingers, or his cock. Nothing beats that.

“Watch, Cris. Look at me.” Harry rasps and while it proves difficult to keep her eyes open while his tongue is quite literally inside of her, she manages to open her eyes and look at Harry only to find his lustful gaze is already fixed on her.  

Christina can feel the stirring in her tummy that’s telling her she’s already close. Harry and her haven’t done anything like this in a while since the baby, at least that’s Harry reasoning. Christina hasn’t felt like being touched by Harry since she’s been so consumed with the hate on the internet and social platforms, but Harry’s hoping to change that tonight. 

Her moans become more frequent and raise in volume and Harry knows that she’s close, the way she’s soaking his face is more of an accurate indication, though.

“Oh god--fuck! I’m close! Harry, harry I’m close!” she moans out, getting closer and closer to relief with every flick and suck that he plants on her. 

“Mhm. Yes. Cum.” he mumbles back at her, knowing she likes the small encouragement. 

“Fuck!” she gasps and then she’s cumming and Harry’s groaning and they’re both in bliss with their shared satisfaction. 

Harry doesn’t let up with his tongue until she’s whimpering and whining in overstimulation and trying to separate her core from his mouth. 

“Good?” he asks after pressing a kiss below her ear. He knows the answer to his own question but would rather hear it coming out of the mouth that was just helplessly moaning his name. 

“So good” Christina smiles in content and Harry smirks at her expression and the praise. 

“M’so hard for you, baby. Feel.” he whispers and takes her hand in his to guide it to his crotch. 

Christina applies to pressure to lightly palm him and he moans softly at the contact. 

Seeing her in pleasure gets him exceptionally excited and that’s why he’s been grounding his hip into the mattress in hopes to offer himself some relief. He can tell that he’s extra sensitive and any touch she gives him is threatening to send him over the edge. 

“S’for you, baby. S’all for you.” he says referring to how rock hard he is and Christina mewls softly at his voice.

He brings his hand down to her heat and presses his palm to it, teasingly moving it some, “this for me?” he mumbles softly with a hint of taunt in his voice. 

Christina nods quickly after a quiet gasp, “yes, Harry. It’s for you.” 

“Good.” is all he says before he discards his pants and boxers and leans down to give Christina sensual, loving kisses. 

He always puts effort into the kisses he gives his wife, but he makes sure to make this one especially powerful. He wants her to feel every ounce of emotion and love he has for her. Even though he knows it’s her insecurities that make her feel like she’s not enough, he won’t lie and say it doesn’t sting that feels that way. It makes him feel like he’s not doing a good enough job as a husband with showing her he loves her, he’s hoping that this changes that.

He takes a hold of his cock and presses it near her entrance, sucking in a breath and the feel of her wetness that’s starting to pool and drip out of her. 

“D’you want me to keep going? Want me to fuck you?” Harry asks softly and Christina nods deliriously, so overwhelmed with the intense need to let him have her in any way he wants. 

He adjusts himself a little bit and pushes his hips forward tortuously slow until she’s filled with him completely. 

“Fuck. So so tight. Fucking christ.” Harry gasps. 

Christina moans aimlessly into the air and Harry takes advantage of it, bringing his lips to her neck. He sucks and kisses it and she moans at both forms of pleasure she’s getting. 

“God you’re so perfect. You feel so fucking good, so tight around me. S’like you’re fucking hugging me.” 

Christina mewls at the words coming out of his mouth. They’ve both always equally loved dirty talk, it’s something that gets them both going and ultimately everything feels better when your partner is letting you know they enjoy what you’re doing to them. 

“M’so full, Harry.” she says at the same time Harry thrusts particularly deep. His eyes roll into the back of his head while his jaw slacks in a stomach-knotting moan. 

“Yeah? I fill you up?” Harry taunts, leaning down to nibble at her earlobe. It’s no secret between the two (and everyone else if we’re being honest) that he has a bit of a praise kink. A bit would actually be an understatement. Not many things can make him feel like praise makes him feel. When Christina tells him how big he is, how good he’s making her feel, it literally makes him shake. 

“God, yes. You’re so big, makes me feel so good.” she tightens around him for a second, almost as if to prove her point and Harry has to bite down on her shoulder to pacify his loud moan somehow. 

“Fuck look at me.” he manages to growl out. As soon as he gets her eye contact, (wavering, but still eye contact nonetheless) he speaks. “Do you see how fucking good you’re making me feel? Nobody else can make me feel like--fuck--like this. You’ve got me so fucked up for you.”  

At this point he’s just babbling out whatever comes to his mind, he’s sure he sounds incoherent but Christina hears him and it nearly brings tears to her eyes. She’s never had someone care about how she feels about herself as much as Harry. The fact that he’s doing everything in his power to make sure she knows how loved and perfect she is, it makes her indescribably happy.

So much so that the orgasm got a little closer than she thought it would be. 

Harry watches her face contort some and his head lulls to the side when she tightens around him. “Gonna cum, baby?” 

She nods quickly and she can feel it, she can feel everything building up into that white hot pleasure, she can feel it about to bubble over the surface, but then he stops. 

She whines in protest but Harry just shakes his head.

“Tell me, Christina.” 

“Harry.” she whines “Let me come.” 

“You’re perfect, beautiful, and the love of my life.” he punctuates each adjective with a kiss. “Say it.” 

She whines again and tries to shift her hips to get some sort of friction, but Harry pins her hips down and Christina is cursing his strength. 

“Say it.” 

“I’m….perfect, beautiful...” Harry hums to urge her to keep going, leaving open mouthed kisses all over her neck, trying his best to refrain from nipping at all so she can finish her sentence. “...and the love of your life.” she finishes. 

“That’s right. Remember that.” Harry says with a tone of finality, and in two quick movements he pulls out of her only to quickly slam back into her.

“Fuck” he gasps. “Have no idea how hard it was to stay still. Y’so warm though, it was nice.”

It doesn’t take much to bring both of them right back to the edge, Christina squeaking out high pitched moans and Harry sobbing out what sounds like pained groans. 

“Yes, fuck. Cum. My perfect, beautiful wife. Need you to come for me.”  

Almost immediately after the words leave his mouth she cums and takes Harry right with her with a muffled-into-the-pillows shout of her name. 

Harry gasps with the last spurt of cum that shoots out of him into her and then he slumps down on top of her, completely worn out. 

“You’re so good at that.” Christina says with a breathy laugh and Harry joins her. 

“Yeah? You too, babe.” he chuckles.

“No I mean, making me feel better, You’ve always been so good at that.” she reiterates. 

Harry just smiles down at her and leans down to peck her lips, “s’my job, baby.” 

“Let’s go get cleaned up and then we can have a cuddle, yeah?” Harry says and Christina nods with a smile.

[sweeethinny]

Golden Dress

inspired by @startanewdream fanfic - here -, which after reading me made me think about writing about Hinny in the future, and Ginny wearing a gold dress again.

for those who want to see what the dress looks like: here but golden ofc

in fact, this fanfic is for those who think that just because Ginny is a badass, she cannot like the "feminine" world, don't be so radical, people are complex and one thing does not cancel out the other

'Stupid dress,' Ginny mumbled, snorting irritably and giving up zipping the back of her dress, looking in the mirror at her husband who was lying on the bed, arms behind his head and feet crossed. 'Babe?' She said, sly, winking at him in the reflection, a lovely smile on her dark red lips.

'If it weren't for me, you would go to every party with your butt off,' Harry said, getting up from the bed and walking over to her, dressed in her beautiful gold satin dress, long and light, making her look magnificent. The thin straps looked too delicate and he thought that maybe the fabric could tear in one simple step, and that neckline that the fabric created in the front with the accumulation of fabric, would fall and show her beautiful breasts.

The zipper went down to the top of her white panties, her bare back seemed to call Harry again, and if he closed his eyes he could still feel the softness of the skin against his lips as he went down and down, memorizing, or trying, every freckle which disappeared tantalizingly down to her round ass.

'You look beautiful wearing gold,' Harry whispered against her skin, smelling Ginny's sweet and unique scent, the same that had always been in his Amortentia. He let his hands roam over her skin, inside her dress, calmly reaching for Ginny's hips and squeezing. His eyes never leaving hers in the mirror, she looked even more radiant, her cheeks flushed and made up, shining through that shiny powder she wore, her brown eyes made up and looking even more mesmerizing.

'And you are tempting in that suit, I promise you that we will enjoy it much later, but now,’ She pushed her ass against his groin, pushing him away. 'Close my dress or we'll be late, and George may not appear to be nervous, but I think he might be able to die if we're a minute late.' Ginny smiled. 'You are much more daring than when I asked you to close my dress years ago.'

'I learned from the best.' He shrugged, surrendering and closing the dress, noticing the lack of a bra, and needing to close his eyes for a few more seconds just to not rip off that dress and have sex with Ginny until the dawn day. 'Did you choose the gold dress just because of that? To remember the first wedding when you made me hard as an idiot, asking me to close your dress?’

'No, George and Angelina chose the color. My brothers are strangely obsessed with gold.' Ginny sat down again in the cushioned chair in front of her dressing table, opening the jewelry drawer and seeming to be looking for something. 'Do you think these earrings match?' She held up a delicate pearl that she had bought on their trip to Spain, turning her face gently and assessing the earring. Harry nodded, leaning against the side, feeling a little obsessed with her.

'You look beautiful with anything,' Harry sighed, as if he was tired of explaining the obvious to her. 'I remembered that night almost every night afterwards.'

'What night?' Ginny looked at him quickly, a clip pinned between her lips, adjusting the lock of hair that had gone out of place for her perfect hairstyle.

'Bill's wedding. I remembered you wearing that dress, the cleavage, everything, for many nights,' he admitted shamelessly, picking up her hair comb before she even asked. It was not the first time that Harry had watched Ginny get dressed, he didn't even care when they were late, almost every event that required a more elegant outfit, Harry was not excited to go. But standing there, seeing how she was concentrating while choosing the color of the shadows, or how she made her cheeks look adorably pink and shiny, made him want to go.

He had never said it out loud, and Harry was afraid he would look a little sexist, or Caveman, but he loved being the guy who was next to her when she was like this. Harry loved being the guy who was always next to her, when Ginny was wearing his clothes as pajamas, when she wore Harpies uniform, dressed in pants and sweaters, or expensive and elegant dresses.

Harry thought it was the most beautiful thing when Ginny sat on the chair at her dressing table to get ready. He thought it was almost as if she made a child’s dream come true, to have things that only belonged to her, to be able to choose what type of earring, necklace or ring she would wear that day, whether or not it matched the diamond on their wedding ring, if the lipstick didn't look out of place with the clothes. He had noticed how little by little Ginny had seemed to break the walls that seemed to prevent her from being that happy and excited girl because she had bought a dress or some beauty product.

He still remembered when they moved into their house, and Ginny's eyes sparkled with tears when she saw the dressing table there, as she had asked, with lights, a big mirror, a comfortable chair, drawers for everything she wanted buy or already had, and a good space to be able to decorate as she wish on the top.

Harry blamed the fact that Ginny was forced to mature quickly and create armor strong enough to survive after Tom, who prevented her from letting that more feminine side emerge.

After they got married and went to live on the same street as there was a cosmetics store, however, Harry noticed how Ginny looked into the store, her eyes big and shining. It was like a childish need, and Harry remembered how happy and complete he felt when he went to the market and bought everything he wanted to eat.

He understood how Ginny felt. It was as if it were going to fill the material void that was once created.

Harry never made jokes or even laughed at them when he saw them in the newspaper, saying that ‘’now that she was married, Ginny had decided to drop her tomboy pose and become a stylish housewife to satisfy Harry.’’ He thought it was disgusting.

‘You’re not going to stop being you, if you wear makeup, or wear expensive clothes, you know that, don’t you?’ He said, after seeing that she looked sad, sitting on the couch and looking at a fashion magazine. 'You look beautiful wearing green.' Harry smiled, looking at the green wool suit.

'But maybe the earrings you gave me will be better.' Ginny woke him from his reverie, her hair neat and the pearl earrings put in place again. 'What do you think?' She looked at him and then the mirror, they were delicate and small rings of braided gold. ‘Too golden?’

'I thought it was perfect.' Harry smiled like a fool in love.

'Excellent. Wake up James, okay? I'll be ready in a minute.’

'If we had been looking for peace, he would have woken up a long time ago.' He grunted, listening to Ginny laughing.

'Wait until night, he'll smell that his parents want to spend some time alone, and he'll crawl into our bed.' Ginny laughed, watching her husband laugh too, giving up and going to wake up their son who seemed to have the same timer as Ron, to know when a couple was kissing.

'And yet I can't love him any less.' Harry sighed, kissing the top of Ginny's head before walking away to leave the room.

'I feel like today is going to be different,' Ginny promised, holding Harry's hand and making him look at her. ‘And maybe we can do everything you wanted to do when you saw me in the gold dress for the first time?’

'I didn't know as much as I do today,' Harry pointed out, smiling at her. 'But it would be great. And at this wedding, I don’t even need to be in a Weasley’s body, which also helps a lot.’

She nodded. 'Thanks to Merlin, there are already many Weasley in the world.'

Harry laughed, leaving the room and walking over to James, who was still sleeping the same way he was when Harry put him to bed, hugging the bear Percy had given him, covered by his favorite blanket, looking like he didn't even care that there was a wedding about to happen, and wearing that mini suit that was the most adorable thing.

Smiling and watching his son sleep, Harry was happy, now he and Ginny knew how good it was when things were so simple.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Masquerade

Part 2 of Cozy’s Fluff-To-Angst Fun and Games

@loki-hargreeves said

Here's a fluffy-ish prompt for you,

Dancing together (anything between ballroom dancing or just dancing in the living room at 2am together) 💚

Summary: It didn’t have to be bad, Loki told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. 

He would be happy too.

Word Count: 1,659

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I feel like if you’ve read any of my other stuff, you’ll know how my favorite trope is childhood friends to lovers. I thought I’d try a twist on that formula. Not sure if it worked, but here you go!

Thanks for reading!

Warnings: None? I think? It’s just Loki being lonely

Tags:  @lucywrites02 @silver-lupines @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

Loki had always loved dancing.

Alfheim balls were a little different from the ones he had grown up attending on Asgard, but the dancing was similar enough. It was a comfort, little scraps of familiarity floating in a frozen sea. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be swept up in the rhythm.

Rowan was radiant, as always. She laughed as she spun in his arms, the skirt of her dress flaring around her legs in a sparkling golden blur, and when he pulled her closer he found himself laughing too. It was impossible to resist—her smile was infectious.

His wife was a brilliant actress.

Loki hadn’t known what to expect from the arranged marriage laid before him. He had been granted only a month to attempt to straighten his thoughts before being sent away to Alfheim to meet his bride. It didn’t have to be bad, he told himself. His parents were married through such an arrangement, and they were happy together. Happy enough at least. He would be happy too.

And … he could almost feel happy here. Dancing. Drowning in the music. Letting the cacophony of the ballroom wash over him. The two of them swooped across the floor, so smooth they might have been flying, all eyes on them. It almost felt like the life he had always expected to lead.

It almost felt real.

Loki felt lightheaded. Before his wedding, he had never cared for Elven wine, but now he had been finding himself warming up to the drink a little more with each banquet. It made everything seem distant. He liked that.

Rowan twirled again. Her gown was silky green, swathed in gold—his colors, of course. She had been wearing something similar when he first arrived. Really, between the dress and her dark curls, she could have been mistaken for Loki’s sister. It was something Thor had been quick to point out, smacking his shoulder with a boisterous laugh as soon as they stepped off the Bifrost.

Loki missed that laugh. Everything here seemed too quiet. The highlight of his wedding feast had been watching his brother drunkenly frolic his way through the night, challenging men he didn’t know to duels over women he had just met, spilling wine all over himself when a pretty girl brushed up too close to him. His mother had been mortified, but Loki found it endlessly entertaining.

He had nearly cried the next morning, when he came down to bid his family farewell. He hid it, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a son of Odin bawling like a baby over a goodbye. He even managed a weak laugh, when Thor clapped him on the back and congratulated him for surviving his wedding night, although he was curious as to what his brother would say had he known Loki spent it on a couch.

But he really felt it rising, that frozen knot of panic in his throat, when his mother gave him one last embrace. He wondered if she could hear the frantic, childish plea he left unsaid.

Please don’t leave me here.

But as powerful as his mother was, she couldn’t read his mind, and so leave him they did.

He didn’t blame Rowan. He couldn’t—this was no more her fault than it was his. In fact, he had tremendous respect for her. The speech she had given him that night, when they returned to the apartment they were to share as husband and wife, had been straightforward and concise—perhaps a little rehearsed, but not so much that her conviction was unclear.

Still, it had startled him.

“I’ll be your wife. When I’m crowned Queen, you’ll be my Crown Prince. You and your realm will have the power and control you so desperately desire. But you won’t have me. You’ll never have me. Understand?”

Loki nodded. What was he supposed to do? Of all the scenarios he had run through his mind, over and over again until he could barely focus on anything else, he had never prepared for such an abrupt dismissal. When she disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door with a swish of her emerald gown, he could only stand there like the great gaping idiot he was.

She was swishing that gown now, as they circled the floor once more. She stretched her hand out to his, his hand grazing her waistline as they turned to the music. The crowd of nobles watching from the edges of the ballroom seemed to have drawn even tighter around them since he last looked. The muscles in Loki’s neck tensed, but he held his easy smile. He had learned to dance through these maskless masquerades, and he danced them quite well.

Rowan wasn’t bothered by all the eyes on her. She peered across the assembly, scanning the faces even as she fell back into his arms beaming. Loki didn’t even have to look up to know who she was searching for.

He had met him once. The Other Man. His name was Ari, and he worked in the royal stables. For banquets such as this, however, he was occasionally called in to aid the overworked staff. It was a station he had been born into, it seemed—his father had served as groom, his mother a kitchen maid. Ari had served alongside him as a stableboy in his youth. He and Princess Rowan had known each other since they were children.

Loki had met him when he discovered him lounging in the very rooms he shared with his wife. It was a rare occasion—usually Rowan was smart enough to keep her extramarital engagements outside of the palace—but it seemed that she had to step out for a moment and asked Ari to wait for her. They shared several minutes of stilted conversation. Loki tried to be polite, but the stablehand was clearly uninterested in friendship. They were both exceedingly relieved when Rowan returned to whisk her lover away. The foul-eyed smirk Ari shot at him as he left made Loki feel sick.

He thought about asking Rowan not to bring him back to their apartment. Surely that would be a fair request. If Thor had been in his position he would certainly have no qualms about making it. No, he’d demand that Rowan never do such a thing again.

But … Loki had never exactly been the demanding type. He didn’t want to be the demanding type. It was her life, her love, and he was the intruder from another planet butting in and turning it upside down. It didn’t bother him that she wanted to be with someone else. He wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want Rowan, not like that. He didn’t love her, and she certainly didn’t love him, and Loki was perfectly fine with that. He wanted her to be with Ari, if that was what brought her happiness. They both deserved to be happy.

But … he found himself thinking about them a lot. He had precious little else to do here, besides nod along in meetings where he had no real say and reread books that no longer offered him escape. Loki’s mind would drift off, and he’d wonder how they met, the princess and the stableboy. Maybe Rowan had been lonely as a child—after all, she had no siblings, and the Alfheim court held precious few her age. Maybe she had come to the stables to hide away from the weight of royalty. Loki had done that when he was little—hide in the stables, or the wine cellar, or anywhere safe and secluded where it felt like nobody was looking at him.

Maybe she had hidden in an empty stall, and Ari found her when he came into clean. He imagined Ari had been quite lonely too—there couldn’t be a lot of conversation to be had when one spends their days mucking after horses—and so when he came across the princess huddled in the corner, her silk skirt carefully tucked under her knees, he sat down next to her.

Loki imagined them talking, not about anything in particular, just bouncing from topic to topic the way children tend to do. Maybe Rowan brought up her favorite book. Maybe Ari showed her his favorite flower. It didn’t really matter. But Loki pictured them growing closer, meeting up in secret again and again, their endeavors growing wilder with their childish glee. He saw them sneaking away to the roof of the palace to watch the sunset and count the stars, laughing at the ant-like people scurrying by below as they snacked on stolen chocolates. He saw them creeping away to practice dancing in the moonlight, with nothing but the nightingale’s song to count their steps. He saw them slowly begin to look each other in a different light, nervous lips brushing against each other for the first time. He saw them hatch plans of escape—long, intricate schemes that called for stolen ships and falsified identities—before they came to their senses and realized such plans would never come to fruition. He saw himself enter their story and felt their loathing.

Loki wished he had that. That closeness, that bond. He wished he could talk to Rowan, really talk to her and trust her to listen. Not in a romantic sense, but as something else. Friends. Weren’t there stories like that, where the husband and wife in arranged marriages grew to have a friendship more powerful than anything romantic?

But somehow, Loki knew that to his wife, he’d only ever be the man trying to rip her from her beloved.

The music was reaching a close. Rowan pulled away in a graceful curtsey. Loki let her go with a bow. The crowd rippled with polite applause, devoted and empty as always. Loki kept his smile, blithe as can be.

His wife wasn’t the only brilliant actor in the room.

[luvelyhs]

In the end, we can only save ourselves

harry and y/n are in an open relationship

i’ve been wanting to write this concept for a while cuz i love reading about it so hope you enjoy :)

warning: angst ofc what else do you expect from me 😅

i’m def writing a part two so stay tuned for that :))))

—————

The fresh red marks littered his neck, they showed someone else had claimed him for themself, had marked her husband with their lips. It was a disgusting thought, and Y/N had to turn away before she quite literally threw up.

“Want some coffee?” Y/N shook her head.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t notice anything, fuck, when did he ever? Y/N was getting sick of it, his obliviousness to her tense and off behavior. Y/N thought communication was key, but sometimes she feels afraid of the future, of what could happen if she voices her feelings and thoughts, of saying she wants to end their open relationship. He’d leave her. She knew it.

“Mmkay.” He turned the coffee maker on, and the only sound in the room was the noise it made. Neither Harry nor Y/N were speaking.

She had to leave because she kept taking looks at him, at his neck. Did he even know what that made her feel? Any semblance of feeling? Did he have any respect for her anymore? It would be respectful to not showcase the work of another on his body, open for her to see, in their own fucking home. It was ridiculous, and suddenly the hurt was replaced with anger.

“Have fun last night?” Y/N’s voice was ice cold, something no one could miss, especially not Harry. He glanced up at her over his phone.

“Yeah, ‘t was fun.” He nodded, eyes moving back down to his phone. Great, now he couldn’t even look at her while they were having a conversation.

“I could see. Quite literally.” Harry looked at her in confusion, while Y/N rolled her eyes at his obliviousness.

“All over your fucking neck, Harry. At least hide that shit next time, will you?” Y/N grabbed her laptop from the island table, backing up her chair, making it squeak against the wooden floor.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t know.” Y/N scoffed at his guilty tone while she was exiting the kitchen. Y/N didn’t know how much longer she could put up with this. She never wanted this fucking open relationship in the first place. All she wanted was to make him happy, and now she’s so disappointed in herself for lowering herself in that way for a man. Even Harry wasn’t worth it, the man she had loved with her whole entire being and entire soul. Because he’s not who he used to be, and it makes her feel more empty than anything else.

“Be a little more considerate next time, yeah?” She called back over her shoulder, walking to their backyard to get some sun and do some work.

She looked behind to see if Harry was following and couldn’t help but feel a little hurt when he didn’t. The old him would have followed her around like a puppy to see her smile and be happy with him again. This was another example of how much their relationship had changed, for the worse.

Y/N opened her laptop and started looking over a manuscript for her job. It had been an hour or so when she got an incoming Facetime call from her friend back home.

See, Y/N had basically uprooted her life for Harry. She had a good job back home, with her family and friends surrounding her, but she let herself get windswept by Harry and his charm and charisma. He had done everything to sweep her off her feet, even though she didn’t want to be with him in the first place.

He succeeded, eventually, hence why she was in London in their home, where he wanted to settle down, not her. London was cloudy and gray, she wanted the bright sun and blue sky. But she had to follow him, because what the star wants, the star gets.

Don’t get her wrong, Harry and Y/N were so happy during their one and a half year of dating and three years of marriage. They were perfectly happy, she had been enough for him during this time, until six months ago he started becoming distant, wouldn’t come home until late at night and would text her to not wait up for him, he didn’t even know if he would be coming home at all, and that irritated her yet also hurt, because he was growing distant and whenever she tried to initiate conversation about it, he would deflect.

It wasn’t until one evening he broke, started saying how he felt trapped.

“I jus’- we’re good, Y/N, so good. But don’t you think tha’s just not enough? I- I saw someone at the club tonight. I wanted to get her number, I wanted to approach her, and almost did when Mitch stopped me, pulled me back, said I had a lovely wife waiting at home for me.” Y/N hadn’t believed her ears. Her initial thought was- ‘he could go to fucking hell’, but she didn’t want to lose him, she didn’t. Because she loved him. So.. she brought it up. When she shouldn’t have. She should have taken it back as soon as she said it, but she can’t turn back time.

“You wanted to fuck her? That’s what you want to do? Throw a whole 4 year relationship away because you wanted to fuck a pretty girl? Go ahead, Harry. Do what you want.” Harry had approached her, looking at her warily.

“You’re not saying, you want to end us?” Y/N heard fear in his words. He was scared of the end of them, but it wasn’t enough. But in the heat of the moment she shook her head, when she should have said yes.

“No. No.. I.. we can try an... open relationship?” Y/N forced the words out of her mouth, wincing slightly when she saw the bright look on his face. And this is where she was proud of herself for a moment, because she had made him happy again.

“Really? Are you sure?” Y/N nodded, again, forcefully.

“Yeah, sure.” She nodded her head, fake smiling when Harry approached her and granted kisses all over her face, before pulling her into a deep one and showing her how happy she made him with lots of loving through the whole night.

It stopped him being distant for a bit. He would tell her where he was going and with who. She’d tell him to have fun and to be safe, wear protection. He said of course he would. They’d meet for a quick peck, then he was out for the night.

He thought she had nights where she went out too, but she didn’t. And she wasn’t about to tell him that. She had pride, she had suggested it, now she had to deal with the consequences. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep with another person, it was disgusting. All she could have thought about was Harry, and she had months to think about this, about how someone you’re married to would be okay sleeping with another person... it wasn’t okay at all, not for her. She always thought if her significant other wanted to do that, she’d end the relationship, because if she wasn’t enough for him, what was the point of being married?

She had given Harry the benefit of the doubt for a few months, wanted to see if he would end the open relationship himself, but no. He became more bold, this wasn’t the first time he came home with hickeys all over his body. But she had been quiet then, she wouldn’t be anymore.

Y/N quickly answered Anna’s call, greeted by the brunette beauty on her screen.

The excitement on Anna’s face made Y/N miss her more.. made her all the more homesick. She wanted to see this face in person, and it had been a year since she had.

“Y/N!!” Anna screamed, excitedly. Y/N grinned, happy to see her best friend again.

“Anna! I miss you!” She squealed, sitting up a bit to set the laptop on her lap.

“How’ve you been, baby cakes? Still kicking ass at work?”

“I’ve been good... just living life. Of course I have been! Getting promoted soon, just know it.” Y/N smiled, because she genuinely loved her job. She worked at a publishing house and read over new stories, and she loved it because it pulled her into another universe, one where she didn’t think about Harry and reality.

“Still madly in love with your hot hubby?” Anna giggled, clearly teasing, but usually when Y/N would laugh bubbly along with her, she sat silent.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” Anna frowned.

“Umm.. yeah.. just-“ Y/N tried to stop it, she tried, really she did. But the first tear slipped past her defenses then another and then more.

“I don’t know what to do, Anna, I don’t.” Y/N sobbed into her hands, breaking down once Anna asked that question. Everything she had been holding in, was being let out.

“What’s wrong, honey? What happened?” Anna said gently, coaxing Y/N to open up and tell her what happened.

“Don’t- don’t judge, okay? I know I said I’d never let this happen, but, but I dunno. I don’t know.”

“Let it out, Y/N.”

“Harry and I.. are in an open relationship.” Y/N looked up at Anna’s concerned face, nodding for her to continue.

“I’m not judging, baby cakes, do you mind telling me a bit of context? How did you get into the situation, huh?” Anna remembered a conversation they had about their future partners. The topic was cheating and Y/N had said if her partner ever slept with another, it was over. She was a little possessive over her boyfriends, not overtly so, but enough to be so jealous if they were to do anything with someone in front of her or flirt and she didn’t think she could ever handle them sleeping with someone else, and Y/N was so in love with Harry, everyone could see it, so how did she get herself in that situation?

“Uh-“ Y/N sniffed, wiping some tears from her face with her hoodie sleeve. “He waa distant and he said he wanted to hookup with someone one night so I just suggested it. He wanted to do it and it made him happy so I agreed too. I haven’t slept with anyone, I can’t, Anna. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Oh, honey.. I think it’s time you came back to us. Take a break from him and gloomy London. Think things over back home.” Y/N knew she needed to get away, and Anna’s words reinforced that thought.

“Alright.. umm.. i’ll book a flight right now.” Anna gave Y/N a sympathetic smile.

The topic switched to Anna’s life and questions about what’s happening back home, all while Y/N booked a flight back to her local airport for two days from now.

It was a one way ticket, she didn’t know when she would be back. Or if she would be back.

The confirmation email sent to her phone and it pinged to let her know it was there.

“Got it! I can’t wait to surprise my mom.”

“So excited for you to get here, baby cakes. Ugh-“ Y/N could hear kids yelling in the background. “gotta go, Ben just spilled juice all over Bran.” Anna rolled her eyes, blowing her best friend a kiss goodbye and then ending the call.

Y/N sat back against the lawn chair, staring at the pool and pretty garden and trees in her backyard.

A warm hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts, making her jump slightly.

“Harry! You scared me!”

“You alright, bubba?” His tone was serious and concerned, looking down at her with his gently green eyes that forced her to say what she’s been wanting to say for a while, but she held herself back.

“‘course, do I not look alright, Harry?”

“You’ve just been a little, I dunno, tense.. recently.” He chose his words carefully, not wanting to upset his bubba.

“Tense?” Y/N let out a short laugh, staring back out at the blue pool water:

“Talk to me, darling, c’mon.” He stroked her arm, coming around to stand in front of her before dropping low, now she was looking down at him.

“I’m not tense, Harry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were crying, Y/N. I can see the tears stains and red eyes. Why were you crying?” A dreadful feeling took over him.

“Why am I crying? Why am I crying? It’s because of you, Harry! I’m crying cause of you! You’re not worth my tears, not anymore. Not when I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Her tone became more soft at the end, a broken whisper at the realization.

“Darling..” He cupped her face, a frown marring his features. “What did I do, hm? This about the hickeys? It won’t happen again, bubba.” His tone was gentle for her.

“It’s more than that. It’s about the whole thing. I can’t keep doing this.. this open relationship anymore, Harry. It’s hurting me, it’s been hurting me. You never noticed, that’s the thing Harry.” Harry gulped, the words slicing a knife through him.

“I thought you were okay with it, Y/N? You brought it up in the first place.”

“Because you would have cheated on me if I didn’t. At least with this I know you’re out with others. Not behind my back.”

“You think that lowly of me, pet? That I would cheat on you? Never, darling, never.”

“You yourself said you wanted to hookup with that woman from the club a few months ago, remember that, Harry? If I’m not enough for you anymore, just tell me. Because I will end this marriage if you don’t.”

“What? Y/N! You’re everything I ever need, baby. Well end this open relationship, you’re the only one for me. I promise.” Y/N shook her head, because the respect for herself was building, and this was step one to recovery. At this point, she knew she had to do this, to save herself from the inner turmoil, the disrespect she had granted on herself for letting this happen. It’s taken a toll on her mental health, and she had to this.

“No, Harry. What we’re ending is our marriage. If I was ever enough for you, you wouldn’t have wanted to be with anyone besides me. I’m leaving in two days. Leave me alone until then.” With that, she pushed Harry away from his kneeling position, and walked back into their house. It hurt to say the words, it hurt to make what she was dreading a reality. Harry stared brokenly at her, not knowing what to do to fix this, fix them, fix her.

[crankynewt]

Chapter Three - You Said Forever

Another Love Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Regulus Black x Fem!Reader, Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Song: driver’s license - Olivia Rodrigo

Warnings: Angst, shoddy timeline, swearing, (I think that’s it??).

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I made an angst series using sad songs, ofc I had to use driver’s license eventually! Also, although the characters have gotten a bit older, I’m still using Andrew Garfield and Timmy Chalamet as the face claims! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter, it’s a big one!!

(Neither gif is mine, all credit to the creators!)

If the decrepit walls of 12 Grimmauld Place could talk, they would tell the tales of misery and anguish. The house had not seen much happiness since it’s construction, especially during the period Walburga, Orion, and their children inhabited it. It was only following the deaths of all of Sirius’ family that he took up residence there with you when the anguish was displaced with joy, if only for a short period. It’s no wonder that you moved to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Remus following the events of October 31st.

Standing in the front entry once more, the ghosts haunting the dwelling seemed to be whispering unintelligible warnings against proceeding further into the house. You could hear the shrieking of Walburga’s painting upstairs, a familiar nuisance that had your blood boiling in an instant. Your husband’s arm draped protectively across shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb was the only thing keeping you sane at that moment in time. 

Through the open door at the end of the hall you could see the face of Sirius Black, the light in his eyes slowly returning as he spots two of his favourite people in the world. He quickly stood, rushing out the door to embrace you both in a warm hug as you dropped your trunks to the floor. He held the both of you close and tight, afraid that should he let go, he would wake up alone in his cell once more. 

The Order reuniting was the perfect distraction for both you and your husband, your recent unemployment resulting in a sense of unease in both your minds. Luckily, both Sirius and yourself had inherited enough money that you needn’t worry about working, but the void that your children left when they returned to Hogwarts the following year was certainly hard to fill. Summer break couldn’t come soon enough for any of you. 

Towards the end of that summer the Weasleys came to stay, Molly and Arthur bringing their four youngest, meaning that mischief lay just around every corner. About a week after their arrival was when Hermione showed up, the same day that Moody had taken a small group to retrieve Harry from the Dursleys.

Hearing the opening door, you rushed from the kitchen where the meeting had been taking place to see that Arthur had returned with the young girl who he’d picked up from her muggle household.

“ Professor (Y/L/N)!” She smiled, lugging her cart behind her with one hand while the other cradled her ginger cat. 

“Oh please, Hermione, I’m not your teacher anymore.” You said. “(Y/N) is fine.” You knew the girl had seen you as a role model, both academically as a skilled teacher but also following the story Harry had detailed to her about how you’d worked for the Order to relay Death Eater secrets to them. You can still remember the slap across the head she’d given Ron after he let her secret slip during class, the young girl embarrassed that you knew how she idolized you.

“The rest of the kids are just upstairs if you want to join them, Ginny will show you to the room you’re sharing.  Harry should be getting here in about half an hour, and dinner will be at six-thirty!” You explained, the girl smiling as she carefully let Crookshanks down to the floor before she dragged her case up the stairs behind her.

Returning to the table, you sat in the seat across from your husband as you shared a tight-lipped smile. The two of you had decided that it was probably best to maintain a level of professionalism around your fellow Order members, the pair of you keeping all talk of your relationship outside of the meetings. These gatherings, however, continued to consist of endless bickering over the topics of Harry and Voldemort, the only subtle comfort you’d found during the evening had been Crookshanks crawling upon your lap for a snooze.

“I’m just saying that we can’t risk telling Harry about this, it’ll just be putting him in more danger and we never know who’s listening.” You said. “I mean, look at Pettigrew! He hid in your house for years without anyone knowing! Who knows what he’s shared with ‘You Know Who’!”

“Yes, but there aren’t exactly unregistered animagi running around everywhere, (Y/N).” Sirius remarked. 

“Says the unregistered animagus to the other unregistered animagus.” You snapped, glaring at your in-law from across the table.

You forced your mouth shut after that, not wanting to continue bickering with your friends, letting your thoughts wander until Sirius’ comment forced it’s way back to the front of your mind. You weren’t exactly sure as to why it was bothering you so much. Even after the meeting had concluded and you were the last one in the kitchen, baking cookies for the teens to snack on the following days, you couldn’t shake an odd feeling. As if there was something that your subconscious had registered that your conscious mind hadn’t yet comprehended. 

It was only when you turned to grab the tinfoil from the cupboard behind you that a cold sweat found your body, your mind finally registering what you’d missed when something caught the corner of your eye. Maybe you hadn’t noticed it because you didn’t want to believe it, or maybe it was that part of you realized just how long it would take for this shock to fully register.

“You must think I’m stupid,” You began, refusing to turn away from the dough you were scooping onto the cookie sheet, “or maybe you’re still just as arrogant as you were in school.”

You didn’t receive a response right away, causing both a wave of relief and disappointment to wash over you at your incorrect suspicion. But that all went away when you heard a shifting sound and the screeching of a chair.

“What gave me away?” A voice called from behind you in a smug tone you’d heard countless times many years ago.

“Oh please, Regulus.” You said, finally working up the courage to turn around as you fought desperately to conceal your emotions. He was older now, crinkles reaching the corners of his eyes, and his previously neat clothes were now battered, torn, and bloodstained, but apart from that he looked just as he did when he walked out the door years ago. “We were married - I know you better than you know yourself.”

He gave a silent chuckle as his smirk became a tiny smile and he looked towards the floor. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as a strong, unnamable tension continued to grow between you. While you expected an explanation, Regulus seemed to have anticipated a much happier reaction from you. 

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Regulus commented, his confusion continuing to build at your indifference to his sudden appearance. “I’m still your husband, you can’t spare me a smile, at the very least?”

That’s when it hit you - he doesn’t know. Regulus, or Crookshanks, rather, hadn’t heard anybody mention that you’d moved on. It must have been some luck or twisted fate that he’d never been in the room when your relationship had been mentioned, which means he also doesn’t know about Teddy. But does he know about Archie and Cassie? Surely he would’ve asked about them immediately if he was aware.

“You’ve been gone for a very long time.” You said, your bitter tone contrasting the quietness of your voice, yet your volume grew with each word until you were shouting. “You abandoned me, how dare you show up now and expect me to welcome you back into my life with open arms. Do you have any idea what I have been through the past sixteen years?! You have no fucking clue exactly what you left me to deal with! And now you sit here with that smug expression, daring to call yourself my husband and expecting me to forgive you for the hell you put me through?!”

Regulus sat there with his mouth opening and closing, the first time you’d ever seen the quick-witted boy speechless. You could see the hurt in his emerald eyes as his mind desperately searching for something, anything to say. But you never got the chance, as the door opening as a third voice filled the room.

“Honey, it’s starting to get late, I think you should come to - dear god.” 

Both your and Regulus’ heads snapped towards the over of the voice, only for your eyes to meet your other husband. It didn’t take long for Regulus to process why Lupin was calling you “honey” and exactly where his comment was going, his eyes darting between the two of you over and over again, before a sigh escaped him.

“So that’s why.” He said, leaning further back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long was I gone before you and the werewolf started -”

“Don’t!” You bit, probably a bit too loud because that was what finally caught the attention of two sets of ears upstairs. In the long, dark hall, two doors opened and two sets of eyes stared at each other from across the way. The eldest and youngest of the Black men eventually made their way down the stairs together, careful to be quiet as they attempted to discern what the voices in the kitchen were arguing about.

“There is a lot more going on than you realize, you can’t just expect everything to go back to normal after so long. Now if the two of you would stop bickering like children we can discuss everything like adults.” They could hear Remus say, presumably attempting to diffuse the situation considering how level-headed the man typically is. 

There was no sound as Sirius slowly peeked his head through the already open door, utterly disbelieving the sight before his eyes as his shocked exclamation broke the eerie silence.

“Holy shit!” 

“What?!” Archie gasped from behind him, squeezing into the room behind Sirius and peering over his shoulder to see a face that he’d only ever seen in photos before.

Regulus’ eyes widened at the sight of the young Black, clearly seeing so much of himself in the fifteen year-old boy. You being pregnant when he left definitely wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, you were married after all, and suddenly a lot of your anger towards him seemed justified. 

“Is that my… Were you…”  He trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say as his mind still processed this new information.

Remus suddenly covered his shaking head with the palm of his hand, quickly exiting the room and heading out the front door to get some air. He didn’t want to watch Regulus steal his wife and his kids away from him - he just couldn’t.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, holding your own head in your hands as you attempted to make sense of the insanity around you. “Archie, go back upstairs, I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“But-” Your son didn’t get to finish his protest, the look in your eyes when your head shot up to look at him scared him into compliance. In his entire life, he’s never seen that look of utter fury, especially not from you. He quickly left the room, anxious to fill his sister in on everything that had just gone down.

“Sirius, please deal with your brother while I go find my husband.” You breathed, not sticking around to hear a response as you made your way down the hall.

“Now where,” Sirius began, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and quickly sinking into it, “have you been?”

“I was the cat.” Regulus stated simply, the smirk he typically wore working its way back onto his face.

“You were Hermione’s cat?!” Sirius laughed, finding the irony of another “dead” person in his life winding up as being one of the trio’s pets. “Maybe we need to take a look at Harry’s owl.”

But the humour of the situation didn’t last very long, both their faces quickly falling as reality gained their attention once more. 

“I can’t believe I have a son…” Regulus trailed off, still in utter disbelief about the existence of the boy who looks exactly like him.

“And a daughter.” Sirius added, his brother’s eyes widening to saucers once more. “Twins, to be exact. Arcturus and Cassiopeia.”

“What’re they like?” He asked, desperate to learn more about the children he’d never known existed. Of all the things Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked about around him, they couldn’t have mentioned his children at least once?

“They’re perfect - don’t know where they get it from, probably somewhere on (Y/N)’s side.” Sirius said, a small smile forming as he talked about the kids he adored so much. “They’re both in Slytherin, just about to go into their sixth year. Archie is the quieter one, just like you were, while Cassie is a lot more extroverted and even joined the quidditch team her first year.”

“And (Y/N)...” Regulus suddenly grew solemn again, letting out a disappointed breath as he looked away to a random point in the room. “I need to win her back.”

“Regulus, I- I don’t think you can.” Sirius said, causing his brother’s head to whip back around to him, fury written all over his face. “Remus and her have been together for years, that’s not something that’ll just go away. He raised your children with her and they also have another son together, Teddy.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just give up?!” He snapped, a sinking feeling beginning to set in as he began to realize just how difficult getting you back to himself will end up being. 

“What’re you supposed to do? You’re supposed to get to know and form a relationship with the children who’ve thought you were dead their entire lives!” Sirius said. “And maybe you’ll establish a new relationship with (Y/N) again, one as co-parents. But her and Remus have both been to hell and back, so please, just promise me you won’t go about trying to sabotage their marriage.”

“But what about our marriage?”

Remus couldn’t hear any of the typical sounds of busy London that night, he was too anxious and all that he could pick up were the sounds of his heavy breathing. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice you quietly slipping through the front door or sitting down beside him until you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“How’d he come back?” Remus asked, wondering just what had happened to tear his life apart. 

“He was Hermione’s cat.” You said, your voice soft and sorrowful. “Turns out the Marauders weren’t the only unregistered animagi at Hogwarts. I’m just embarrassed it took me so long to figure it out, I knew it was his patronus but I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.”

“What does this mean for us?” Remus asked the dreaded question looming in his mind.

“What do you mean ‘what does this mean for us?’ Why would this change anything?” You asked in disbelief, raising your head from his shoulder to look at him.

“But he’s Archie’s and Cassie’s father-”

“So are you! You’re also Teddy’s dad.”

“And you were married. He was your husband first.” Remus added, gazing at you with a look of nothing but misery. “We were at Hogwarts together, I saw how utterly obsessed the both of you were with each other for years. You never even spared me a second glance, the only reason you even knew I existed was because I was friends with his brother… I’m not even mad about it, you should be with whoever you want to be with, and that’s Regulus. You’ve always deserved someone better than me-”

“Now you listen to me Remus John Lupin.” You began, your husband flinching at the use of his full name, something that you only did when you were angry. “You are who I want to be with, not Regulus; there’s no one better than you. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Yes, we were married first, but that was for less than a year and happened seventeen years ago! We’ve been together for fourteen years, Remus, you’re my life now. I loved him in the past but he abandoned his family, you’re my life now and the one I want to grow old with. He might be Archie and Cassie’s father, but you’ll always be their dad.”

None of your eyes were dry by the end of your confession and you both spent the next several minutes just holding each other, relishing in the fact that the both of you were going to be okay. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You said, Remus nodding in response as the pair of you stood up. “We can deal with the rest tomorrow, Sirius can handle it for now.”

A/N: Okay, so I don’t personally believe the theory that Regulus never died and was actually Crookshanks, but it was what worked for this story so that’s what we’re going with! I’m so grateful for all the support this series has gotten, you guys are the best!

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[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 20

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1857

Warnings:  Pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 20: The Road to Forgiveness

I organized to meet my mother for lunch a week later.  Natasha, Wanda, and Thor came with me.   There had been a very long discussion full of a lot of debate about who should come with me.  If I’d let them they all would have, but I didn’t want the whole thing to be overwhelmed by them.  Part of me had wanted to go alone, but then when it came down to it, I was still scared to be left alone with either of my parents.  Besides, we were trying to keep the pregnancies out of the tabloids and if I was going to go out in public, I needed to take Natasha with me so they couldn’t see me.

Wanda came so that she could read my mother’s mind, to see if she was genuine in her attempts to shake off my father and start a new life and relationship with me.  While, Thor was coming because he had that ability to both be a calming and relaxing influence, but also intimidating if need be.

We thought we’d grab lunch somewhere with a private dining room that we could just be free to talk without too many prying eyes.  Then afterward we’d go shopping for baby clothes and maybe something for ourselves.

We were all well and truly showing now, and I did worry about how mom would take the news that all three of us were pregnant.  Natasha wore a short, black maternity dress with knee-length black leggings underneath and a chain belt that sat above the baby bump that’s chain hung down her side.  Wanda was in a long, flowing, off-the-shoulder, lace dress in cream with red flowers embroidered on the bust and around the hems.  I was in a short black dress with a blue tartan skirt and a pair of black lace tights under it.  Thor was in black jeans, a gray v-neck t-shirt, and his favorite red velvet jacket over it.  When we suddenly appeared in front of the staff of the restaurant they almost jumped in shock.  That shock was quickly replaced with a look of slight awe and definitely attraction as they looked Thor up and down.

Mom was already waiting for us when we were led into the private room.  She was with my brother Ian and a small, slight woman around his age that I didn’t recognize but I assumed must be his wife because there were two kids there too - a girl who looked around eight years old and a boy around five.

Mom got to her feet and seemed to move forward like she was going to come and greet me with a hug, before stopping dead and looking me up and down.  “Elise! You’re pregnant!”

“I am?” I said, looking down at myself.  “Oh wow.  I guess I am.”

She gave me that look moms are so good at.  The ones that tell you that you’re not as funny as you think you are.  To her credit, she didn’t press the issue.

“Congratulations,” she said. “And both of you too?”

Natasha gave a terse nod, while Wanda smiled.  “That’s right,” she said.

“Mom, you met Wanda,” I say.  “And this is Natasha and Thor.”

Thor offered her his hand.  She seemed grateful to take it.  “It’s nice to meet you,” you said.

Ian moved forward.  “Hey, El,” he said.  “This is my wife Rachel.”  Despite not having touched either of the people that were related to me, I offered my hand to Rachel.   She shook it and trembled a little as she did.

“So nice to meet you.  Ian said you were his sister and I didn’t believe him,” she said.

“Well, we’ve not had a lot of contact over the last fifteen or so years,” I said.

“Oh, this is Josh and Hannah,” she said.

“Hello,” I said, though their attention was completely drawn to Thor.  They stared up at him with their mouths open.

He crouched down and smiled warmly at them.  “Hello, children,” he said.  “How are you?”

“I hope you don’t mind us coming along too,” Ian said.  “We came to visit mom and then your people set up the lunch…”

“It’s fine,” I assured him.  “It’s good to see you.  Let’s sit.  I’d really like to get off my feet.”

We all sat down, the kids both choosing chairs on either side of Thor.  A waiter took our drink orders and left us to decide what we would order.

“How are your kids?  You have two right?  I read that somewhere,” Rachel asked.

“Yes, we have twins.  A boy and a girl.  They’re in preschool right now,” I answered.  While everyone else seemed to be relaxing a little more, Natasha seemed to be getting more wound up and I was wondering if it was a good idea to bring her.  “They’re good.”

Wanda looked at Natasha and Natasha pursed her lips.  I was pretty certain that Wanda was telling her off because as the rest of us looked over the menu and Thor spoke with the kids about what they wanted to order Natasha’s face got tenser and tenser until she sagged and let out a huff of breath.

The waiter brought our drinks out and took our orders.  I ordered four cheese gnocchi but as soon as the waiter left I regretted it.  I wasn’t sure how well I was going to be able to stomach such a heavy dish considering the circumstances.  Thankfully Thor ordered four different entrees and three starters, and among them was a salad and bruschetta so if I needed to, I knew I’d be able to swap with him.

“How have things been going, mom?” I asked.  “They told me you’ve settled here.”

“Yes,” Mom said.  “It’s a big change.  Originally I was just going to stay in Ohio with Amanda but then part of me worried that if I did that I’d end up just going back to him.  And I wanted to show you I was serious and make it up to you.  I missed so much and I know ... I know how I treated you - all of you really - was terrible.  Making you think it was okay for him to treat us like that.  Making you think that was the only way to have a life.  I don’t want to make excuses but it was all I knew either.  And now here you are… with this other way.  Are you happy?”

I smiled a little and my eyes felt a slight prickle from tears forming.  “Yeah, mom.  I’m really happy.  This is different, you’re right.  And sometimes it’s not easy.  But while most people see the difference as us all being together as a group rather than just paired off, what’s different to me is I feel safe, loved, and supported.  Even during our worst time, I had people who loved and supported me there helping me get through it.  I just… never felt that growing up.  I was scared all the time and I couldn’t see any way that would ever end, because you kept telling me all the ways I had to act to get a good husband, but a good husband wasn’t a good man, it was a rich one.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I want to try and make it up to you,” mom said.  “But I know I can’t.  I just hope you’ll let us start from scratch.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for too,” I said.

“Is it true that you’re all married to each other?”  Hannah asked.

“That’s right, young one,” Thor said. “In fact for a while, your Aunt was the Queen of Asgard.”

“Woah,” Hannah gasped. “Really?  Why not anymore?”

“After we wed I gave up the throne to my sister.  She is taking care of things now so I have time to be a husband and father,” Thor explained.

“Are you really all married?  I mean… officially?” Mom asked, looking between the three of us.

“As you know, on Earth Elise is legally married to Tony,” Wanda explained.  “We did that for a sense of security and to protect the children’s inheritance.  But prior to that, we all participated in a ceremony known as bonding on Asgard.”

“Asgard is more forward-thinking than here,” Thor added. “They are all legally my spouses and count as Asgard royalty.  They are all princes and princesses there.  It is much deeper too.  We are connected.”

The starter came out and I pinched one of Thor’s stuffed mushrooms and began to eat it with a piece of warm rye bread that was provided for the table.  I definitely wasn’t as tense as I had been when I arrived but even still, the rich buttery stuffing on the mushroom sat like a brick inside me when I swallowed it.

“Can I ask something?”  Mom said.  “I don’t know if this is offensive or rude but… do you know who the fathers of the children are?”

I sighed and took a sip of my drink, wishing the sweet and acidic juice had the deep burn of alcohol to go with it.  “They’re everyone’s mom.  Just like I’m going to be mommy to the babies that Wanda and Nat are carrying.”

“No,” she said, a little flustered.  “I know, but…”

I shook my head, interrupting her. “Look, I know it’s different, and maybe even hard for you to grasp because you did play favorites.  But we don’t.  Not with these kids.  We do happen to know biology.  Part of that was because of medical issues that might have arisen depending on whose biology was involved.  But as far as how we act and how we treat the kids, they are loved equally by everyone as their own.  Because they are.  That is no one’s business but ours.  And I want to make it clear, they could biologically have been anyone’s. We aren’t confused friends, mom.  They’re my husbands and wives in every sense of the word.”

“Right,” she said.  “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said.  “I do want you to feel okay around us.  But… not if we have to fit some ideal you still have set in your head about how my life should be.  It is how it is and if you want to meet the others and even the kids then you just have to be open to that difference.”

“Can we meet the other avengers?”  Hannah asked.

“Perhaps someday,” Thor said.  “I am sure your cousins would love to meet you too.”

“Thor,” Natasha warned, giving her head a tiny shake.

“Does that mean you’re our uncle?”  Hannah asked.

A large smile broke out on Thor’s face.  “Why yes it does,” he said.

“I’ve got a safer topic of discussion, and one Rachel and I can reciprocate,” Ian said.  “How did you all meet and start seeing each other in the first place?”

“Oh, yes please,” Rachel added.  “I would love to hear that.”

I smiled and looked at Natasha.  “That we can do,” I said.  “But it depends on how far back you want to go.  Because it really starts way back in 1929…”

// NEXT

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings From Austin: Part II

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.  

Word Count: 3985

Warnings: a/b/o, bisexuality, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, married life/disagreements, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility, surrogacy

*Jensen acting out of character

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

A/N: series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: For this part I did some research & delved into a bit of reproductive/genetic testing-please don’t dink me on details, I altered it a bit to fit A/B/O verse.

A/N III:  There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional  A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

Part I

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*photos found online

One hour later

Jensen sets two sealed cups in the small niche shutting its door and grabs his jacket sliding it on, his inner Alpha purring with satisfaction watching his husband's fumbling fingers working at a button on his shirt, “Need any help babe?”

Jared’s all dilated pupils and glowing cheeks above his thick beard, “I’m good, I'll be out in a few.” Jensen leans in for one more soft, lingering kiss before leaving. Locking the door behind him Jared leans against it, closing his eyes, savoring the last vestiges of his oxytocin high.

He can’t stop recalling that mischievous glint in those luminous green eyes as Jensen slowly licked his plush lips before diving in to kiss him stupid, his long, sinful tongue doing things that’s probably illegal in twenty states, hands with ooh, so thick, talented fingers capable all sorts of magical things.

Shaking himself out of the memory he crossed over to the sink and caught his debauched reflection in the mirror. Shit, he can’t out looking like this.

Turning on the tap cups his hand to catch some of the running water splashing his face to cool off when his phone starts vibrating in his back pocket. Drying his hands and face he pulls it out checking the text. Glancing up he runs a hand over his thick beard, smoothing it down before leaving the room.

Completely preoccupied typing a reply he rounds the corner heading for the doctor's office slamming into a woman knocking her off her feet, the contents of the bag she’s carrying scatter loudly across the floor.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

From her seated position she looks up...and up, his long, long legs clad in low riding jeans barely held up by a loosely buckled leather belt, his shirts rucked-up, a bit of his treasure trail and toned abs flanked by the sharp V of his hip peeking out.

“FuckI’mfuckingsorryFuckdidn’tfuckingsee....”

Jared, embarrassed, keeps apologizing, laced with fuck every other word, squats down gathering scattered items, dropping them back into the bag continuously babbling until she bursts out laughing. “And here I be thinking I said fuck to much,” a subtle lilt in her voice making it sound like she’s saying fook instead.

They move around each other picking up the last of her stuff. Jared reaches for a scarf when the central air catches a few loose strands of her hair, lightly dancing them across his cheek.

He inhales sharply as her piquant scent travels through his system eliciting a rumbling purr deep in his chest, “Fuck..” She breathes out gazing directly into his kaleidoscope eyes, watching mesmerized as they bleed into red with arousal as her eyes flash gold in response.

“I..I..fuck..I’ve gotta go!” She sputters, scrambling to her feet, grabs the bag hurrying away, leaving him holding the scarf.

Lifting the forgotten fabric to his face Jared deeply inhaled her scent, reaching down presses against his cock chubbing up the second time that day. He morosely stares in the direction she fled in once more, a low whine of loss escapes before he tucks the scarf into his back pocket and resumes heading towards the doctor’s office.

Dr. Rodgers, standing just inside in a doorway observing unnoticed, makes a mental note.

***

Jensen watches amused as Jared sits down with a slight wince, a not unpleasant reminder of their recent interlude, teases, “Did I make that much of a mess out of you Jay?”

Jared shrugs with a nonchalant “eh.” Jensen lowers his chin leaning close growling his displeasure at the flippant response, Jared internally shivers knowing he’s gonna pay for it when they get home, much to his delight.

Jensen abruptly stops growling, “You stink like Omega!”

Dr. Rodgers comes in carrying a binder saving Jared from responding, “We’ll get your test results in about two weeks unless we see something that needs further investigation.” He sets down the binder in front of them, opening it to the first page revealing a dossier and picture.

“Now, the next bit is selecting an egg donor. I’m sure you're wondering how we select the donors. I rely on a protein compatibility test, similar to the markers blood test used when matching Alphas and Omegas, narrowing down prospective candidates.

All of our donors are Betas and Omegas. Several of the Betas are willing to be the surrogate too. If you choose to go with an Omega donor we will have the extra step of selecting a Beta surrogate but that’s something to discuss later if needed.

We also take into account your personal preferences when it comes to physical traits, personality, etc. I’ll introduce you to the top three that are the best matches. If for some reason none of them work out, we’ll try the next most compatible candidates.”

Dr. Rodgers clicks his pen, “Let’s get started shall we.”

***

Flipping off the light switch Jensen walks out of the bath to find Jared already asleep. Crossing over to their bed he stopped at his side admiring him.

How had he gotten so lucky to have Jared as his? Over fifteen years since that life changing meeting he was more in love with his mate than ever, the ups and downs in their relationship that could have torn them apart made their marriage stronger.

Jensen took hold of the book Jared had been reading, gently pulling it out of his hand, slid in a bookmark and placed it on the nightstand turning off the lamp.

Easing into his side of the bed he leaned over pressing a soft kiss to Jared’s bare shoulder, who only wore bottoms since he always ran warm. Shifting, Jared buries his face into Jensen's neck, draping a long arm across his chest snuggling close, “Thank you.”

“For what babe?”

“Helping me today,” he could feel Jared’s breath warm against his skin, “I know you're against having more but please don’t decide not to, I want to have pups with you.”

Jensen mentality sighed, he’d be forty-three before they were born and didn’t want to be the old dad. Jared had argued that he'd never be, they knew lots of people were having their families later, look at Reedus, fifty when his daughter came and JDM, he was almost fifty-two when George was born.

“I’ll make you a deal, I’ll say yes if we find one donor we both agree on,” he felt Jared’s emotions shifting more positive, “but if you like one and me another, I’m not doing it.”

Jared pressed several soft kisses to the side of his neck, “Okay Jen,” he agrees, shifting to lay his head on his shoulder, “we’ll find the one, I can feel it.” he sleepily finishes.

Jensen rests his cheek against the top of Jared's head, not fallen asleep for ages. How was he going to handle Jared’s inevitable disappointment, knowing it will happen since they have always had vastly different tastes in females.

***

Five days later

7:00 A.M.

Jared was up to mile three of his daily workout on the treadmill in his office. He usually ran outside this early in the morning but a surprise thunderstorm altered his plans for the day when his phone rang. He dialed the machine down to walking speed to answer.

“Hello, Mr. Page, this is Sissy from Dr. Rodgers office, I’m sorry to be calling so early. He would like for you to come back in for a follow up about your semen testing.” Jared’s throat tightened, closing off his ability to respond.

He stepped off the machine and sat down on the large leather couch, “Sorry I..what time can I come in?”

“We have an opening at 8:45, will that work?”

“Yes ma’am, I can be there then.”

“Great, we’ll see you in a bit Mr. Page.”

Jared sat back not caring he was getting sweat all over the leather and started his breathing exercise to calm himself, telling his brain to knock it off, surely it wasn’t anything major with how calm Sissy was on the phone.

Ten minutes later he was still anxious but able to handle it. He glanced at his watch and knew he had to get his butt in gear to make the appointment.

Walking into the bedroom he found Jensen softly snoring so he moved as quietly as he could grabbing some clean clothes and headed for the shower. He left a note by the coffee pot saying he had an errand and be back ASAP.

He pulled into the clinics parking lot with five minutes to spare. Tucking his hair into his ever present beanie, Jared slipped on his mask and dashed through the downpour into the clinic.

After being temperature checked, Sissy walked him to the doctor's office. Knocking on the door she opened it and Jared saw the doctor on the phone gesturing for him to come in as he finished his call.

“Hello Mr. Page, thank you for coming in. I wanted to go over a discrepancy the lab found with your test, I'll try not to use too much doctor jargon.” He layed three pages on the table in front of him, a color printout of a sperm DNA strand broke down into segments and the others Jared recognized as chromosome mapping. “These are part of the Alphas sperm DNA sequencing. Normally, this one has a wide band in this segment,” he pointed to a circled area on the right page demonstrating a normal sequence. “This is your sperm's DNA. What I wanted to show you is a variant in the same section,” he circled a column on the left page, “which contains a narrow band instead,” he highlighted one piece of the chain.

“What does it mean?” Jared asked nervously.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t know, I’ve never encountered this variant before. I looked at your previous testing from 2016 and it was also present on that test, not sure why it was overlooked. I’ve consulted with a few colleagues of mine to get their take,” he paused resting his arms on the desk watching Jared’s expression, “Mr. Page, I didn’t ask you to come in to upset you, I prefer to keep my clients in the loop if anything unusual does present with their testing. It’s possibly something that's genetically unique to you and affects nothing. I’d like to run a Tunel test, it’s a sperm chromatin structure analysis, it’ll give us more information to work with.”

Jared fidgeted, desperately wanting to chew on his fingers, “Umm…okay.”

“Good, it's not invasive at all, we just need some more sperm.” Dr. Rodgers says.

~~~

Jensen was stumbling around the kitchen working on his first cup of coffee when Jared walked in carrying a box from his favorite bakery.

“Those aren’t what I think they are?” Jensen asks as Jared sits the box down on the counter. He opens the lid inhaling the scent of decadent cinnamon roll goodness before pulling out one and taking a huge bite moaning pornographically, “Babe, whatever I did to warrant these remind me to do it again,” he says with his mouthful.

Jared chuckles as his mate continues making obscene noises before bending down taken a bit from the other side earning warning snarl.

“You are so not a morning person.” Jared chided sliding the box over to retrieve his own taking it setting down at the island bar pulling a chunk off.

“You wanna share what’s rattling around in that big head of yours?” Jensen inquires. Jared chews slowly before answering. “I got a call from the clinic, something showed up in my test.”

Jensen snapped fully alert, his roll forgotten, and sat down next to him, “Jared, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Jared fiddled with his roll, pulling it apart, “No, not that I’m aware of but they found something off and don’t know what it is. Dr. Rodgers said it’s probably nothing but wanted to run another test to see if he can figure out what it is what if something is wrong and turns out I was the reason Genevieve couldn’t get pregnant I don’t know if I can handle it the possibility of not being able to have pups I’ve wanted them for so long I can’t imagine our lives...”

“Jared,” Jensen sharpness interrupts Jared’s incessant rambling, making him go quiet, “I know you want to go to the worst possible outcome but let’s wait till all the tests are back. If it’s something, we’ll deal, we always do.”

***

August 3rd

“Jen, move your ass, were gonna be late!” Jared bellows from downstairs.

“I’m coming...dammit!” Jensen cursed as he tripped over the boxes left sitting by the bottom step. “You need to get the rest of this shit out of the way, about killed myself again!”

“I’ll stay up tonight moving the rest of this fucking shit if you’ll get a fucking move on!”

The sniping at each other had gotten worse since the house renovations were barely completed before heading back to Vancouver.

Jensen moved his music studio into the newly created space in the basement from the former guest quarters, now relocated to the spacious pool house. The empty upstairs rooms were converted into the eventual nursery/kids rooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom between them.

“You better start watching your goddamn language cause the last thing we need is for our kids to have a trash mouth like…don’t roll your eyes at me!” Jared threw his arms up in disgust before storming out to the garage getting in Jensen’s truck. They drove to the clinic in silence.

They were flying out tomorrow to quarantine for two weeks before resuming shooting on the eighteenth. Then the clinic called their tests were back and Jared didn’t want to wait till they got back for the results.

After their temperature check they were immediately escorted to the doctor’s office finding him already there. “Mr. Bonham, Mr. Page, pleasure to see you, please have a seat.” They sit next to each other not touching. “Is there something wrong gentleman?”

“Why do you ask?” Jensen barks, “Fuck man, don’t be rude!” Jared bit back earning a glare that makes most sane people back away from Jensen.

“Gentleman, no need to fight. It may surprise you but I actually see a lot of hostility between my clients. I’m sure the added stress of the quarantine while trying to start a family is putting your Alpha instincts more on edge, is it not?”

Jensen sighed, “I’m sorry sir, I was raised better.”

Jared gave an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry too sir, and you're right.”

“I’ve been doing this for a long time and understand the situation from your side, my wife and I had trouble conceiving. We ended up having two sets of twins within three years, now that’s stress.”

Jensen blinked, “And I thought mine were a handful.”

Dr. Rodgers laughed, “They are a blessing but honestly, it’s an absolute madhouse at times. So, let’s get back to you two. Mr. Bonham, everything looks good, you are in the top percentile when it comes to mobility and live sperm count for your age group. One of the advantages of being an Alpha, unlike us poor Betas who’s diminish with age.”

“Mr. Page, I also have your results and the Tunel tests which turned out to be something.. unique.”

Jared eyes widened as he paled, his breath hitching, feeling his stomachs spastic tightening making him about vomit. He knew it, he knew something was going to go wrong, his brain didn’t lie to him this time.

Jensen was out of his chair and utilizing his Alpha strength turned Jared’s towards him before kneeling between his legs reaching up to firmly grip the sides of his head forcing him to focus on him opens up his side of their bond he’d shut the other day when they were arguing to gauge how bad this one was.

“Hey Hey, concentrate on me, I need you to breathe with me,” he held Jared’s gaze for several minutes as their breathing cinqued up, feeling him relaxing.

“There you go big guy. It wasn’t that bad, focus on your breathing okay.” Jared nodded embarrassed as Dr. Rodgers sat a bottle of water in front of him, “Do you need me to get you anything else?”

“No, he’s fine, thank you,” Jensen answers, getting up retaking his chair as Jared took a long drink from the bottle, “he’s usually more aware of these attacks but since the damn lock-downs.” Jensen shook his head in disgust, “We're heading back to Vancouver tomorrow to finish our sh..job before his new one starts late October. I guess it’s really hitting us both that it's finally ending.”

“Mr. Ackles, you can say show,” Jared and Jensen stare at him in surprise, “my daughters are fans, I know more about the Winchester brothers than a man my age should.” Dr. Rodgers ruminates, “Mr. Page, are you ready for me to continue?” Jared nodded as Jensen wrapped both of his hands around his free one.

“After I received the results I spoke with a specialist in Alpha genetics. They looked at all your tests and came back with a conclusion I’ve never heard of before.” The doctor laid a printout on the desk, “This is a visual aid to help me in explaining.”

“Chemoattactants are what a female's egg releases to attract the sperm to it. You know how it works from there; sperm meets egg, sperm penetrates egg and viola, fertilization. Alphas sperm has evolved allowing them to inseminate all three sub-genders, whereas male Omegas sperm is sterile since they possess both sets of reproductive organs but only need to utilize one.”

The doctor sets all three of Jared’s tests and the normal example on his desk for them to see, “This chromatin structure you carry Mr. Page,” he points to the highlighted section, “has altered so that the eggs of Alphas and Betas are chemorepellent to your sperm, rejecting fertilization.”

Jared sat still-shocked, blankly staring at the results lying before him, vaguely feeling Jensen reaching across their bond again. “Does this mean he’s...infertile?” He can hear Jensen hesitant inquiry, like he's standing across a vast chasm.

“In conventional terms, yes. This is the reason you were unable to conceive with your previous spouse, being a Beta, and there is still no medical intervention available that would have helped. What’s unique is his sp...”

Jared was numb. His dreams of a little Padackles tearing around their home had literally been salt and burned before his eyes with those test results.

In the recesses of his attention he’s aware of the continuing conversation around him, the longer it goes on, the more his brain is tuning out.

~~~

The first thing he becomes aware of are fingertips caressing his face, softly wiping away wetness damping his cheeks. Slowly blinking the blurry shape in front of him comes into focus.

Jensen is sitting in front of him. More accurately, he’s sitting cross legged in between his own splayed legs on the floor. Jared frowns as his senses are coming back online.

He was sitting on the chair that’s now off to his right so how did he end up with his back against the desk?

“You passed out,” Jensen answers his unspoken question, “and scared the ever-living shit out of me! I thought you were having an aneurysm the way your eyes rolled back into your big head!”

“I..I..don’t know what happened, I was looking at the results, you were asking questions..then nothing.”

“Stress Jared, you are completely stressed out and it's fucking with your illness!” He opens his mouth, “No, I’m not done so be quiet.” Jensen’s voice dropped with his Alpha tone overlaying it,

“Between that final script having you nuts all year, this quarantine fucking up your meds, dealing with your businesses shutdowns, getting Walker started, you had to add pushing for pups, it’s no wonder you couldn’t handle the doctor explanation of...”

“Explanation of what?” Jared lashes back in own Alpha voice, leaning forward into Jensen’s space, his eyes flashing red, “That I’m infertile, sterile, shooting blanks..”

“Shut that fucking mouth for two minutes or I swear I’ll deck you.” Jensen’s normally warm green eyes bleed into a fierce red, becoming hard.

Jared’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. They had gotten into plenty of arguments over the years, gotten in each other’s faces a few times but this was a first. Jensen had never, ever threatened physical harm.

Well, somewhat that time Misha set him off during a panel and he went for him afterwards. Misha stupidly goaded him again before Jensen gave him a shove, ordering him to cool off before he had to do something.

Jensen’s jaw ticked as he mentally counted to ten, “Dr. Rodgers said that you couldn’t impregnate another Alpha or Beta right?”

“Right.”

“The part you zoned out is that your sperm wants to only fertilize an Omega’s eggs.”

Sighing heavily, Jensen crawls over a leg to sit against the desk next to him. Jared pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees processing this information as Jensen reaches over and gently rubs his hand in random patterns over his back.

They had mutually agreed on a Beta donor. Now this threw a wrench in the plans.

“Maybe this is a sign we’re rushing into this again. Let’s take a step back and consider all our options.” Jared’s muscles stiffened under his hand.

“I’m not considering anything else and I’m not stopping.”

“Wait...what?”

Jared lifted his head, “I’m not considering anything else and I’m not stopping. I realize this isn’t what you want so don’t worry, I’m not gonna hold you to our agreement.”

Jensen exhaled sharply knowing when Jared spoke in that tone, that was it, end of discussion, mind made up.

Jared gets up, “I’m going to find Dr. Rodgers and see if he's still willing to help me. If you want to leave, go. I’ll get an Uber when I’m done.” He walks out quietly shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck!” Jensen closed his eyes thumping his head back against the desk. He knew he had screwed up and there was only one way to make it right.

***

Jensen asked Jared to let him stay, he was wrong for saying that and he'd be open to one of the Omegas as a possible donor too. Jared wasn’t completely appeased but he was happy Jensen didn’t take the out given him.

The three candidates were smart, attractive, lovely scented Omegas in their twenties that any Alpha looking for a prospective mate would seriously consider, leaving Jensen wanting something else.

“I like aspects of all three Jay, but honestly, I'm not feeling it with any of them.”

“Maybe you’ve reached the stage you’re looking for more substance, less aesthetic.”

“Did you just call me old?” Jensen gaped at his husband.

Before Jared responds, Dr. Rodgers enters, “I see from your expression Mr. Bonham that you haven’t decided on a candidate.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like any of them, there isn’t a..”

“Connection. It’s normal, just because your Alpha doesn’t mean you..desire every Omega you cross paths with. With some it takes time to find the right one.” He looks at his watch.

“We’re at the end of our appointment but I have one more donor I’d like you to meet today. She’s doesn’t exactly fit your personal physical preferences but this omega is...special..and she’s willing to be the surrogate too.”

The doctor opens the door gestures to someone. They stand up to greet her and as she enters they are enveloped by her piquant scent.

“Mr. Page and Mr. Bonham, this is Quinn.”

***

tbc

Part III

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest

SPN: @donnatix @lyarr24

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

[rmtndew]

All I’ve Ever Known

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The first Wednesday in October was the first day that truly felt like fall had arrived. There was a chill in the air that morning and the fallen leaves had taken on a lovely earthy smell after the rain from the night before had blown them off the trees and pummeled them to the ground. I made a mental note to ask one of the neighbor boys to clean the leaves off the driveway and stone path through the yard so Mom didn’t accidentally slip on them. She’d been so cooped up that summer, I didn’t want anything to be in her way of finally getting to enjoy the weather.

The drive to work was quiet and lovely. The sun warmed my car and when I reached the catering shop where I worked, I sat there for a few minutes, drinking my coffee and soaking up the feeling on my skin. I always got to work early so that I could have those few peaceful moments before the chaos of the day started.

Once inside the shop, I started working with my boss Darcy on filling the boxes for the day's orders. We had two major deliveries that day - a work conference at a hotel, and a training seminar being held in the public library late that afternoon. Other than that, we had our standing order for the homicide unit of the police department. At the beginning of the year, a man had been murdered and according to the news that covered it, there was next to no evidence and the case was sure to go cold. But a couple of the detectives wouldn’t let go and against the odds, they found the murderer and got a full confession out of him. The victim’s wife had been so grateful that she decided to have an ongoing order every Wednesday to buy lunch for the detectives who’d solved the murder, as well as their colleagues. She had received quite a bit of money after her husband’s death and decided to use some of it to pay them back in a small way. That order was always mine. It was fairly small and I could carry it in my car. The detectives were always polite but never tried to make small talk, which I enjoyed. The chatty orders went to Darcy’s nephew Nick, who could hold a conversation with a brick wall and enjoy it. 

Once the boxes for the detectives were filled and loaded into my car, I drove down to the station. I took the dolly from my trunk and strapped down the two insulated containers that had the boxed lunches packed in them. The wind whipped around me as I worked, blowing my hair in my eyes. I pushed it away and held it back with my free hand as I wheeled the food behind me. When I got into the building, an officer went through the containers, as always, to make sure I wasn’t bringing in any weapons, or whatever. The first few times he checked them, I was nervous that he’d find something, knowing full well that there was absolutely nothing illegal in them. Then, once I got to know him a bit, I had considered bringing him a cookie from the shop since I saw him every week, but then the irrational fear that he would think I was trying to bribe him to overlook the non-existent illegal materials I wasn’t trying to smuggle in took over. So, like with everything else in my life, I pushed away any urge, no matter how small, to socially interact with anyone longer than absolutely necessary. That’s why, after delivering there for several weeks, I knew he was Officer Bates (he wore a badge) and I was just ‘Waverly’, as in Waverly Box Catering, my company's name. 

Once Officer Bates checked to make sure everything in my containers was safe, he walked me to the elevator and hit the button for me. Thankfully the elevator was empty so that I wasn’t forced to make small talk with the officers or detectives outside of the homicide unit that always questioned why none of the other units got free lunches. The first few times I’d been asked it was awkward, all the other times after those were both awkward and annoying. 

When I reached the homicide unit floor, I made my way to their break room, where some of the detectives were waiting for me. I started unpacking the boxed lunches, placing them on the table, making sure that the names were clearly visible. As I placed the empty insulated containers back on my dolly, my phone rang. Normally I didn’t take calls on the job, but it was from Mom’s doctor’s office. 

I left the break room and found a quiet hall to answer the phone. It was a nurse called Karen confirming Mom’s appointment the following week. We’d made sure to write it on the calendar to remember it, but I thanked her for the reminder anyway and told her that we’d see her next Wednesday. After hanging up, I went back to the break room to collect my equipment. I was surprised to find that every single box had been claimed but one. I glanced at the name: Detective Marshall. Normally I didn’t keep track of who ordered what after the boxes had been filled and labeled, but I knew Detective Marshall’s order by heart. While every other detective switched their orders up, trying different things on the menu, Detective Marshall’s had remained the same every week. A cuban sandwich - whole, plain chips, and a peanut butter cookie. There were times when I’d be doing mindless tasks - washing the dishes, brushing my teeth, filling Mom’s pill box - when their order would randomly play through my mind, like some strange mantra. It was an odd thing to find calming but it reminded me of one of the exercises my therapist had me do as a teenager when my anxiety attacks would get bad. She had me multiply numbers, or mentally list every detail of my bedroom that I could think of, or recite the alphabet backwards. It was simple, mundane, ground exercises and without ever knowing me, Detective Marshall had become my adult version. 

I was about to leave when a uniformed officer came in. He went to the coffee pot but kept eyeing the box. It was nothing to me, really, if he took it. Detective Marshall could probably handle themselves against a lunch thief, but my gut wouldn’t let me let it go. So instead of leaving, I decided to take the box and hand deliver it.

I left my dolly behind and made my way back down the hall where I’d taken my call earlier. I’d noticed several detectives had private offices there and assumed their office would be there, too. I was right. I found Lieutenant Detective Marshall’s name engraved in a gold name plate mounted on a closed door. I took a deep breath before giving a hard and loud but short knock. 

“Yeah,” a man’s voice called out. 

He didn’t say anything else but I took it as an invitation to open the door. When I did, I was met with my first sight of Detective Marshall: A tall man with a short beard and a head of messy brown curls. He was wearing a forest green sweater, the sleeves pushed up to show his forearms. A gun and badge were clipped to the side of his jeans that hugged his muscular thighs. He was holding a folder, looking at it intently. After a moment, he looked up at me. He must have expected it to be someone he worked with because his expression went from neutral to confused in less than a second. He tilted his head, a crease appearing between his eyes - his beautiful blue eyes - as his brow furrowed. 

“Can I help you?”  

“I, um…” I swallowed hard. “I’m from Waverly Catering. I brought you your lunch,” I said, frozen on the spot at the entrance to his office. 

He looked more confused. “Don’t you usually leave them in the break room?” he asked. He sounded like he had a British accent.  

“Yes. And I did. But you didn’t come to get it. I was about to leave and it was the only one left and an officer came in, eyeing it, I was afraid that they would take it.” I suddenly felt my face get hot as this handsome man stared at me while I mumbled out some weird explanation for why I was interrupting his work. “Sorry,” I said, holding out the box. “Here.”

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he walked towards me. “Thank you.” He took the box from my outstretched hand, his fingers lightly brushing mine as he did. I was sure it was an accident and yet it instantly made my pulse race. “I appreciate it.” 

“You’re welcome,” I said, then turned to get out of there before I could embarrass myself further. 

“Do you make the cookies?”

I stopped and looked back at him. “What?”

He held up his box. “Are you the one who makes the cookies in here or do you just deliver?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I make them most of the time.”

He gave me a short lived, closed lip smile. “They’re very good.” 

My brain reacted as if I’d never heard a more flattering compliment in my life and I had to physically restrain myself from giggling. “Thank you,” I managed to say without betraying my giggling brain. “Have a good day.”

I left his office feeling like a teenage girl who’d just said something embarrassing in front of her crush and I couldn’t figure out why. The feeling lasted until I was back in my car. 

“Come on, Fiona, you’re a grown woman,” I whispered to myself, massaging my temples. “Don’t do this. Don’t do this.”

The last thing I needed on top of all of my responsibilities and already emotionally complicated current life situation was an unnecessary crush on a man just because he had pretty eyes and liked my cookies. But good heavens his eyes were pretty.

    _____________________________________

When I got home that afternoon, I found Mom in the living room. She was watching a cooking show. I went and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair was growing back just enough to feel like soft baby hair. I jokingly called it her duck feathers.

“How was your day, sweetie?” she asked.

I sat on the arm of the couch, facing her in the big recliner that swallowed her up. “It was good. Not too busy. I had my delivery to the police station again,” I said, letting myself grin. “I met one of the detectives, too. He was very handsome.” 

She looked at me, her cheeks a pretty pink color. It was such a wonderful sight after months of her being pale and gray. “Oh! What does he look like?” 

“He looks...manly,” I said. She laughed. “He was taller than me, which is always rare and attractive, and he has curly hair, and a beard, which I’m not usually attracted to but it really worked for him.” I sighed. “And his eyes. They were such a lovely blue.”

“Is he single?”

I shrugged and laughed. “I don’t know. I didn’t check for a ring. It wasn’t really that type of interaction,” I said. “I was just giving him his lunch and was surprised by how gorgeous he was.” I stood up. “Oh, and I think he’s English. He sounded like it anyway.”

“Honey, look for a ring next week!” 

“I won’t deliver next week, Nick will. You’ve got your appointment with Dr. Turner,” I reminded her. “I’m going to start dinner. Do you want anything special?”

She pointed at the TV. “They’re making chicken carbonara, it looks awfully tempting.”

I smiled. “I think I might be able to rustle some up for you. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Thank you, Fi.”

[little-wicked10]

Fragile (Unamed OFC x Negan)

Summary: It’s not everyday the devil meets a woman he wants to be gentle for.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, cursing, mentions of smut, mentions of sexual assault

Her life before the sanctuary she wants to forget. It was a time when she was more afraid of the group she was with more than the walkers. The Saviors had found her hidden away in the back of a truck, terrified, and shaking like a leaf. When Simon lent out a hand to help her out of the truck, she cowered. None of the men that had taken over the small camp could understand why she feared such a small gesture, but she did. The men in her group assaulted her. There was never a night when she was safe from their rough and invading touches. Dirty and drunk words would be slurred in her face as they roughly pawed at her body. 

There were nights where she had wished they would rape her and leave her for dead; to finally get it over with and let her die. Life wasn't worth living anymore when you had been violated in both mind and body. She'd begged them once to end her suffering, but her pleas were only met with laughter and the explanation that she wasn't worth the energy it would take to take their belts off. She had lost hope after that, even after she was being rescued there was still no hope left in her body that she'd would ever feel whole again. 

This fragile girl caught the attention of the leader of the Sanctuary upon arrival. Her natural beauty is what he noticed second about this young woman. She feared that caught his attention. An aura of something dark lingered around her. For him, it's easy to write it off as a fragile mind traumatized by the new world order, but how he would come to be so wrong.

When a man in a leather jacket gave her the option to marry him or work for points, she didn't know what to do. Negan wanted her to be a wife. Besides her being smoking hot, he knew she wouldn't be able to work for points with her veering away from men so easily. 

"Listen, honey. I'm gonna be straight with ya. There isn't a job in this place that you could do to earn enough points to feed yourself. That makes you a target to some not-so-friendly guys that are walking around with a constant hard-on," he blatantly admitted as he sat behind a metal table. Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, most likely about to bleed from the nervous habit. 

"Now I don't tolerate rape or mistreating women in my Sanctuary. With you, I'd rather not run the risk. Here's my offer. Marry me, and you will never have to worry about any man rubbing up on ya that you don't want to," he bargained.

She looked at him with fearful eyes, "B-but that means that you can…."

He quickly cut her off, "I don't touch a woman that doesn't wanna be touched. If you marry me, you can lounge around all the livelong day. I'd just have you around to look at somethin' pretty, but don't tell anyone else that."

"W-why are you o-offering me this?" her voice unintentionally shook.

Negan looked at the woman head to toe, carefully overseeing her entire demeanor before speaking, "Because I know you've seen shit. I don't like seein' pretty girls like yourself scrounging around for points. I keep women safe in this joint."

After that meeting, they never spoke again. She agreed, and her life began as Negan's new wife.

—

It had been months, and Negan kept his promise. She never saw him unless he was picking a wife for the night or showcasing his harem to some recruits. No one knew of the traumas she had faced except her. She had no friends and kept to herself. The other wives spoke ill of her, but she didn't care for their catty nature or false accusations. The depression and anxiety that rattled in her mind kept her isolated, but it didn't keep her from observing her so-called husband. 

Any time she's around him, she watched him. How he carried himself with such self-confidence and dirty humor. His over the top personality was frightening and intriguing to her all at once. Negan came off as an asshole, but it often became overshadowed by the memory of his words he'd said to her on their first meeting.

'I keep women safe in this joint.'

As far as she'd seen, he stood true to his word. She'd heard the stories from the other wives of Negan's cruel punishment for those that been caught in the act of hurting women. Information that should've frightened her, gave her a strange feeling. A feeling that hadn't been felt in some time. Safe.

—

On a particular night walking through the halls of the sanctuary, she'd heard something strange. Ragged breaths. She knew that sound and listening to it made her want to run away and hide. She about turned away when the sound of a familiar voice growling a very familiar cuss word pierced the breathing. It was Negan's voice. Logic told her to get the hell out of there, but curiosity began to lead her feet towards the door. 

She's crazy for wanting to see what's happening, who he's with, what he's doing even though it frightened her to no end to see such intimacy. The door was cracked open with dim light pouring out into the hallway. Upon peeking in, she could see clothes scattered everywhere: heels, a black dress, dark jeans, and a leather jacket; a symbol of power throughout the surrounding areas.

Her eyes fall upon a scene unlike any she's seen. A woman, who she thinks was named Sherry, kneeled and bent over a couch with Negan behind her thrusting deep and powerful. Her nerves appeared and she gnawed on her bottom lip, brain processing exactly what was happening. Never before had she seen Negan like this. He's so…powerful and dominating. It frightened her at the same time that she almost wished that was her. 

The dirtiest and filthiest words poured from Negan's mouth as he yanked Sherry's hair back, his mouth pressed against her ear. The anxiety began to creep its way into her body, but she couldn't bear to look away from the spectacle that was Negan having sex with one of his wives. For how much Sherry said she despised Negan, she seemed to love this side of him. The truth became clear: saving Dwight wasn't the only reason Sherry married Negan. The wives often talked about Negan's ferocious appetites for sex. A lot of how he fucked not made love to his wives, but she didn't believe it until now. 

"Fuck! Take daddy's cock, baby!" Negan growled.

Sherry responded with a moan.

Negan knew she was watching. He'd seen her figure appear in the cracked door and decided to put on a little show for the wife he hadn't touched. He planned to show her what she was missing out on. Negan let loose the dirtiest things he could think of before he finally let it be known he knew she was there. Negan made eye contact with her and continued to fuck the brains out of Sherry. It didn't register with her that they were staring into each other's eyes until ten seconds later. The ego boost he felt in the moment made a smirk adorn his face and throw a devious wink her way before going back to work. 

After that wink, she quickly ran away back to her room. So many feelings and emotions filled her being at what she'd just seen. Flashes of memories mixed with images of Negan fucking Sherry swirled in her head. Confusion plagued her the rest of the night causing her to be restless. She was afraid to sleep. Afraid that what she'd seen would trigger nightmares. Afraid to stay awake for fear of still hearing Negan's moans and them turning into the men's she despised. The last thing she wanted was for Negan to be like those men. Logic told her he wasn't, but the irrationality of her anxieties told her he could be. By the time the sun had risen through her window, she'd come to a conclusion: She did want Negan. She's just afraid of what might happen if she gives in.

—

"Well, my little peepin' tom, did you enjoy the show last night?" A deep voice whispered in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she whipped around, and her husband stood before her with a mischievous smirk on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. A blush of embarrassment spread from her face down her neck. 

Her stammering words trying to find an explanation were halted by his words, "Come with me. We need to have a talk, dear wife." 

All the wives in the room watched with utter shock as Negan led her out of the parlor. He'd never chosen her since she'd arrived. She'd most likely be interrogated by them when she got back….if she came back. The silence was almost unbearable the entire walk to Negan's room. He kept a chirper and amusing atmosphere, but stories had warned her that, that mood could change very quickly. She didn't know how Negan felt about her invading his private time with one of his wives, especially his favorite.

Negan opened the door to his room for her before walking in after her and shutting it, silently turning the lock. "Now what do you have to say for yourself, little missy? Sneakin' around late at night and spyin' on me havin' an intimate moment with one of my wives," his voice was unusually amused. She began to shake, unable to conjure up why she'd peeked in on him with Sherry. Negan watched as she stared down at her feet and bit her lower lip. He took note of her shaking hands clasped together and the tears threatening to pour down her cheeks. 

"Hey now. No cryin'," he came closer to her and placed her chin between his thumb and pointer finger so she'd look him in the eye, "I just wanna know what you were doin', baby. I ain't gonna punish ya." 

Hazel eyes stared into her soul. Confused feelings made her more afraid. She calmed down knowing he wasn't going to punish her for eavesdropping, but there was still the underlying feeling that something else was about to happen.

"Because I think…you want a little freaky deeky. Am I right?" he assumed.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out, just stuttering. 

"I think I'm right. That lil' pussy get wet last night seeing me go buck wild on Sherry?" he was unaware of the dangerous waters he was treading with her, "You want daddy to take care of it?"

She hadn't noticed he'd backed her up against the door until her back hit the hardwood. One of his hands began to wander with much dominance and aggression that was all too familiar in a terrible way. Pure, unadulterated fear gripped her being, making her lock up against him. His smile suddenly wasn't charming, it was terrifying. Memories flashed in her head. Their voices, their disgusting breath, their touches. It was becoming too much. 

"P-please…d-don't," was all she could manage to say. 

Negan froze, hand disappearing from her body in an instant. The gravity of her tears had a new meaning. Before, he thought they were tears of fear that she might be in trouble, but he realized they were tears of trauma. He moved away from her body slightly, giving her room to breathe. She released a shaky breath.

"What did those men do to you, sweetheart?" He finally asked.

Silence.

"Tell me," he demanded.

This was the first time someone had asked her, or cared enough to ask, what happened. She didn't believe that he cared, but the worry on his features told her otherwise. "They touched me. Said awful things to me. Made me suffer," she whispered. There was suddenly relief in her chest. Not much of one. It was slight. As if speaking it into reality, to someone that cared, began her journey to healing. She felt like she could finally speak. Now was her chance to say everything. She didn't want to lose the momentum she felt. Negan suddenly felt like a huge piece of shit. He should have known better. 

"Negan,…I know I'm not exactly…whole, but you make me feel safe. You don't want anything from me. You don't want to force yourself on me. Y-you care, in your own way, for my well-being," she admitted, "Which is why…I do want you, but you probably won't want me because I can't give you what you want."

"And what do I want, sweetheart?" he asked, a bit stunned with her confidence to admit all of this.

Her blush made him want to smile, "What you had done with Sherry. I don't want that. I'm terrified of doing stuff like that. The girls say that you don't…do slow. That you just fuck."

Negan rolled his eyes at the mention of the dumb idle talk of his wives, but there was some truth. He hadn't taken it slow with anyone in a long time. A violent world made a man want the same in bed. Negan sighed before taking a good look at her. He could tell the words were genuine. Not ones she managed to conjure up to tell him no. 

"I want you to touch me, but....not like they did," she added. 

He'd be damned if that little statement didn't warm his heart and tickle his balls all at once. 

"Are you sure, darlin'? You know I ain't about forcing women to do what they don't wanna do," he stated very clearly. 

"Yes. I'm sure. You'll just have to be patient with me," she said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit. 

Negan chuckles a bit, "I'm the one you're gonna have to be patient with. I ain't use to this whole slow thing."

"You mean....you're gonna try?" her voice was small but hopeful. 

"I will do my very best, doll," he reassures. 

Once again, her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip as she waited for something to happen. Negan had to reassess his approach. His previous one wasn't the way to go with her. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quietly approached her again. His rough calloused hand gently stroked her cheek before traveling very slowly down her body to secure itself on her hip. The rise and fall of her chest told him she's nervous, but her reassuring nod and slightly shaking hands coming to rest on his shoulders told him that she's ok with what was happening. 

Negan grasped both his hands on her hips and gently brought her against his chest. Small arms wrapped around his neck, their lips an inch apart now. His breath tickled her cheeks until finally, chapped lips met soft ones in a very cautious and gentle kiss. A spark ignited in her body upon feeling his kiss and his hard body pressed against hers. It was one that she hasn't felt for some time. She assumed it had been extinguished long ago. 

One of his hands came up and pressed against her lower back to bring her body flush against his. The other threaded into her hair, not daring pull a strand until he hears some sort of approval. Negan was used to taking control and being rewarded with very satisfied women, but in this small woman's case, he was going in blind. For the first time in a while, Negan was hesitant in his actions. 

"You can move a little faster. If you want," she whispered. 

Negan smirked against her lips, "Don't wanna go too fast for ya, honey." 

She nodded, small voice approving a slightly faster pace. The sudden courage surprised even herself. Negan took the advice and carefully picked her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could walk towards the bed. His boots thumped against the wood floor until he finally stopped at the foot of the bed, gently setting her down.

The innocent and fearful look in her eyes made him want to go beat those soulless sons of bitches that hurt her. They'd hurt her to the point that a mother fucker like him made her feel safe. It didn't feel right for this to be real, but it was. Negan was brought out of his trance when he noticed she'd taken her shoes off and was starting to unzip her dress. A large hand around her wrist made her stop and become fearful that she'd done something wrong. "Let me do that," he ordered. A silent nod was his only reply before he slowly got down on his knees. She felt his callused hand take her right leg, slowly going up her calf before letting his lips follow the path he'd just made. 

Goosebumps appeared on her skin as his salt and pepper scruff scratched against her skin. Negan's other hand gently pushed against her abdomen, signaling her to lay down. Following his silent instruction, she gently laid back and let him do as he wished. A terrifying thought she quickly chased away with focusing on the feeling of his lips that were now on the inside of her thigh. As he alternated to kissing her other thigh, his hands began to push the skirt of her dress up. Sudden warm breath against her covered center made her shiver, and Negan smirked with approval.

'Such a slut for us, aren't you?!?'

Muscles tensed and tears pricked in her eyes, trying to close her legs at the memory. With Negan stuck between them, it wasn't possible. "P-please don't do that," she shook as her words trembled, "T-they use to bite me. M-make me b-bleed and hurt." Negan contained his growl of anger. How could someone treat a woman like this? The gentle call of her name made her look at him. 

"Darlin', I'm not gonna do that. I promise it'll feel good," he reassured. Her white-knuckling the sheets told him she didn't believe him. 

"Trust me," he whispered, slowly running his hands up and down her legs. Her grip relaxing on the sheets gave him the go-ahead. Negan knew he wasn't the most patient man in the world, but he didn't expect every ounce of it to disappear once he took her panties off. The sight of her glistening and spread out for him sent a primal hunger straight to his mouth and dick. 

"Good God, woman," he groaned, "I've seen a lot of good pussy in my day, but this takes the cake."

He noticed her cringe a bit, and he silently cursed himself. Bad Negan.

To rectify his mistake, Negan gave her center a kitten lick. Hot damn did she taste divine. He did it again on the outer part of her clit, and she gasped as he growled at the taste. How he would love to dive in and just make her cum over and over again. His patience was wearing thin, but he didn't want to hurt her so he took her hands in his. 

"Darlin'," he took her hands in his before urging her to grab onto his slicked-back locks, "You got control. Yank me around if ya like." 

She looked a bit confused but rolled with it as his tongue made full contact with her center. She cried out at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation that came from his slow and painstaking devouring of her sticky sweet pussy.

His moan vibrated against her and added to the pleasure. Her whimpers, moans, and mewls motivated him to keep going. He hadn't noticed he'd sped up to a pace that frightened her until she hissed and tugged at his hair. He pulled back a bit but went ahead with his idea of teasing her leaking entrance with a finger. The feel of her hips at first moving away from his impending intrusion made him reassure her that he would take care of her. The reassurance made her relax against him, legs opening slightly to allow him more room to work. When he finally penetrated her with his middle finger, he cussed out loud at how her walls gripped him tightly. 

"Christ, baby," he groaned, taking a breather himself to keep from just standing up and fucking her brains out. 

She knew she was asking a lot of him to do this for her, to quiet the beast in him and try something different. Her walls burned at first when he began to finger her, but his mouth lapped at her clit and suddenly the whole thing felt amazing. Whines and whimpers escaped her lips that were better than any pornstar Negan had ever heard. He roughly shoved a second finger in her with great ferocity. The great pain Negan felt in his scalp told him his action was not welcomed. 

Unfortunately, the pain mixed with the taste of her on his tongue only made his jeans more uncomfortable than they already were and increased the desire to do what HE wanted. Her whimpers of pain were what made him slap himself mentally. "Gotta bear with me, doll. I'm really tryin'," he grunted out, hooking his fingers up suddenly and coming into contact with her g-spot. The fingers locked his in hair suddenly went flying to grasp the sheets as her back and hips arched. Negan's chuckle was heard over her panting. 

He stood up, fingers still locked in her, and leaned over her, "Never had a man find that spot, baby? Tell me, how's it feel?" 

A strained moan was the response he got, her mind too focused on trying to comprehend the amount of pleasure-pain she was feeling. The pad of his fingers started to slowly stroke her little spot, and her legs began to shake as she grabbed a tight hold of the lapel of his leather jacket. 

When his hand began to speed up, her small fingers wrapped around his wrist, "E-easy. P-please." 

Negan nodded, "Alright, alright." 

He could feel her walls fluttering around his fingers, but she wasn't quite there yet. With the lick of his bottom lip, Negan pressed his thumb against her clit, and the reaction was instantaneous. Her whole body shook as she nearly screamed, both hands grabbing a tight hold of him and legs closing around his hand to keep him from leaving her depths. Stars exploded behind her eyes and tremors racked her body. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she'd ever feel something so...amazing. What helped her come back to earth was the feeling of Negan's lips delicately kissing along her face and neck. 

"C'mon back, doll," he whispered, lightly (very lightly) nibbling on her ear lobe. 

Her body went slack against his and released his hand so he could gently remove his fingers from her quivering pussy. Normally, he'd let his women suck his fingers clean while he praised them with all matters of dirty and filthy words, but he opted to get another taste of her sweet honey. The taste made him groan in satisfaction. 

Negan felt her warm hands trail down his chest and then under his shirt, "Wanna feel you." 

There was no response. He stood up, his warmth leaving the side of her body he was laid against and began to take his clothes off. When he had pulled his shirt off, she sat up. Her post-orgasm look was one he'd file away in his brain for a later jerk off session. Hands explored his chest. She lightly touched his faded tattoos, going over all his muscles before allowing her hands to go around his waist and feel his tense back muscles. Her lips connected with his neck and her fingers delicately traced the muscles, a way of trying to calm down the beast that made his chest rise and fall rapidly. Negan took this opportunity to unzip her black dress, making her pull away from his body so he could pull it over her head and off. 

"Goddamn," Negan bit into his lip as he felt his hands, and dick, twitch at the sight of her completely naked before him. 

She instantly hid her body from his hungry eyes. 

Negan took her hands and removed them, "Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, baby. You got a super hot body!"

His cheeky remark made her giggle slightly.

"There's a smile. You know you don't gotta do this if you don't wanna, darlin'. I'd understand," he reassured.

She shook her head, "I want this. I want you."

Even though she was frightened, the idea of Negan claiming her in the most intimate way possible made her feel so much different than before she had walked into this room. The fear was slowly being replaced with a warmer feeling. A feeling of safety and wholeness. Being in this room, with him, in this fortress made her feel safer than she had in a long time. Negan directed her to travel farther up the bed and lay down. As she did, she watched him crawl his way from the bottom of the bed to hovering over her body, jeans completely abandoned on the floor. When she looked down at his manhood, she gulped. 

He must have heard it because he chuckled, "I know what you're thinking. Yes, it'll fit. No, I haven't torn a woman in half…yet." 

She giggled but still felt nervous. Negan leaned down and kissed her gently, trying to distract her from her thoughts. Her fingers wove into his thick locks as one of his hands brought her leg to meet his hip. His dick laid against her womanhood. The animalistic groan that left his chest was downright sinful. The feeling of her warm wet center against his throbbing dick was heavenly. The rut of his hips against hers made her whimper. Negan wanted to ram himself home and fuck her into oblivion. He knew he could make her cum over and over again, but that would earn him a one-way ticket to the dog house. He'd feel like shit if he treated her like some piece of ass.

This one was different. Negan didn't know why. Never in all his days did someone so fragile and delicate come to him for safety. This was the first woman in a very, very, VERY long time that made him want to change, even if it was for the night. When she gripped his dick in her hand and placed it at her entrance, Negan nearly lost his cool. He growled, but stopped his hips from ramming at full force. 

“Gotta warn a guy, doll, before you go around grabbin’ dicks,” he chuckled.

She blushed and released him. 

“Gonna take this slow now,” he said.

She nodded and let him take the lead once again. Negan wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed he’d still have a shred of control when he got inside her. The moment of truth...grasping his dick, he started to push in. Her whimpers were accompanied by her legs tightening around him. He knew she was tight but not this tight. Negan’s grunts and groans were directly in her ear as he pushed in more and more. The sudden clench of her inner muscles and cry of pain made him come to a staggering and breathless halt. He was definitely gonna lose control. 

“Baby, you wanna be on top? I don’t wanna hurt you, and I’ll lose my grip if I keep goin’ like we are,” Negan grunted. 

The idea made her nervous, “I don’t know.” 

Maybe she was asking too much of him?

“I’ll help you out,” Negan started to shift, pulling out of her gently and laying on his back before putting her over his lap. 

She seemed a bit awkward as she was hovered over him. His hands gently ran up her body and back down to her hips, a comforting reassurance that everything would be fine. Negan took the time to help her ease down on to him. He held his dick still as she took her time to slowly push him inside of her. Her face contorted in pain as his tip stretched her open. 

She went a little bit further down onto his dick before stoping and whining in pain. “Hey. Just breathe,” Negan encouraged, he himself having trouble continuing with his tip being squeezed in a death grip, “You take what you can, baby. Hell, I’d be fine with just watching you fuck yourself on my tip if that’s all you want.” She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and help ease her mind. She knew she needed to relax.

With the way her body was so tense, it was going to hurt even worse. Her body craved for more of his touch while feared it all at once. Negan was surprised when he watched her start to take more of him, her inner muscles a little more relaxed. He moaned as her very tight warm walls encompassed him more and more. The grip on her hips was definitely going to leave bruises. 

“Breathe, beautiful,” Negan urged as she continued to let herself be stretched. The urge to rush herself for fear of upsetting Negan plagued a part of her thoughts, but she pushed past it when suddenly he bottomed out inside her. Never in her entire life had she felt so stretched and so full. 

Negan’s head fell back and he tightened his grip on her hips, “Oh my….fuuuck!” She was tight. She was tighter than most of the women he’s been with. How long had it been since this woman had sex? Or, had she even had sex before? He looked back at her face and could tell she was struggling with the feeling she was feeling. “Am…am I hurting you?” She stuttered. Negan let out a breathy chuckle, “Hell nah, baby. You’re just so tight around my god damn dick.” 

She let out a curt giggle, placing her hands on his abdomen and trying to find some relief to the pressure she felt. Negan reacted quickly by letting his fingers work wonders on her sensitive clit. Her hips bucked making her cry out. Her over sensitivity from her first orgasm and the overwhelming feeling of being full had her arching her back. “There ya go, baby. Negan’s gotcha. Just take your time,” he kept reassuring her. 

It didn’t take long for his fingers to coax her into moving, her body seeking out the pleasure it was craving. Negan could hear her holding in moans and small whimpers as her body began to find a rhythm. This little woman was doing wonders to his body. HIs dick was trapped in the warmest, tightest, wettest hug, and his eyes couldn’t stop looking at the little minx in his lap. It was better than porn. Pressing his rough thumb more into her clit made her whimper out and arch her back once again.

“Am I makin’ ya feel good, sweetheart?” his eyes dark with lust.

She nodded.

“Nuh uh. Use your words. I gotta hear ya,” he encouraged.

“Yes, Negan, yes!” she moaned while biting her bottom lip. 

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming feeling. It was so intense and unfamiliar that she stopped her movements. Negan saw her fall from the precipice of probably the best orgasm she’s had and took action. “Oh hell no,” Negan suddenly flipped her over and gently hovered over her, “Baby, I’m about to give her the best pleasure you’ve ever felt.” Her eyes were a little fearful but it was quickly drowned out when she saw the genuine look in his eyes. She trusted him. 

Negan took it as the go ahead and began thrusting into her, quickly bringing her back to the edge of bliss. Just as he expected, her body began to writhe against his to get away but he held her stead fast in place. “I-it’s too much!” she cried. Negan gently shushed her as he continued his thrusts and then quickly moved his fingers down and rubbed her clit. 

It was as if the earth shattered for a moment. Legs shook, nails clawed into his back, and eyes rolled into the back of her head as the most mind blowing orgasm washed over her. Negan couldn’t hold it any longer and let himself drown in the pleasure and release into her. The feel of her nails dug into the skin and muscles of his back mixed with her quivering walls was all he could take. A shiver ran through him as the last of his seed was in her and he became spent. 

When he had finally caught his breath a bit, he began to check on her. Her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving. She wasn’t quite back to earth yet. “You ok, darlin’?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” she panted.

“Glad I didn’t lose ya,” he chuckled.

She attempted to chuckle but it came out as more panting. 

He took his time pulling out of her overly sensitive walls and took it upon himself to get a warm rag and a glass of water for his spent wife. Returning from the bathroom, he found her still laid in the position he left her. Setting the glass aside, he gently placed the cloth against her center, but she quickly jerked, clearly too sensitive. He continued his task at cleaning up the mess he made of her and placing her under the covers.

It was rare that Negan was at a loss for words, but he found himself unable to say anything. The moment they had just shared was absolutely something else entirely. Slipping into his own bed beside her felt strange. He felt as if he should have said something, but what should he say? On the other side of the bed, she was having the same dilemma. Her brain was a bit fuzzy at the moment, but she’d never been in this position before. She was so use to being used. Her brain was having a hard time comprehending whether what just happened was good or not. 

It felt better than good. Nothing in a very long time had felt even close to that. Then why was she scared that this was bad? She had let him have his way with her, be inside her. She had lain with him intimately, an act she had once swore to herself she’d never do. That there was no one in the world she could trust enough to be that intimate with, and yet here she was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Her body was too weak to protest or even tense against Negan as he cuddled her. She felt his fingers delicately moved her messy hair aside to lay a sweet kiss on her temple. 

“I hope this is ok,” he whispered.

She smiled a little, “It’s ok. I like cuddling.”

He smiled and kissed her again.

“Negan,” she whispered.

“Hm?” He answered, sleepiness beginning to take hold of him.

“Put a hickey on me,” she suddenly said.

Negan went a bit stiff and looked at her. Did she really just ask him to do that?

“Please,” she opened her neck to him more, “So people know not to touch me.”

Her pleading voice touched his heart strings. She wanted everyone to know what they had done. She wanted them know what they couldn’t do to her, that he was the only one with the privilege to do anything like this to her. He obliged. His mouth lightly fell upon her neck, delicately kissing his before latching his mouth onto the skin. She hissed and wound her fingers into his hair as his teeth nipped at her flesh. The slight pain of his mouth mixed with his scruff was a feeling she needed to remember for if they ever did this again.

After a few moments, Negan pulled away to see a large hickey in the shape of his mouth appearing on her neck. His mark was on her physically. It wasn’t permanent, but it was sure to be there for some time. Her fingers released his hair and touched her wet skin where the bruise was forming. Once she was finished inspecting her skin, she turned and nuzzled into his chest, fingers lightly playing with his chest hair. 

Trapped in an embrace, the two lovers fell asleep with a strange warm and hopeful feeling washing over them both. 

[justthehiddleswrites]

Should… | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Emma Masters) | Chapter 7 |  …We Take The Leap?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Emma Masters

Summary: Five years ago, Emma Masters just landed her first big acting gig on a soap opera. While it is not much, it is an opportunity to grow. While out celebrating, she meets up with a fellow actor, Tom Hiddleston. While she doesn’t recognize any of his work, the two hit it off. Before they know, they are getting hot and heavy in the elevator up to Tom’s room. Like ships passing in the night, the two never manage to meet again.Now five years later, Emma is a heavy hitter in the prime time drama world and Tom is a Golden Globe winning movie star. Their paths cross again but things have changed. Will they do what they should or fall to their deepest desires?

This Chapter:    Emma and Tom head over to confront Corrinne and are met with an unwelcome surprise. Will they get their happily ever after or will disaster strike again?

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, fingering, drunk sex, oral sex, cheating, unhealthy relationships

-

Emma’s knuckles turned a pale white as she gripped the steering wheel on the way to Corrinne’s house in Pacific Palisades. Tom tried to reassure Emma but continued to mutter to herself the entire ride.

“I don’t understand. We’ve been friends. ARE. Are friends.”

“Darling…” Tom started as he rubbed her shoulders, trying to keep calm. “I am sure a perfect logical—”

“For one of my closest friends to sell me out to the highest bidder? What would that be, Tom? Because I can’t think of a single one right now!” Emma exclaimed, gesturing with gusto.

Tom winced as he placed her hands back on the wheel. “Why don’t we start with getting us there in one piece?”

“I’m sorry.” Emma sobbed, returning her eyes to the road.

The rest of the drive went without incident, with only the songs of the radio to distract Emma from crying. As they pulled into Corrinne’s driveway, Emma noticed a brand new bright blue Range Rover in the driveway, not Corrinne’s black BMW.

“I wonder if she has company?” Emma questioned as they both got out of the car. She looked at Tom. “Maybe it is better if you stay in the car.”

Tom shook his head. “I am not letting you go in alone.”

Now Emma reassured Tom. “I will be fine, two girls talking.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Like that is not a dangerous proposition.” He threw his hands up as he got back into the car. “Very well, I’ll stay here, but leave the door unlocked.”

Emma nodded as she strolled up to massive oak doors at the front of Corrinne’s home. She used the spare key on her key chain to open the door. She closed the door behind her, making sure to not latch the bolt.

“Corrinne!” Emma’s voice echoed off the cavernous walls of the home.

Corrinne’s house looked as though the space belonged on the pages of Architectural Digest. With two ex-husbands and no kids, Corrinne could afford to keep things immaculate. The home always gave Emma the shivers. Too cold.

“Corrinne!”

Emma detected sounds coming from the master bedroom and made her way in that direction. The sounds grew more distinct. Corrinne sounded as though she was in pain. Worried, Emma barged into the room. Corrinne was not in distress. She found Corrinne entangled with none other than Bryce on the bed.

“What the FUCK is going?” Emma shrieked. The shrill tone of her voice startling the two lovers from their bliss.

“Emma?” Bryce questioned as he stood from the bed, the sheet falling away.

Emma chuckled as she wondered what she ever saw in Bryce.

“Em?” Corrinne responded, pulling the sheet tighter around her body. “What on earth? I can explain.”

Emma crossed her arms. “Go on. Explain to me why the gossip rags published a story I told you in confidence.”

“I..”

“Explain to me how you could throw four years of friendship down the drain.”

“Well…”

“Explain to me how long you have been fucking Bryce, who until four days ago was my BOYFRIEND!”

Corrinne sat on the edge of the bed, wordless. Bryce came to her rescue, crossing the room to stand in front of Emma, tugging on his boxers.

“Em, babe.” Bryce reached out to run the back of his fingers down her cheek.

“Don’t you dare touch me! How long, Bryce?”

“Six months.”

Emma nodded, blinking back the tears. She didn’t want the two of them to look at her breaking.

“Okay, I just have one more question. Did I ever mean anything to you besides a meal ticket?”

Bryce shrugged his shoulders. “You always looked nice on my arm in pictures. That is, when you didn’t eat too many sweets.”

As those words fell from his lips and into the air, Emma’s guilt or pain over the failed relationship fell away.

“Fair enough. Goodbye Bryce.”

Emma spun on her heel to leave but saw her arm trailing behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see Bryce gripping her wrist.

“Let go of me, Bryce.”

“Babe, don’t be like this. Corrinne said if we play our cards right we can get mid-six figures minimum and a couple of talk show gigs. You know I want to be on TV.” Bryce pleaded.

The tone of Bryce’s voice snapped something inside Emma. She reared back and with all of her training landed a solid punch right on Bryce’s jaw. He went down like a stone.

“I said don’t touch me.” Emma snapped at Bryce on the floor. “I am not your meal ticket or arm candy anymore, Bryce. Don’t ever speak to me again!”

At that moment, Tom burst into the room. His eyes darted between Emma standing over Bryce, now writhing on the floor and Corrinne, seated at the end of the bed in silence.

“What the hell is going on, Em?” Tom asked as he moved to put both his hands on her shoulders.

He looked over her to examine Bryce crumpled on the floor. He clutched his jaw and Tom noticed a small trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

“How are you doing there, Bry? It’s okay if I call you ‘Bry,’ right?” Tom taunted. “Are we done here, Emma?”

Emma turned her head to look him in the eye. “Yeah, I’m done here.” She acknowledged, her tears long dried up.

Tom pivoted Emma out of the room and out to the car. Once they got on the road, Emma realized her knuckles hurt. She shook her hand out as Tom drove the car. He caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. “Darling, did you hurt your hand punching Bryce in the jaw?” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, it stings.”

Tom examined Emma’s hand, her knuckles appeared swollen and red.

“Once we get back, let’s ice it and see how it feels.”

Emma nodded. “Damn, it felt good though.”

Tom smiled. “You may be singing a different tune in a few hours.”

Emma chuckled. “True, but I will never forget the sight of Bryce balled up on the floor.”

“That was a sight. Remind me to never make you mad."

Emma put her fists up in a fighting stance.

“Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

Tom’s laugh filled the car. “I believe the phrase is ‘float like a butterfly’.”

“Whatever. I am invincible.” Emma punched his arm. “Ow! What are you made of? Marble?”

“That is the rumor.”

As they pulled up to Tom’s hotel, a realization hit Emma.

“Shit, Tom, what is Howard going to say? What is LUKE going to say? He is going to kill me!”

Tom’s face paled, but he gave a weak smile. “I am sure he will get over it.” Tom swallowed. “Eventually.”

“Maybe we should call him and Howard. Soften the blow.”

Tom nodded. “Fine.”

They pulled their phones out and dialed their respective publicist.

“Howard?”

“Hello, Luke. So, funny story...”

The two of them told the story to Howard and Luke. About five minutes into the conversation, Tom looked at Emma.

“Yes she is here. Fine.” Tom pulled his lips into a tight line as he handed the phone to Emma. “He wants to speak to you.”

Emma gulped as they exchanged phones. “Here, talked to Howard. Hello, Luke.”

“I expected better from you, Emma. I expect this kind of fuckery from that BASTARD, Tom!” Emma held the phone away from her ear. Tom gave a pleading look and mouthed “sorry”.

“Yeah Howard, I’m still here,” Tom muttered in the background.

“Listen, Luke. I understand we upset you. But I considered it best to let you know as soon as possible as opposed to seeing it online. Now isn’t that preferable?”

Luke sighed. “I hate to admit it, but yes it is.”

Emma smiled as Tom looked over and frowned at her. “Thanks, Luke. I am sure you will want to speak to us again. Why don’t I give you my number too, in case Tom misplaces his phone?”

Tom continued to scowl at Emma. He did not like this one bit. His girlfriend and publicist getting along might cause him to behave once in a while. Emma recited the number and then said her goodbyes, handing the phone back to Tom.

“Luke? Mate?” Tom questioned as he put the phone back up to his ear.

“If you fuck this relationship up, mate. I will personally castrate you. You sodding twat of a bastard.”

Luke hung up with no warning and left Tom staring at the phone. He looked up at Emma, who wrapped up her own phone call.

“Luke likes you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“For starters, he has indicated that if I were to screw up this relationship, he would detach my testicles from the rest of my body.”

Emma smirked as they stepped out of the car. “You better be nice to me then.”

Tom smiled. “Do you have plans for me?” He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest. He lowered his head to kiss her lips.

“Perhaps. But we need to get upstairs.”

Tom grabbed her hand and dragged her through the side entrance of the hotel.

Emma moved towards the service elevator, but Tom pulled her into a nook of the hallway.

“Tom!” Emma gasped as he pushed her against the wall. “People can see.”

Tom nipped at her neck; hands ghosting over her curves before hooking one of Emma’s knees up.

“If you are quiet, they won’t notice.” Tom growled into her ear as her hands combed through his hair.

Tom bucked his hips into Emma and she bit her lip to suppress the moans of pleasure. Her hands slid down to cup his ass through his jeans.

“Mhmm.” she groaned as Tom cupped her breast through her shirt.

“Darling, with noises like that, I won’t last long.”

An awkward throat clearing interrupted them and they turned to see a gentleman in a suit staring them down. Tom let go of Emma’s leg and she straighten up her clothes.

“Perhaps the young couple would prefer to continue their activities somewhere more private?” he retorted without a hint of emotion.

Tom tugged on the hem of his shirt. “Of course, sorry for the intrusion.”

“Thank you, sir. Happens more than you think.” He gave them a wink as Tom led Emma down the hallway.

As soon as the door shut, they wasted no time getting back to the business at hand.

-

Over the next several days, Luke and Howard untangled the mess Bryce and Corrinne created with their web of lies and half-truths. A few receipts and phone calls put an end to any speculation of the two of them being a long time couple. A few papers tried to run with the story of Emma cheating on Bryce, spurred on by Bryce trying to capture every minute of fame, but it died out when a few of Bryce’s other dalliances came forward, destroying any sympathy for the man.

The press generated a lot of interest in their new project and the production company moved up the release date. It meant filming started next month; however, it also meant Tom needed to return to London sooner than planned to take care of things before filming began.

“Can’t you stay just a few days longer?” Emma whined as Tom packed his things into his suitcase.

Tom looked at her with a disapproving glance. “You recognized this was coming, Em.” He folded up the jeans and placed them into the bag.

“I know, but I didn’t expect it would go by so fast. When are you coming back?”

“In three weeks and then I am here for eight weeks filming.”

She frowned. “Can’t I just come with you?”

Tom chuckled. “You and I know that won’t work. You have obligations here and I have things in London to take care before I come back to film. With you.” He kissed her forehead. “Not to mention I would get no work done whatsoever because I would keep you in bed with me the entire time.”

Emma sighed. “Since when are you the voice of reason?”

“Since my publicist threatened my manhood.” They both laughed as Tom came around the bed to hug Emma tight against his chest. “And I have found myself someone worth it.”

Emma sniffled into Tom’s shirt. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Hiddleston.”

Tom ended the embrace with a kiss to her cheek. “How about bribery?”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“Mind out of the gutter, darling. I offer you my most prized possession.” Tom held out a small parcel.

Emma took it with a questioning expression and as she unfurled a navy sweater. Her eyes lit up. “You remembered how much I love this one.”

Tom gave her a wink. “Many a fan girl would kill for that sweater. I do not want to find this up for sale on eBay.”

Emma snapped her fingers, mocking Tom. “There goes my retirement plan.”

Tom leaned in to kiss her lips, his hands combing through her hair. She sighed as they parted. “I am going to miss you.”

“I am going to miss you too.” Tom looked down at her, his eyes bright with tears. “Three weeks seems like an eternity.”

“I love you, Tom. I know it has been only a few weeks, but I love you.”

Tom kissed her with passion and heat. “I love you too, Em. Never doubt I love. Never doubt it.”

“Okay, Shakespeare.” She burrowed her face into his chest, tears falling onto his shirt. “When is your flight again?”

“In a few hours. Are you still up to driving me there?” He asked, lifting her chin to look her in the eyes.

“Yes.” she commented wiping away the tears. “I want every second to count.”

Tom nodded as he zipped up his suitcase and pulled it down to the ground.

“Ready, darling?” Tom asked as he opened the door.

“No, but that never stopped us before.” She took his hand in hers.

“No, it hasn’t.” He gave her hand a small squeeze.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Your Power Over Me: Two - motivation

Summary: There are more reasons besides loving New Orleans for Frank Shaver to want Power out of his city. 

Pairing: Frank Shaver x OFC (Michelle Shaver) 

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: gun fire, violence, blood mention, hospital mention, gunshot wound, general angst

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

The weird calls never stopped coming in. For two weeks Frank was working later and later. Sometimes not coming home until the early hours of the morning, absolutely exhausted. Claudia cried for her dad the first few nights, going until she wore herself out and fell asleep with tears drying on her face. But after a while she finally understood. Her dad was out there catching bad guys — making New Orleans safer — just for her.

It wasn’t until the last few nights that Michelle cried for her husband. Silently, into the darkness of their shared bedroom, as she tried to wait up for him to come home. She was sure it was the pregnancy hormones that were making this harder. This wouldn’t be the first or last time that Frank would have to work ridiculous hours in order to get to the bottom of something. Michelle prided herself on being the strong detective wife that she was. Never crying, always positive, always supportive. But some nights were harder than others.

Some days too.

And that morning was one of the harder ones. Frank left the day before around nine to start his shift and hadn’t been home since. He texted to let her know that he was okay — just following some leads on this new pill on the streets of New Orleans. Claudia didn’t have daycare that day. They could only afford for her to go about three times a week.

Home alone, taking on the world, the Shaver women.

Michelle had set up Claudia in the living room with a paper craft and her favorite tv show while she tried to throw together some lunch for the two of them. She really needed to go shopping. Hopefully Claudia wouldn’t be too put off by the idea of bologna and cheese sandwiches and cucumber. Again. For the third time that week. Eh, she was three. She would eat the same thing every day if she had the choice. Michelle just wasn’t giving her any.

“Hey, baby,” Michelle called to her daughter from the kitchen, “You want juice or water with lunch?”

“Hmmmm juice!” her tiny voice called back.

“Juice what?”

“Juice…pea!”

“Please — all right.”

Michelle gave a thumbs up as she grabbed a juice box from the fridge. It was the last one. She put the juicebox on the bright purple divided plate and brought it out to the living room. Claudia had already set aside her craft and sat patiently at the coffee table, little princess chair pulled up to the side as she watched her show. Michelle set down the plate in front of her and stabbed the straw into the juice box.

“Remember, don’t squeeze.” Michelle handed the box back to Claudia then brushed her fingers over her dark hair. She hoped the next one got her bright copper locks.

“Tank you, Mommy,” Claudia said as she set the juice box by her plate. “I love you.”

Michelle smiled down at her. She really was a great kid. She threw her fits and was struggling with her speech — but every kid was different. She would admit, being a mother was hard. Having a little person who didn’t ask to be born be fully dependent on her was scary at times. Some days Michelle felt like she was failing Claudia in some way. Other days she felt more like a caregiver than a mother, being drained and worn down by the end of a day spent with her daughter. But Claudia would never know that. Never.

“I love you too, baby.”

There was a noise coming from outside. Like someone was hitting something with a hammer repeatedly. Under that was a squeaky car engine and shouting. With a furrowed brow, Michelle moved to the window to see what was going on. They lived on a pretty quiet street. She parted the curtain in time to see a blue van with the side door slid open barreling down the street. Two men were hanging out of the door — each of them with a gun pointed at what looked like a person running faster than the van.

The men in the van were firing right at the houses as they drove past, trying to hit the one running outside.

“Claudia!” Michelle yelled as she quickly turned from the window.

In a moment, she scooped Claudia up into her arms, just before the first bullet broke through the front of the house.

Glass breaking. Wood splintering. Bullets whizzing through the air. Claudia screaming into her shoulder. White hot, burning pain in her upper thigh as she ducked behind the kitchen counter for safety. Just in time for all of it to stop.

Michelle lowered herself down onto the floor. Claudia was still screeching and crying as she clung tightly to her mother’s shirt. Michelle adjusted Claudia in her arms and could already see the red pooling onto the floor beneath her left leg. The pain was gone — but it was getting hard to breathe. Had that really just happened? Her entire leg now felt numb. Her fingers shook violently as she pulled her phone from her pocket. It was a struggle to dial the correct number.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Gun — there was a driveby — I’ve been shot.” Michelle looked down at her leg again. Her jeans were soaked in red, it was getting on Claudia’s bare feet.

“What is your address?”

“1492 Clermont Dr, New Orleans.”

“Okay, paramedics are on their way. Is there anyone else with you?”

“Yes — my — my daughter, Claudia. She’s okay — I think.”

There was a pause from the dispatcher. Then she asked tentatively, “Michelle?”

“Yeah.” She leaned her head back on the lower cabinets as she tried to gain control of her breathing. “Frank Shaver’s wife.”

“Oh, God.” There was a clammer, the dispatcher speaking to someone else in the room. “We’re trying to get a hold of Frank now. Where have you been shot? I can give you some instructions on how to slow the bleeding.”

Michelle looked down at her leg again. Claudia had quieted down but refused to let go of her. There was a sizable amount of blood pooled beneath her. A water glass lay broken on the floor beside her. A bologna sandwich was spread all over the ground at her feet. Her head felt lighter than it should.

“In — Upper thigh.”

“Okay. I need you to get a towel or a t-shirt and wrap it tight around your leg. Can you do that?”

“I — I don’t think I can get up.” Michelle set the phone down on the ground and switched it to speaker-phone. Then she pulled Claudia’s head up to look at her. “Hey, Cloudy, I need you to do something for Mommy, okay?”

“No!” she cried, clinging to Michelle’s shirt tighter.

“Hey, hey.” Michelle forced her to look at her again. “I know you’re scared, baby. I’m — I’m scared too. Do you think you can be brave for both of us, though? Just for a few seconds?”

It took her a moment, but Claudia finally sniffed back the snot in her nose and nodded.

“That’s my girl.” Michelle smiled. “I need you to go to Mommy and Daddy’s room and grab one of the t-shirts off the floor, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Claudia nodded again and let go of her mother’s shirt. She put her feet down in the small pool of blood that had formed. Then she ran off down the hallway.

“Is your daughter getting the towel or shirt?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yeah. What should I — ?”

“You’re gonna take the shirt and wrap it around your leg where you think your wound is. Make sure to tie it tight to the point that it hurts. That should slow the bleeding down enough until the paramedics get there.” There was a pause. “Michelle, how far along are you?”

“Almost twenty-one weeks.” She could feel the sweat that had gathered on her brow, the way her eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything. “We find out if it’s a boy or a girl soon.”

“Which are you hoping for?”

Michelle swallowed thickly. “Frank wants another girl — but I think it’s a boy.”

Claudia came running back into the kitchen with one of her dad’s t-shirts in her little hands. It was one of his old band t-shirts from the 90s that he loved. Michelle quickly took it from her and stretched it into a thin strip.

“Do you have something?” the dispatcher asked.

“Yeah. T-shirt.”

Michelle lifted her leg to get the t-shirt under it and felt a stabbing pain go down her leg and up her spine. She cried out at the feeling but quickly slung the t-shirt under her thigh before lowering it back down to the floor.

“Michelle? Can you hear me Michelle?”

“Yeah — I’m here. Hurts to — Hurts to move.”

She knotted the t-shirt at the top of her leg and pulled as tight as she could. The blood that had soaked into her pants squelched out as she pulled. She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she let go of the t-shirt. Her breaths came out in ragged pants as her entire leg was consumed in burning pain. When she opened her eyes, the world was rimmed with black spots that she knew weren’t a good sign. Her insides heaved. Her head swam.

“I think I’m gonna…” Michelle trailed off as she reached for Claudia.

“Hey, stay with me Michelle. Keep talking. Michelle, the paramedics are almost there. Stay with me…”

The dispatcher kept talking, but the longer Michelle listened, the further the sound of her voice got. The kitchen titled, blurred. The last thing she saw before a blackness overtook her was Claudia crying.

_______________________________________________________________________

Frank pulled up to the house with a screeching of tires. He killed the engine as fast as he could. Crime scene tape had already been put up across his front yard. Neighbors were gathered to see what was going on. He practically jumped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him.

He should have been there. He should have been there. He should have been there.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Frank called ahead as he ran through the small crowd of people towards the house.

Michelle. There she was. Being wheeled out of the house on a stretcher. Oh, God, she looked so pale. She wasn’t awake. Frank’s heart stopped inside his chest. Came to a screeching halt as he ducked under the police tape and jogged over to his wife. This couldn’t have been happening. They lived in an okay neighborhood. Their neighbors were kind and weren’t involved in anything. He had checked and double checked before they even thought about moving into that house. That house that was now littered with bullet holes, the two windows in the front broken and the large potted plant Michelle had on the porch shattered.

Frank had seen some disgusting things during his time in the police force. Gunshot wounds, severed limbs, OD victims, grossly decomposed bodies. But nothing compared to seeing Michelle lying on that stretcher. Her jeans were soaked red. She had a t-shirt tied tightly around her left thigh. Her hands, limp at her sides, were coated in blood. Her skin was ghostly white. Frank felt like he was on his first case again. Sick to his stomach, far away yet right there at the same time. There was a ringing in his ears.

Claudia crying for him broke through all that though.

Frank watched Michelle get wheeled by and looked up to see his little girl in the arms of one of the paramedics. Squirming and reaching for him.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“Claudia!” He sprinted across the sidewalk and pulled her from the paramedic’s arms. She immediately buried her head into his shoulder and squeezed him tight. He looked to the paramedic. “Is she hurt?”

“No, your daughter is fine.” The paramedic gestured for them to go over to the ambulance. “Your wife has a gunshot wound to the thigh — we think the bullet hit her femoral artery. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“She gonna be okay?” Frank asked.

The paramedic looked back at him when they reached the ambulance. He was used to seeing that kind of face at a crime scene. That look that spelled bad news but a hopefulness if only for the family’s benefit.

“We just need to get to the hospital as fast as possible.”

Frank nodded before climbing into the back of the ambulance, Claudia still cradled in his arms. He kept his eyes trained on Michelle as he sat down. Her hair was down and brighter than usual in comparison to the dullness of her skin. She was wearing one of those headbands she had made herself out of one of Claudia’s old, ruined onesies. He should have been home. This never would have happened if he had just let the wild goose chase go. If he had just listened to his partner Landry. But there was something about this pill…It had to be connected to all the strange calls they were getting. The people who could do ubelievable things. It all had to be connected somehow. Somehow.

“Alright, let’s check on baby, shall we?” The paramedic sitting across from Frank grabbed a portable fetal doppler from one of the compartments.

Without even thinking, he reached out and took hold of Michelle’s hand. They were always so warm — motherly in the heat they produced. But now they were cold and slightly clammy. The dried blood on her fingers was coming off at his touch but he wouldn’t let go. Couldn’t let go.

He tried to ignore the thought as it invaded his mind. But he couldn’t help it. Fear, like a hand of ice, gripped his heart. Black tendrils of some frozen deep sea monster curled around his spine, his neck, cutting off the air in his lungs.

What if I lose her?

“Okay, heartbeat is a little slow. You’ve gotta real fighter coming, Frank.” He smiled at Claudia. “Just like big sister, I bet.”

That’s right — he knew this paramedic. He always seemed to be the one to show up to his crime scenes. They exchanged witty banter and discussed the Saints. His name was Brandon. Frank looked up at him now, unsure what expression was on his face. Did he look as scared as he felt? As lost? As pleading for them to do something to make his wife not look like that? Brandon smiled reassuringly.

“She’s gonna be okay, Frank.”

_______________________________________________________________________

He only asked her to senior prom after his best friend, Clayton, practically begged him to do it. She was friends with his date and girlfriend Melissa, so it made perfect sense for them to go together. Frank, who went solely by Frankie back then, had begrudgingly gone along with it. He didn’t even know her. Sure he had seen her around, they went to a small school, it was hard not to recognize someone in the hallways.

She was cute, he supposed. Bright red hair with a yellow tinge. Catcher for the softball team. Pretty quiet in the few classes they had together over the years. He’d never talked to her before. Then again, that didn’t mean she was anything special. He didn’t talk to any girls that weren’t dating his friends. Frankie was terribly awkward and shy around girls. Constantly fumbling over his words and running his fingers through his hair he would never admit he showed a picture of Leo Dicaprio in Titanic to get.

Frankie was shocked by the smile that overcame her face when he asked her. Stuttering and trying to sound as disinterested as possible cause he thought it was cool. She only nodded in agreement then ran off down the hall with Melissa. He stared after them with furrowed brows. Girls were so weird.

Then the night of prom finally came. Frankie and Clayton came to pick up the girls at Melissa’s house in Clayton’s dad’s brand new Mercedes-Benz E55 AMG. That was such a cool car and Clayton was terrified to get even a single scratch on it. Frankie rented a tuxedo for the evening, with a bowtie that he hated and his mom tried but failed to sit straight. He held the corsage he had picked up in the plastic box at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for the girls to come down from getting ready.

Melissa came down first. Frankie could hear Clayton sigh dreamily at the sight of her. Which made his face bunch up in disgust. She was wearing a green and yellow floral print dress with a matching shawl. Her hair was up with little wispy pieces framing her face. Frankie watched as the longtime couple met with anxious smiles and mumbled you look greats.

Michelle came down the stairs next. And Frankie had never seen someone so beautiful in all his life. She had left her hair down, seemingly untouched by any pins or curling irons. He liked it that way. Her dress was pink, floor length, with spaghetti straps holding it on her shoulders. When she got closer, he could see the little beads on the bodice of the dress and the way she had simply done in her makeup. In comparison, it made Melissa look like she was wearing a lot. It unnerved and awed him at the same time, her natural beauty and shy smile.

“Hi Frankie,” she said when she got to the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi — Hi Michelle.” He nearly dropped the box with her corsage in it. “You look — You look perfect.”

That wasn’t really the word he meant to say. But he stuck with it anyway. She did look perfect. Why hadn’t he talked to her before again?

She seemed to glance at Melissa and Clayton, too preoccupied with each other to notice anything else that was going on. Then she looked down at the plastic container in Frankie’s hands. “Is that for me?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He popped open the container and pulled out the corsage. “Melissa said you like flowers a lot — so I uh — got something different.”

Was her face always that red?

The band of the corsage was made from a couple of those stretchy bead bracelets all stuck together and the flowers were fresh. He wasn’t sure what he was doing when he stepped into Donna��s Flower Shop that afternoon. The kind woman behind the counter had smiled at his discomfort and asked him about the girl he was taking to prom. Donna knew Michelle. She apparently came in all the time and took a few of Donna’s bouquet creating classes. Donna whipped something together in a matter of minutes.

White and pink magnolia blooms, these blue thistle looking things, and little pink flower buds. Frankie had never cared about flowers much, but he thought it looked pretty enough. He was already wearing his boutonniere, his mom having asked to pin it on his lapel herself.

“Do you like it?” he asked as he handed the corsage to her.

She smiled up at him and he could have sworn his heart beat faster in his chest. “I love it. Magnolias are my favorite, you know.”

The four of them took the customary pictures on the stairs and outside in front of Melissa’s house. Frankie made sure to give Melissa’s mom his own mother’s phone number so pictures could be shared once they were printed. Then they were off to the dance in the Mercedes-Benz.

Melissa and Clayton sat in the front while Michelle and Frankie sat in the back. It was about a twenty minute drive to the hotel the prom was being held at. The theme was enchanted forest.

“So, you’re on the wrestling team, right?” Michelle asked after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

Frankie cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah.”

“Is — Is it fun?” she asked with a skeptical face.

“No.” He laughed. “I’m glad the season is finally over.”

“Not gonna do it in college?”

He shook his head. “Nah. No.”

“Can’t blame you.” She shrugged. “The weigh-ins, the scrambling to gain or lose weight…Doesn’t sound very fun.”

“What about you — you gonna play softball in college?”

Michelle flushed and began to fidget with the band of her corsage. “Uh, no — I’m not going…I have an apprenticeship at Donna’s Flower Shop lined up.”

“Oh. That sounds cool.”

“Wish my parents thought so.” She turned her gaze towards the window almost in shame.

Frankie, on gut reaction, reached out and touched her leg reassuringly. But instantly retracted his hand once he felt the fabric of her satin dress. She didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, they’ll come around to the idea eventually.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she sighed, “They don’t think my life is gonna go anywhere — just because I don’t wanna go to college. That I’m squandering my potential.”

“Well, I don’t think that.”

She looked away from the window and smiled at him. A small, genuine smile that brought a grin to his face. Michelle seemed cool and easy to talk to. Why hadn’t he talked to her before?

When they got to the dance, half of the school was already out on the dance floor. The lights were dimmed, high heels and suit jackets abandoned at tables. The photo station was set up in the corner of the hotel ballroom. Sprinkled with fairy lights and fake foliage to make it look like the enchanted forest that the night was supposed to be themed around. Melissa gave out a squeal of delight at the photo station that made Frankie jump, then she dragged Clayton in that direction so they could go take their photo. Michelle and Frankie trailed behind them, unsure of where else to go.

Melissa and Clayton took at least ten pictures together. Each one of them posed together holding each other close and smiling at one another. Frankie could feel his face get hot as he watched them. He glanced over at Michelle then behind him to the people forming a line. Would he have to hold her waist like that? Part of him wanted to, the other part of him didn’t know if she wanted him to and wasn’t willing to ask.

The photographer ushered them up to the station while Melissa and Clayton flipped through the automatic print outs.

“You guys want digital or polaroids?” he asked.

“Uh — “ Michelle looked at Frankie and he shrugged. “Polaroid is fine, I guess.”

“Hey, easier for me.” The photographer picked up the polaroid camera and pointed it at them. “Alright, sir, if I could have you stand behind your lovely date there — there you go and then put your hands on her waist. That’s it. And, ma’am, just put your hands on top of his. Great.”

Frankie felt hot everywhere. He was certain that the camera would be able to pick up how red his cheeks are. But Michelle, she felt relaxed in his hold. Leaning back into him with an air of casualness that made his breath hitch. Like she was meant to be there. He smiled, closed lipped, for the pictures. His hands strayed around her waist and hips as they walked off the enchanted forest set. Michelle smiled over her shoulder at him in a knowing way and he coughed as he fully let go of her.

The photographer handed them two polaroids that weren’t yet fully developed. Michelle shook her’s as they walked over to where Melissa and Clayton were waiting for them. In the photo, Michelle had her head tilted to one side, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. A piece of her fire-like hair was caught on his shoulder. He swallowed thickly as he stowed the polaroid in his suit jacket pocket.

For the majority of the night, they stood around and bobbed their heads to the music. A few other friends joined their circle, but it stayed relatively small in comparison to the pile of people closer to the DJ. A few slow songs came and went. Melissa and Clayton danced to every single one. Holding each other and pressing their foreheads together — kissing at the end of each song. Michelle and Frankie would give each other a knowing look, Michelle at one point wiggled her eyebrows which made Frankie burst out laughing. They talked and laughed throughout the night.

And Frankie had to ask himself, yet again: Why had he never talked to her before?

She was radiant, warm. Kind and humorous in a quiet way that often went unnoticed by people who weren’t looking for it. She was quiet in a way that complimented him well and she listened when he spoke. Something he couldn’t even find at home.

“Alright, this party is almost over,” the DJ announced which made the majority of the room break out into a chorus of boos, “So let’s play one last song for all those little lovebirds out there.”

The opening beats to “All My Life” by K-Ci & JoJo filled the ballroom. Frankie glanced over at Michelle. They had somehow split apart in their friend circle for the first time that night. He was on one side of the group with some of his friends from the wrestling team, while she seemed to be hovering on the outside of a group of girls he recognized from a few of his classes.

He took a deep breath. If he was going to be a police officer one day, he needed to have the courage to ask a girl to dance. She whipped her head around when he tapped her on her bare shoulder. Red hair smacked him in the face. He ignored it though.

“Do you, uh — You wanna dance with me?” Frankie jabbed his thumb over at the dance floor.

Michelle smiled and even in the dim light he could see her cheeks redden. “Sure, Frankie.”

“Cool.” He smiled and took her hand.

Their arms were stiff at first. Holding each other out at length and not daring to look one another in the eye. Okay, so maybe he didn’t have the courage to ask a girl to dance for a reason. But somehow, in a way that he couldn’t explain, it felt right. It felt good to be awkwardly dancing to “All My Life” at the senior prom with Michelle Richards.

Frankie felt her take a deep breath and her hands soften on his shoulders.

“Can I admit something?” she asked, eyebrows pinched together in concern, “And — it’s okay if you feel uncomfortable and wanna…Like, never talk to me again or something.”

“Uh — Okay, I’m scared now,” he chuckled nervously.

“So, I’ve had a crush on you for like, a year.” She rolled her eyes and stared down at his crooked bowtie. “And I…May have convinced Melissa to convince Clayton to convince you to…Ask me to prom.”

Frankie didn’t know what to say for a second. He didn’t think anybody would ever have a crush on him. He was awkward, gangly, a bit of a hothead, his ears stuck out funny (though his mom told him it was an endearing feature). But Michelle Richards, softball catcher and future florist, liked him.

“I wish you would’ve told me sooner.” He smiled and pulled her closer. “I’m glad you did that.”

_______________________________________________________________________

There was a beeping in her ears that annoyed her into being awake. Her face scrunched as she listened to it for a moment, her eyes still closed. God, that really was an aggravating sound. Did the fire alarm need it’s batteries changed or something? She could ask Frank to pick some up on the way home. Wait — was she just asleep? Was Claudia still sleeping from her nap? If she wasn’t, what kind of mess had she made? Michelle sighed as she opened her eyes just a crack, enough to see a blurred white tile ceiling.

That wasn’t her ceiling. But she didn’t pay much attention to that. She needed to check on Claudia. She moved to sit up and a dizziness, but not just in her head, in her whole body, took over. It kind of reminded her of the first time she and Frank smoked weed.

There were hands on her shoulders, easing her back down.

“Hey, baby — lay back down, alright? Try not to move too much.”

She pulled her eyes open more. Frank was standing over her. He had dark circles under red rimmed eyes.

“Mm — Frankie?” Michelle complied with laying back down, if only to make that weird feeling go away.

“I’m gonna go get the nurse, okay?” He let go of her shoulders and left the room.

Michelle was left to stare up at the ceiling, pondering. She was definitely in a hospital. Had she had the baby? She didn’t even know what the gender was yet. That was unfair. She didn’t even remember the last, and arguably usually the longest, weeks of her pregnancy.

Then it all hit her at once. The van. The running man. The shooting. Broken glass. Pain in her leg. Blood on the kitchen floor. Claudia crying.

Michelle sat up, her head swimming, and looked around the room. She couldn’t see Claudia. Only an empty bag of McDonald’s and an NOPD duffle bag. She continued to look around the room lazily, brain only half processing what was going on, until Frank came back into the room.

“Where’s Claudia?” she asked.

“My mom came and picked her up a few hours ago,” he said, moving to stand by her side.

She stared down at her lap for a moment. “I — I got shot.”

Frank’s head dropped and he seemed to take in a deep, pained breath. When he looked back up at her, there were tears in his eyes. He reached down and took her hand. “Yeah, babe, you did.”

“Is the — “ Michelle reached down and cradled her belly in one hand. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sniffed. “Yeah — the baby’s fine.”

“Alright, Mrs. Shaver.” A young blonde nurse came into the room with a clipboard. “I’m Haley, I’m your on-call nurse. Now that you’re awake I’m just gonna do a check that everything is okay.”

She grabbed the clipboard from the end of Michelle’s bed and stacked it on top of the other one. Frank helped Michelle lay back down as he moved the bed to a sitting up position.

“Do you feel any pain?” Haley asked.

“No.” Michelle shook her head. “I feel weird…Like I’m a little high.”

“That’s the painkillers. The feeling will wear off in a little while. We’ll make sure your next dose isn’t as strong.” Haley scribbled on the clipboard. “Do you need any water or food?”

“Um, water would be nice.”

“Okay. I think that’s all I need. Your surgery went well. We removed the bullet and repaired your femoral artery. If all looks good tomorrow you should be released the following day.” Haley replaced the clipboard at the end of her bed and smiled. “I’ll be right back with that water.”

Michelle watched her leave with an absentminded stare. Two days in the hospital? What were they supposed to do with Claudia during that time? Who would take her to daycare? Would Frank have to take off work? She sighed heavily as she adjusted the blankets over her legs.

“No, no — I know that face.” Frank pulled a chair up beside her bed and sat down. “The fidgeting. Don’t worry about all that, babe.”

“But who’s gonna take care of Claudia?”

He gripped her hand earnestly. “I will.”

“But we can’t afford for you not to go work, babe.” Burning tears hit the backs of her eyes and in seconds they were dripping down her cheeks. “Especially with the new baby coming and now I’m here and you were so close to finding the source of that pill — “

“I actually wasn’t,” Frank mumbled, head tilted down, “That lead I had was a dead end. Landry said it…But I wouldn’t listen. I should’ve been home.”

“You being there wouldn’t have changed what happened.”

He looked up into her face then. A kind of intensity in his eyes that she rarely got to see. “I could’ve protected you. Made sure you were safe.”

“But I am safe.” She squeezed his hand and gave a soft smile of reassurance. “I’m safe now — with you.”

Frank sighed and dropped his head again. Pressing the backs of her fingers into his forehead. “I was so scared, Meesh.”

Michelle didn’t know what to say. She had been scared too. Was still scared even now. But Frank had never been one to get scared. Even during horror films he sat through them straight faced while she shoved her face into a pillow to hide from the monsters. When he came home from grewling shifts that she would hear about on the news he didn’t show an ounce of fear. Even though the reporters were talking about gunfire and chases, busts of massive drug rings where he could have easily been killed. Frank was a steady rock that reassured her that everything was always going to work out. That no matter what happened, they were going to be okay.

But to see her steady rock shaken in this way made her realize that maybe it had always been the other way around instead. That she was the thing that kept him standing in spite of his fear.

_______________________________________________________________________

Michelle fell back asleep after a while. Frank sighed long and hard as he watched her, listened to the heartbeat monitor reassure him that she was alright. He rubbed his hands over his face. God, he was so tired. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. His entire body felt heavy and worn down to the bone.

Just as his eyes began to slip shut of their own accord, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. With a soft groan he pulled it out and saw that it was Landry calling. He took the call out in the hallway so as not to disturb Michelle.

“Hey, Landry, what’s up?” he asked as he slipped out of the room and moved down the hall to the vending machine.

Might as well get a snack while he was up.

“Hey, man, how’s Michelle doin?”

“She’s alright. Surgery went well. Resting now.” He surveyed the snacks available and decided he didn’t really want anything.

“Alright, cool, cool. Just let us know if you guys need anything.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “We found the van — crashed into an abandoned warehouse.”

Frank took a deep breath. “Any survivors?”

“Not that we can tell. Driver of the van died on impact and there was one other guy inside. Then — man, this is the crazy part — there’s one guy outside the van. Coroner says he died from severe blunt force trauma. Based on evidence collected at the scene this dude — this dude he ran through three walls, man. Brick walls.”

“He ran through them?”

“Yeah. Coroner also found some crazy shit in the guy’s system he’s never seen before.”

“Were there any of those pills on sight?” He leaned against the wall with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah — yeah. A few in the van. They don’t look like anything we’ve ever seen before, Frank. Something crazy’s going on. Want me to put this on hold till you get back?”

Frank could feel his jaw set. His fist clench at his side. If his years as a detective taught him anything, it was that these pills were the reason his house got shot up. The reason his wife was laying in the hospital with a bullet wound. He needed to get to the bottom of this to keep his family and New Orleans safe.

“Yeah. I’ll be back in a few days,” Frank said, “Let me know if you find anything else.”

And with that, he hung up.

[wendimydarling]

The Soldier’s Wife (Chapter Seven)

Title: The Soldier’s Wife

Summary: Syverson and his wife navigate the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and the blessings and pitfalls of marriage.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC

Word Count: 2049

Warnings: Implied sex.

Chapters: Flashback | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

A/N: Hey guys, looky here! I finally got another chapter written, and once I was inspired, it only took me an hour. Lucky you!! I hope this makes up for last chapter. Also, the sound of a baby’s heartbeat is one of my all time favorite sounds. Listen to it here. Enjoy!

Song Inspiration: “New Life” by Thomas Bergersen (HIGHLY recommend listening while reading!)

Tag list is open, please let me know if you’re interested!

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

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I can’t do it, Sy, I can’t!!”

“Shhhh, babygirl, you’re almost there.”

“AAAAAHHHH!!!!!”

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

“There she is!”

Mabel smiled softly as Syverson jogged over to her, kissing her on the cheek. His green tee hugged his body well, a large, triangular sweat stain already formed over his chest. That was one of the things Mabel loved most about him; unlike the other Captains who generally just watched and barked orders, Syverson was always out there with his men, training them, showing them that he’d be there to help get them through it. Like he had for her this last year. 

They headed toward the canteen for their traditional weekly lunch, but Mabel wasn’t very hungry. When Syverson indicated that she should order first, she just said “I’ll stick with water”. He eyed her suspiciously but didn’t argue, just ordered himself enough food to feed three grown men. His arms piled high, they found an empty table in the corner of the mess hall. Syverson set everything down and pulled Mabel’s chair out for her. 

“Ever the gentleman,” she teased quietly as she sat down. Syverson squeezed her shoulders and dropped another kiss on her cheek, choosing to sit next to her rather than across the table. He tucked into his burger at once, half of it disappearing into his large mouth in one bite. Mabel sipped her water, spinning the cap on the table absent-mindedly. Syverson eyed her again, setting the burger down and wiping his mouth.

“Ya alright, Mabel?”

“Yeah, why?”

Syverson pointed at her drink with his nose.

“Ya never “stick with water”, ya always end up drinkin’ half o’ my sweet tea.”

“Jus’ not in the mood fer it today, I reckon.”

Syverson cocked an eyebrow at his wife, not even remotely convinced. Mabel shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“Alright, what ain’t ya tellin’ me, Bug.”

“What makes ya thing I ain’t tellin’ ya somethin’?”

“Mabel Jean Syverson,” his tone was serious, “What ain’t ya tellin’ me.”

“Whaddaya think I ain’t tellin ya, Sy?” Mabel challenged him, staring him down. Syverson leaned forward, grasping her hand in his for a kiss.

“I think ya ain’t tellin’ me yer pregnant again.”

“Well, ya’d be right, then.”

Tears pricked Mabel’s eyes at the admission, but Syverson didn’t seem to notice. His face lit up and he smiled widely, brushing her knuckles with his lips. 

“See? I told ya we’d--”

“No. No Sy, I can’t get attached. Not this time.” 

Mabel swallowed thickly, the tears spilling over as pressure mounted in her chest. Syverson scooted his chair back and pulled her onto his lap, smoothing her hair back as he crooned little nothing-words in her ear. Mabel shook, clutching her arms around his neck tightly.

“All I feel is fear, Hunter. Fear that we’re gonna lose this one too.”

“We ain’t gonna lose this one, Mabel.”

“Ya can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

“No, ya can’t.”

The conversation seemed eerily familiar. Syverson tugged Mabel’s hair slightly so that she’d look at him, and he swept the tears from her cheeks as he comforted her.

“Look, when I promised ya that ya wouldn’t lose me, did I keep that promise?”

“Well yeah, but--”

“Then I can keep this promise too. We ain’t gonna lose this one, Bug.”

Syverson chucked her gently under the chin, pulling her in for a soft kiss and pressing his forehead to hers.

“Now come on, celebrate with me; we’re havin’ a baby!”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, a maybe baby.”

Mabel couldn’t help but laugh through her tears as she kissed him. God, she loved this man. 

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

“Sy?”

“I’m right here, Bug.”

Mabel clung to her husband, bending over as another contraction wracked her body.

“I didn’t get anything ready, I didn’t think we’d make it this far. There’s nothing prepared!”

Syverson chuckled, supporting his wife as she bore through the pain.

“Did ya really think I’d let this child come into the world without the stuff we need? It’s all ready to go, Ma’s gettin’ it set up for us while we’re here.”

Mabel looked up at him, grateful relief on her face.

“Really?”

“It’s all taken care of, Bug. Ya just focus on what ya need to do.”

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

Mabel sat nervously in the exam room. They’d made it to twenty weeks, and Syverson was anxious to find out the sex of the baby. He was so excited, but Mabel couldn’t bring herself to find any joy. Every week brought them closer and closer to twenty-eight weeks, and the fear coiled tightly in her chest as the impending timeline loomed menacingly over her. She refused to buy anything, convincing herself they wouldn’t be able to use it.

The tech came in and Mabel laid down obediently, holding Syverson’s hand as he watched the machine. Mabel purposefully looked away. Syverson noticed and placed a hand on her cheek, drawing his head near hers so that he could speak softly.

“Even if it’s the end, Bug, these are the only pictures we’d get,” he admonished her, stroking her skin with his thumb. “Might be best if ya take a look.”

Mabel stared into his eyes, her lips pressed into a line as she tried not to cry. He was right, of course. She turned to look at the black screen, lit up with the white outline of the child growing within her womb. Mabel’s heart caught and her throat constricted as the tech smoothed the wand over her belly, air only returning to her lungs once she heard the familiar ‘wao wao wao wao’ of her baby’s heartbeat rushing through the monitor. It was still alive. She squeezed Syverson’s hand tightly, and laid her head back on her arm, choosing to watch her husband instead of the screen.

He’d missed this appointment last time; he’d been sent somewhere for three weeks and they’d been unable to reschedule. Mabel watched the lines of Syverson’s face as he stared intently at the image of his child. She noted the way his eyes lit up, the creases around them deepening as he smiled. He chuckled when the baby kicked and he could see it on the screen, and love took over his face as he watched the baby suck its thumb. He’s my joy, Mabel determined. She would enjoy this for him.

“Oh, look here… it’s a boy!”

Mabel snapped her head to look at the screen as Syverson hollered in excitement. Sure enough, the outline was unmistakable. He was Syverson’s, alright. Mabel couldn’t help the relief she felt; another girl would have been too much for her to handle. But she still wanted her girl. The tears came unbidden, and the tech cleaned her off and left them, giving them some privacy. Syverson climbed onto the table and cradled Mabel in his arms.

“I miss her too, Bug. She’da been such a great big sis.”

Sobs wracked Mabel’s body as she grieved once more for the baby she would never hold. Their son kicked her softly, as if to say ‘don’t cry, Mama, I’m here’, and Mabel placed a hand over the spot, smiling through her tears as she held him. 

“Don’t you worry, little man. There’s plenty of love in my heart to go around.”

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

“Alright Mabel, ya ready?”

Mabel shook her head at the woman between her legs, sweat dripping down her brow, her chest heaving. 

“I can’t… I can’t do this, I can’t.” 

“Yes, ya can,” came a whisper in her ear. Mabel leaned her head back against Syverson’s chest, listening to him coach her through this. His caressing touch was everywhere; hands glided over her thighs, fingers brushed her sweat soaked hair out of her face, a well-placed fist pushed against the spot on her back that was causing her excruciating pain. His deep voice resonated through her mind, low and soothing.

“You are my Mabel. You’ve conquered everythin’ that’s been thrown yer way, includin’ death. So now, yer gonna conquer life, and yer gonna bring our son into this world. Ya ready?”

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

“What’re we gon’ name him, Bug?”

Mabel sighed and rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to have this conversation again; boy names were harder. 

“Every time we have this argument, Sy, ya end up sleepin’ on the couch cause yer mad at me.”

“Yeah I git that, Mabel, but we’re four weeks away. He needs a name.”

“Scooter.”

“Scooter Syverson. I actually like that.”

“No, Sy, I was kiddin’!”

Syverson jumped on the bed, straddling Mabel’s legs and lifting her shirt to kiss her belly repeatedly. She squealed as he purposefully brushed his beard all over her taut skin, fighting to free herself from her husband’s grasp.

“Whaddaya think, Scooter?” Syverson said to the baby, pinning Mabel’s hands and blowing a raspberry underneath her belly. Mabel shrieked and the baby kicked right where Syverson’s lips had pressed against it. Syverson grinned, looking at Mabel with his eyes wide. 

“Looks like Scooter here likes it,” he said seriously, taking a deep breath.

“No, Hunter nooo!!” Mabel cried as Syverson blew another raspberry, laughing as his mouth vibrated against her skin. The baby kicked again and Syverson chuckled with glee, loving the ability to bond with his child. He blew raspberry after raspberry on Mabel’s belly until she finally got a hand free and smacked his head. She pulled him up by his hair to meet her lips, and Syverson kissed her attentively, smoothing his hand over her stomach and relishing in the feel of his son’s movements.

“He still needs a name,” he mumbled against his wife’s lips. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him in deeper, tasting the rich flavor of his tongue. 

“I just figured he’d be a junior,” she moaned as Syverson’s fingertips dipped beneath the band of her sleep shorts. He stopped a moment and looked at Mabel fondly.

“Ya mean it?”

“Yeah I do.”

“I’d really like that.”

Syverson picked up the pace, hooking his fingers into Mabel’s core and kissing her neck in earnest.

“I’m still gonna call him Scooter though.”

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

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

“One more push and you can rest, come on Mabel! You can do it!”

Another contraction swept through Mabel and she cried out. Syverson’s grip was firm under her knees, his chin tucked into her shoulder and a constant stream of comforting words and gentle encouragement poured into her ear. Mabel bent her head low and pushed, agonizing screams tumbling from her lips as her body was ripped open. She could see her son’s head in the mirror behind the doctor; they were close, they were so close. Just one more push. 

Mabel braced herself and pushed with all her might, reaching down instinctively to catch her baby as he was expelled from her womb. Loud commotion filled the room as suddenly everyone was cheering. A loud wail sung out from the babe on Mabel’s chest and she and Syverson laughed with him, sobs constricting their chuckles. Mabel’s laughter turned to tears as she stared at her child, thinking of the baby buried beneath the Live Oak tree. Her brother looked just like her. 

“You did it, Mama,” Syverson whispered in her ear, and Mabel turned to look up at him, kissing him softly.

“I wish he could have met Einsley.” she sniffed, drinking in the sight of her newborn son. Syverson brushed the back of his finger over the smattering of dark curls on the baby’s head, wrapping his other arm around his wife.

“I do too, babygirl. I do too.”

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

Mabel heard a low, murmuring voice as her eyelids fluttered awake. She turned in the hospital bed and saw Syverson near the window, cradling their newborn son over his shoulder as he hummed his favorite tune. He heard Mabel stir and turned, gazing at her softly.

“I need to nurse,” she said quietly, reaching for the baby. Syverson brought him over and laid him in her arms, sliding next to them to cuddle on the bed. He watched as Mabel took out her breast and their son greedily latched on, drawing life-sustaining nourishment from her body. Syverson kissed Mabel gently on the forehead as he stroked her hair.

“Ya done good, Mama,” he whispered. Mabel smiled gently at him, and together they watched as the new piece of their souls entwined himself into their shared heart.

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

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(@wildwavehc and @kevia1000 - I tried to tag you but it’s not working; you’ve gotta turn tagging capabilities on on your end!!)

[putflowersinmyhair-callmepretty]

The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC); part 3

GENERAL A/N: Hi there! This story is my first attempt to write a fanfiction. English is not my first language, so feel free to let me know how to improve my writing/language skills 😊 I will try and post a chapter per week, let’s see how it goes! The story takes place in season 3 and you will notice that I have used some of the sequences and dialogues from the tv series, changing them to include my OC. I did try not to be too colloquial and informal with my writing -giving the time of the story- but I preferred to make it more enjoyable than realistic, same goes for Finan’s accent. I’m nervous and excited to share my work, hope you enjoy! Bacini, Cate.

A/N: Ciao dolcezze! Hope your doing well! I’ve been super busy with my master’s degree but the chapter’s here! Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There’s a lot of Finan here, finally! Have the nicest week! Bacetti, Cate!

Summary: The life of the young novice Aoife completely changes when the Lady of Mercia arrives to the Abbey of Wincelcumb. Oaths, battles and love will turn her in a warrior.

General warnings: Violence, Blood, Strong Language, Smut, Fluff, Graphic description of violence

Chapter’s warning: Mention of blood, angst, fluff

Words: 4455 Chapter Two.

Chapter Three: Injures and betrayal

“I will not let you fight this battle, Aoife.” Uthred repeated. Aoife had tried all day long to convince him to let her fight, and even now that they were preparing the horses to leave Aylesbury, she was not desisting. She had pleaded him to the point where she knew she was appearing pathetic, but she wanted to begin her new life as a warrior and that battle was an opportunity for her to prove her strength. She was scared of course, every time she closed her eyes she could see the young Dane she had killed; she wasn’t very sure she liked to kill, but she had spent too much time doing nothing but standing next to Aethelflaed, feeling an intruder in such important manners. And more than that, killing Haesten – or being part of the battle that would eventually kill him – was the only way for her to revenge her Abbess’ death. She was aware that her mind and attitude was quickly changing; she had always had a temper, but she was one for peace and forgiveness; of course, a fight in the nunnery was nothing compared to the siege she had found herself fighting back, but she was still scared of how quickly that dark part of her was emerging and she had to learn how to control it. Not now, though, now she needed that darkness to keep giving her the courage to plead the Dane warrior to bring her into battle. “Lord Uthred, let me fight!” Exasperated, Uthred held her shoulders tight, shaking her just enough to catch her attention and shut her up. “You will listen to me now, woman. You had sworn your sword to Aethelflaed and she’s still in danger. You will prove your value by protecting her. It is and order, have I been clear?” The warriors had left that same evening, bidding their goodbyes to the two women as if they were going for a hunt and not to face death. Finan had smoothly kissed the back of Aoife’s hand before mounting on his horse, and she had felt her cheeks turning red and warm at the contact. He was so confident, Aoife could easily guess that he was experienced with women; he knew the tricks to make a lady fall at his feet. Not that he needed tricks, he was a warrior, a handsome one to say the least; and while his scars promised troubles, his smile could soothe the most turbulent soul. Father Beocca was right, he could well be a prince of the dark and she would follow him to hell without complaints. Standing next to Aethelflaed and Edward, she watched the warriors leave the security of the fortress and disappear in the distance. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see them again, if they would fight together again or if they would just greet her the few times they would meet, until forgetting her name. She was sure she could never forget that weird group of warriors, especially the mysterious prince of the night. That same night, Aoife effectively took on the role of guard of Aethelflaed. At supper time, she was even able to make Steapa smile with her overprotective attitude. The Lady herself cracked a smile and asked her to relax, they were safe there and she should enjoy the food as much as she could; who knew how long it would take before they would taste meat like that again. Aethelflaed then asked for her to wait outside her rooms while she ate and confronted her husband. She was playing with her dagger, sat on a chair, ear pricked and muscles ready to step in if required. In that moment she felt like a true guard. She wondered if Uthred would be proud of her keeping her promise as well as she could. Anyway, she was confident – and again she was being arrogant – she could win over “Lord” Aethelred smoothly, she had subdue braver pigs. She could hear talking, even some commotion, but nothing to be afraid of, and before the moon reached the peak of the sky, the Lord of Mercia had already left the rooms, without acknowledging the presence of the warrior lady against the wall. When they woke up the morning after, they discovered that Alfred had reluctantly accepted to support Uthred in the battle. Aoife was relieved, Alfred’s numbers would increase the chances of success of Uthred’s plan. A plan that she thought was quite stupid: too much was being left to fate and probability, but what did she know? She was just a nun after all. When the day came, Aoife woke up with bad feelings clenching her stomach. She was fearing for the life of Uthred and his men. Aethelflaed had then asked her to get ready to help the injured. She cut pieces of clothes and drawn water from the well all day long, but it had not put her mind to rest. She was spending too much time by herself, thinking of how many men could have already fallen under Danes’ strokes. She had spent most of her monastic life helping the physician of the monastery, growing healing plants, cauterizing wounds and staying next to the dying patients until their last breath, it was not the idea of blood and death to make her hands shake, it was the fear of finding out that her new friends were injured and being unable to save them In the afternoon, she was praying in the chapel when a messenger came. He was bringing a letter from Uthred. The battle had been won, and they were invited to ride to Aethelflaed’s estate, where they would be joined by him and his men. “I’m surprised he knew how to write!” Aoife commented and they laughed, until the laughs became tears, of relief and happiness. In less than an hour, they gathered the horses, belongings and guards and before dawn they left Aylesbury. Aoife couldn’t stop smiling. Saltwic, Mercia Saltwic was a welcoming place. Aoife’s room was right next to Aethelflaed’s, of course. Inside, there was a big, comfortable bed, with a clean chamber pot next to it. There was also a fireplace, with a small wooden tub and a kettle filled with fresh water. She put the kettle on the fire and let the water warm up while she undressed. After the stay in Aylesbury and the ride to Saltwic, her clothes needed to be washed; she, too, was covered in dust and sweat and she sat in the tub for a long time, rubbing her body with a clean cloth until her skin turned red; she took her time to wash her hair and brush it with the small wooden comb she had taken from her room in the nunnery. It made her sad to think of what she had left there: her books, her chessboard, her mother’s doll. However, she smiled thinking about the Abbess, which would have lectured her on the volatility of earthly goods, “All we need – she would have said – is God’s love and mercy.” On the opposite, Sister Aeskel, the physician, would have laughed and hugged her, reassuring her: she would not have the time to read, nor to play chess, living as a warrior, and she was too old to still own a doll. Her belonging would have forever been a remainder of that young girl that had grown up with them and then had left the nest. Only thinking about her, Aoife was happy again. She hoped Aeskel was all right. There was a light knock on the door and Aethelflaed came in without waiting for an answer; she looked happy, almost excited, not at all bothered by Aoife’s nakedness. She, on the opposite, was quickly becoming red from embarrassment. “I have something for you.” the Lady chirped and only then Aoife noticed she was holding something in her arms. “Lady.” she protested “You have to stop buying me gifts, you’ve done enough for a lifetime.” “Oh hush. I noticed that you looked very uncomfortable in my dress and I wanted you to wear something more… appropriate to your role.” she sat on the bed and, with a proud smile, showed her friend what she had brought. They were clothes, as Aoife had already guessed from her words, but not the common clothes of a lady. There were two tunics, one red and one blue, a linen shirt, two pairs of brown trousers and brown shoes. “I asked my seamstresses to have them ready for our arrival” Aethelflaed said “are you happy?” Aoife was at loss of words “Happy? Lady, this is too much!” “It is not.” her friend assured “Also, the blacksmith is working on your warrior clothes, but it is going to take some time. And here” she threw are a small leather bag “your first payment.” Inside the bag there were five pieces of silver, Aoife shook her head vigorously “Lady, this is too much!” and she tried to give the money back. Aethelflaed held her hands, closing Aoife’s fingers around the bag “You have been a great guard and a great friend, Aoife. You deserve all of this and more for risking your life for me. Stop being stubborn and accept my way to say thank you.” For the first time since they had met, Aoife hugged Aethelflaed. There was a stream within walking distance from Aethelflaed’s estate. After two days of doing nothing, Aoife decided that she needed some type of normalcy in her life and, when the sun reached its peak, she walked to the stream, a basket of dirty clothes under her arm. It was a cold winter day, of course, and her hands, dipped in the water, soon turned blue. Nonetheless, she found quite calming to rub the linen on the stones, smoothed by the repetitive movement of the stream. The sun was almost setting when she heard the soft drumming of hooves on snow. And there they were, the men of Cookham, covered in dirt and blood and riding slowly towards Saltwic. There were also prisoners, Danes, who were coughing and stumbling in the white cold ground. Aoife collected the wet clothes in the hamper and run back to the estate. Her heart was beating fast, and she tried to suppress the desire to see the Irishman again. She had thought that being away from him would ease her passion, but she was wrong, and she run faster to reach him, to be sure he was fine. Aethelflaed was already in the hall when Aoife arrived, and invited her to leave the wet clothes to the servants and prepare herself to assist the injured. On her time in Wincelcumb, she had the pleasure to assist Aoife during her working hours in the infirmary. Most of the injured had been nuns who had hurt themselves working, but, once or twice, peasants had come asking for help with more serious injuries. Aethelflaed had watched Aoife cauterize wounds and heal ulcers without flinching. “God guides my hand.” she used to answer to her amazed face. It had been her strength and composure to play a fundamental role in her decision to bring Aoife with her. Aethelflaed watched her sweetly; that and the instant fondness she felt for her. Uthred was the first to enter the hall, followed closely by Sithric and Finan and then by the rest of his men.  Aoife could see that a couple of warriors were missing, but the presents didn’t look injured. They were tired, cold and hungry, however, and Aethelflaed invited them all to sit. Aoife had waited to see the warrior for days and yet, now that he was right in front of her, she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had she done that, she would have found him already watching her fondly, yet tiredly. He had found himself thinking about her, once or twice during the mission. She had been a pleasant surprise from the beginning, and he would be a fool not to be attracted by pretty women. And she was, without doubt, extremely pretty. Seeing her, all busy in her role of healer, with her dark hair back in a braid – single braid for a unmarried woman, her cheeks and nose all red for the cold, he had forgot about more urgent manners. Manners that Uthred spare no time to address. “Osferth is at the alehouse. He’s injured.” Uthred said and before he could even sit down, Aoife had grabbed her cloak and was already running outside. She had grown fond of the monk, and without more information, she could not help but imagine the worst. Was her too late? She hoped not, she had yet to know him well and she did not want to lose a friend, or a potential friend. “Aoife wait!” someone shouted from behind her and she slowed down to let Finan reach her. She didn’t ask him why he followed her, he needed food and to sit near the fire for a while, but she could see how worried he looked. Knowing that he would not rest until Osferth was safe, she let him come her to the alehouse. He showed her the way up the stairs, to the last room down the corridor, one of the few with a door. Aoife tried not to show interest in the unholy events that were taking place in the other rooms but Finan caught her peeking in one of them and couldn’t repress a smile. Such an innocent creature she was. Osferth was laying on the bed, looking more tired than in pain, but probably he was just trying to be strong; the left part of his tunic was covered in blood, most of it dark enough to be dry, some of it a bright red. She needed to stop the bleeding. “Hi Osferth.” she greeted, taking off her cloak and kneeling at his side. She smiled sweetly, as Sister Aeskel had taught her, to appear calm and confident “Do you mind if I take a look at your wound?”. The boy nodded weakly, smiling lightly and she pulled out a knife from under her tunic to cut apart the fabric of his robe; slowly, being it stuck to his skin. The wound was wide but not deep, thank goodness. The bleeding was easy to stop, but she had to carefully clean it to prevent the infection. With a good bandage and some poultice he would be as good as new in no time. She had the kindness to tell him to, patting his cheek as if he was still a young boy. Finan was amused by the interaction, never had he seen Osferth at such ease with someone he had barely met. There was something about that girl that made everyone feel safe in taking their guard down with her. It was a powerful weapon. Only then, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing a dress anymore but the clothes of a warrior: tunic, trousers and the belt with weapons around her waist. There was something about masculine clothes around her feminine curves that aroused him greatly and he was more than happy to leave the room when she asked him to fetch some fresh water to clean the wound. “I do not deserve your assistance, lady.” the monk mumbled when they were left alone, his voice was barely audible “I cannot even use a sword.” She was checking for others injures, but there were just bruises and light cuts, and pondered for a moment whether to answer him or pretend not to have heard him. She opted for the first “But you fought, didn’t you? And with great disadvantage.” She raised her eyes to his face, he was already watching her “I’m sure you’ve been great help and I am even more sure that Lord Uthred would tell the same. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so worried about you.” Before he could argue, Finan came back with a pot of water and a cloth. “To clean.” he explained, waving the peace of fabric, and Osferth could swear he was blushing. Aoife shot the warrior one of her already infamous smile “What a brilliant helper.” she murmured and took both things from Finan’s hands “Thank you.” Both men had heard that, and while Osferth tried to dissimulate a laugh with a cough, Finan couldn’t really care about his friend making fun of him – he would surely have told it to the others later – because he had recognized that tone of voice, many women had addressed him with such tone. She was playing at courtship. From that moment on, he became a source of distraction, following her around and staring at her openly. If she wanted to play that game, she had to know who she was competing against. Soon, she was too shy to keep working knowing that Finan was watching every move she made, touching her ever so slightly when she was close enough; all with that charming smile of him. And when she risked to make Osferth bleed again – she pushed too hard on his stomach, making him scream in pain and the wound stretched dangerously – Finan was sent downstairs again to ask for broth and ale while Aoife finished her work. She smeared some poultice, the one that helped fasten the healing and prevent infection, on the cut before covering it with a clean piece of fabric. When Finan came back, Aoife and him had to force Osferth, with threats and pleas, to eat and drink something before falling asleep. He was acting like a child, really, but he was not to blame; he had lost much blood and experienced very traumatic events; he was scared and unable to sleep. Finan and Aoife sat next to him, one on each side, and talked with him, about everything and nothing, until his breath became regular and he fell asleep. And then, they were left alone. Finan, who until that moment had acted confident and smug, suddenly found himself at loss of word and shied away from her eyes, so deep yet open, so clear yet unreadable. “You should rest too, Finan.” Aoife said, standing up to clean the room. She turned around when he didn’t answer and he shot her a tired smile under his unkept beard. “Don’t worry, lady. It’s not my first battle.” He said “And it’s not easy for a warrior to rest after such events.” Only then Aoife noticed the trickle of fresh blood running down his forehead and on his cheek. “You’re hurt!” she cried out, running to him and taking his face in her hands. Finan was shaken to the core by that touch and unwound against the palm of her hand. He hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in a long time, but that didn’t justify the fastening of his heart, nor the complete inability to control his body. “Let me clean you up.” she whispered sweetly, and he simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the chair. While cleaning the cut she could see her hands shaking, it was not the blood, nor the wound, it was touching him. With one hand she was keeping his hair back, away from his forehead, and it was softer that she expected from someone who spent most time outside and riding his horse. The thumb of her other hand brushed against his skin every time she patted on the cut, his skin rough for the wind and the battle. What surprised her the most was that, under the smell of the battle – of sweat and blood and iron, there was such a sweet scent of wood and salt water, and she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and smell him, and taste his skin with the tip of her tongue. The nun in her was outraged by those unholy, impure thoughts; the woman in her was laughing, finally free by the chain of the Abbey. She was young and he was desirable, she was more then justified in those thoughts. Finan enjoyed every touch of her soft skin and somewhere in his mind he knew she was taking her time too. He was suppressing himself from reasoning; she was young, innocent and inexperienced; while he was older, malicious and he was taking advantage of her juvenile feelings because, after such a long time alone, he needed the affection. He did not really want to think about the fact that no other woman had made his heart pump as strong and his skin crawl as she was doing right there, only by cleaning a cut. He would have worried about it later. Too soon, however, Osferth burst their bubble, groaning and turning in his sleep. Aoife stumble backwards, suddenly aware of her actions. She turned away from the Irishman, cutting, perhaps forever, the thread of complicity and intimacy that they had just created. She bended over Osferth, covering her face with her hair, to shield him from seeing how affected she was by what had just happened. When he tried to say something, she stopped him, raising a hand, and with the lower, tiniest voice she had ever used, she said “Go back to the hall, Finan. I shall stay a little longer with Osferth.” There was no answer but a slam and when she turned around, he was gone. They day after was spent in celebration. Finan was not sure how Osferth and Aethelflaed had managed to convince Aoife to participate, but he was very grateful. Firstly, because she looked particularly pretty in that specific day; a clean green vest was embracing her body in such a lovely way that Finan had to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers more than once. Secondly, it looked like she was enjoying drinking ale, the redness spreading on her full cheeks. She was laughing loudly with Aethelflaed and even if he cannot hear what they were talking about, he was grateful to be standing right in front of her. He had smoothly withdrawn himself from the conversation with Sithric and other warriors and leant against the back of the chair, staring at her. And everybody had noticed that, including her. He didn’t care, though, he liked how she was squirming under his gaze. He knew that she too was thinking about the day before, about how their bodies had searched each other. He had felt something unusual, a need of a deeper and more intimate connection, and while part of him was scared, the other was intrigued, almost happy to be back on having feelings of the sort. He had imagined, once or twice, how his life would be with a wife and children, but the ghosts of his past were still hunting him, and they would probably be hunting him forever. They were the reason he had left abruptly the day before; those and knowing that she was ashamed of being that close to him. Of course, she was not to blame, she could have – and she deserved – a better man, a younger, smarter, easier man than him. And it made his heart ache. As always, he was rushing his feelings; he had only known her for a few days and there was also the possibility that all that desire was just a consequence of his need to give into his urges. As the right hand of Uthred of Bebbanburg, he spent long periods of time without touching a woman, especially now, with the outlaw situation and everything. Aoife was young and beautiful and such a complicated combination of strength and innocence; it was not unusual that he was aroused by her. As did most of the men in the room; he could say. He could not blame them for looking at her hungrily, but he could surely hate them. He was proud, however, that it was not their gazes to get her on edge, only his. Their eyes met, and he raised his cup in her direction, making her smile a little and blush profusely. Pretty girl. Before dawn, Aoife had helped Osferth to his room. Dinner was being serve in the hall and Uthred had ordered for the prisoners to be fed too; Aoife did not like the idea of eating under the same roof as them and she was feeling more tired than hungry; therefore, she retreated in her room and was fast asleep. Had she known, she would have never left Finan’s side. She woke up at first light, as every other day. She decided to go pray before visiting Osferth and when she left church, people were already working. After her time alone with God, she was feeling peaceful and she walked to the alehouse singing under her breath. Her spirit changed when she entered Osferth’s room. He was not alone, Finan was sitting on the bed next to the monk, head in his hands. Osferth too looked shaken. “What’s wrong?” she asked concerned, running to her patient “Are you feeling sick?” The young monk shook his head, but it was the Irishman to answer. “Sithric is gone.” Aoife shot Osferth a confused look “He betrayed us, lady.” the monk explained “He fought with Uthred yesterday and this morning he was gone. And with him, the prisoners.” His voice was plain, but she could see in his eyes that he was suffering. Finan wasn’t even trying to hide how much the betrayal had affected him; he was clearly upset, and Aoife could understand why. Among all Uthred’s men, Sithric was Finan closest friend and his betrayal was making him doubt that relation. Aoife too was shaken; she did not know the man well, but she was sure about his loyalty to Uthred and his companions. She had seen him laugh his heart out, joking and playing with the others as if they were family. It was weird. And by the face of the two men in front of her, it was worse that if he was dead. Aoife could not find the right words to comfort them and she hoped that her presence would be enough, or at least well accepted. With a small smile to Osferth, she sat down next to Finan, as close as possible, and she delicately reached to hold his hand in hers. His skin was warm and rough, as she remembered, and he stiffened under her touch, not used to affection. Then he slowly relaxed, his thumb grazing over her knuckles. The three spent hours in silence on that uncomfortable bed in that bad smelling room, Osferth laying on one side, Finan and Aoife sitting on the other, hand in hand. Chapter Four.

[kai-n-ali]

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter One

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his. 

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 5K

Chapter Two ❀ Chapter Three

                               Chapter 1: Citron (Ill-natured Beauty)

   The bell let out a series of chimes as the door creaked on its hinges, and in a small florist shop tucked between a gelateria and an abandoned butchery, Eleanor Blum officially met the devil of Small Heath.

   She wasn’t impressed.

   Flora’s, the little florist and botanical shop, had become a haven for the twenty-three-year-old in the time that she’d lived above Cora Evans’ storefront: only a few short weeks. Flora’s, partially named after Cora’s granddaughter, Florence, was a bright spot of color among the grit and grimness of Birmingham, with flower boxes brimming with asters and foxgloves, strawflowers and marigolds. Along the south-facing wall, honeysuckle crawled up the scratched brick, and the thick, sweet scent of the flowers almost washed out the stench of shit wafting up from the nearby horse stables or the sour-milk scent from gone-off gelato dumped in the dumpster, left to fester in the summer heat.

    Inside, the shop was cluttered, bouquets dotting the window display and trailing back in colorful bunches all throughout the front of the store, some put in ornate vases, others in ribbon-adorned mason jars, and a few placed into half-rusted buckets. Petals and leaves dotted the floor, and the room reeked of lavender and fresh-cut stems, grassy and clean. In the back of the store where the rare plants were, packets of seeds labelled in Cora’s handwriting, and now in Eleanor’s own scrawl, lined their worktable in rows.

    When he first came in, she didn’t bother looking up from her spot bent over one of the tables, hands streaked in dirt from potting snapdragon cuttings—they were very fashionable right now for front gardens, apparently—and the charcoal from her pencils. She’d plucked a honeysuckle bloom off its stem earlier in the morning and was practicing the loose lines of it on paper with strokes of a pencil. 

    The bell chimed, and Eleanor heard none of it, not until a voice cleared its throat a few paces in front of her. Eleanor jolted up, pushed a few curls out of her eyes.

    The man in front of her was beautiful in the way most wild things were when trapped behind glass. The way vines were beautiful when they were confined to the cracks of cobblestone, peeking out in glimpses of brilliant green. With cheekbones that looked like they’d split the pads of her fingers if she reached out to touch, that looked like they were meant for dinner parties as much as they were for being flecked in blood, Eleanor felt herself stiffen. She knew this man. Sort of.

    That newsboy cap was just ridiculous.

    Thomas Shelby, the husband of Grace Shelby, stood in her new place of employment. The last time she’d seen him, Eleanor had been at a gala in a new dress, gems dripping from her throat and beading trickling off her hem while she grilled his wife on her new orphanage and its living conditions for the second time.

    He was a ghost. Some half-wilted thing.

    Eleanor tilted her head, taking in the stiff lines of him, the strained civility held in the pale blue of eyes, and thought: how disappointing.

    She hadn’t taken Shelby for the kind of man to wilt.

    Meanwhile, it seemed Mr. Shelby was studying her as well. The startling blue of his eyes trained on her, cut across by the thicket of his lashes. He swept up and down her form, and she avoided fidgeting just barely. It seemed he recognized her, perhaps from the charity gala for the Shelby Foundation that went so wrong. Eleanor herself had only seen glimpses of him at said event, dressed in a black tux, the cut of his jaw severe and the stretch of his coat across his shoulders making her mouth go dry. She’d seen him as a dark shadow lingering behind his wife, his hand curling around her pale shoulder or tucking a loose, golden curl behind her ear before he was up and off again.

    Though, she realized she’d lied before. The last time she’d seen Thomas Shelby, it’d been a black-and-white photo shot from quite a distance, his back ramrod straight as he stood over the coffin of his dead wife. Surrounded by chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. His family stone-faced beside hordes of men in full military garb.

    The thought of Mrs. Shelby made her wince, and if anything, that made him stare harder. Something in his eyes questioned, how do I know you? Eleanor wasn’t obliged to answer.

    She locked her jaw and crossed her arms over the dirt-streaked cotton of her blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, “or did you come just to ogle?”

    Somewhere from close behind, Eleanor heard a small squeak. She turned to face the noise. Florence, or Flora, sat on one of their many wooden benches, nearly toppling over a vase of petunias with every swing of her feet. Her eyes were very wide. “Ella,” she said, high-pitched, in a more-than-loud whisper. “Ella, that’s Mr. Shelby.”

    Flora was a girl of thirteen, with straight, dark hair cut right below her ears, and a smile that grew more lopsided the harder she grinned. When the chores were through and if the shop wasn’t busy, Eleanor would sit down and entertain her with little doodles, half-formed sketches.

    Right now, however, she was white as a freshly bleached sheet, her gangly legs jiggling with nerves. She hadn’t grown into them yet, but Eleanor found them endearing—almost coltish. Her eyes darted for her grandmother, but Cora was long gone on an errand.

    Mr. Shelby seemed unaffected, clearing his throat again with a cough. One hand rested on his pocket-watch, as though already eager to check the time. “Ella, eh?” She’d never heard him speak before, and the coarseness of his voice made her stomach flip-flop alongside the annoyance burning away at her. “Well, Ella—”

    “Eleanor.”

    There was a slight furrow to his brow now. It really was painfully fucking charming. He just sort of looked at her, head cocked, considering. Eleanor let out a gust of a sigh.

    “It’s Eleanor. My name. Not Ella.” Not to you, she thought. There was a pause, and she heard more than saw Flora place her head into the palms of her hands.

    “Tommy Shelby,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, and offered her his hand. Eleanor looked at that hand, the deceptive slimness of his fingers and the narrow taper of his wrist. His callouses were faded, softened with time.

    There was dirt under her nails and specks of dried mud up to her wrists, but she shook Mr. Thomas Shelby’s hand like she was wearing silk gloves. All lowered lashes and a coquettish flick of her wrist bone. The high-society ladies back home would surely applaud her if they saw.

    Then she ruined it.

    “What kind of grown-ass man still goes by the name Tommy?” she blurted before she could stop herself, her hand still in his. His hand had looked almost delicate before, but it engulfed her own. The shocked jerk of it against hers sent a vibration up her arm, and she suppressed a smirk. His eyes narrowed in on her face, a sudden intensity there he hadn’t possessed before. Like he wanted to peel back her skin and look beneath. Off-to-the-side, Flora let out a distressed little sound, akin to a mourner at a funeral. Viewing the body one last time before it lowered into the earth with the worms.

    The next sound past his lips was a huff that could’ve been taken for a laugh. If he were any other man. “One without a stick up the ass, I bet.” He tossed a glance Flora’s way, quirked up his mouth. He really had a lovely mouth. “Miss Eleanor.”

    And Eleanor couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hm. Agree to disagree, Mr. Shelby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned over the countertop until her curls swung into her face. They were close enough now she could almost feel his breath ghosting the top of her head. “So, what’re you here for, then? Haven’t got all day.” Now, she sweetened her smile so the next bit wouldn’t bite, only sting. “Not even for the likes of you.”

    “Y’ know,” and his voice was a slow drawl that made her spine tingle and her hair stand on end, the way his lips formed around the words with the barest hint of threat, of teeth, “people rarely speak to me this way, Miss Eleanor.”

    “Not to your face, I’m sure.” She paused. “Mr. Shelby.”

    Was it just her, or was he almost smiling? “Fair enough. Just a bouquet for me.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “Of your choosing.”

    “Right away,” she said, but something nagged at her. Taking a glance at his clothing—well-pressed and well-tailored, with a dark coat that had to be far too hot for the late July humidity and slacks with a crease down each leg—and thought he looked like a man heading to a funeral. Or a gravestone. Eleanor swallowed. Thought back to that black-and-white photo from near a year ago. Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas.

    Despite herself, she wondered if those had been Mrs. Shelby’s favorite flowers. They weren’t the flowers of funerals. Of mourning.

    Eleanor cast her gaze around the shop, but there was no arrangement that caught her interest, that fit the bill. She worried at her bottom lip. “Gimme a moment,” she muttered, almost to herself, and stepped out from behind the table. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck.

    Off-to-the side, pressed against the wall, were paint buckets filled with loose flowers, rows upon rows of color and texture, bunched together and stems kept in nutrient-enriched water. Among them, she found what she was looking for: chrysanthemums, white and ruffled with their pale green centers; hydrangeas, their purple petals in clusters. She also went for baby’s breath, as sparse and dainty as it was. A good filler for a bouquet, with the bonus of a powerful meaning. Everlasting love. Not that Thomas would know that.

    From a pail on one of the many counter spaces, she hunted for a ribbon. All knotted up in a ball, it took her a moment before she found the perfect one and managed to untangle it from the rest. Silky, sage green embroidered with indistinguishable little white buds. Perhaps a touch too long. Plucking and tweaking until it formed into a proper flower arrangement, if not a bit of a rustic one, she made a simple bow around the bundle before turning back to her customer. Taking quick steps to get back behind the main counter. “All done,” Eleanor said. She couldn’t look at him. With the heft of one shoulder, an almost-shrug, she offered the bouquet forward, level with his chest. She traced the pattern of his vest with her eyes, the stitching.

    The bouquet was smaller than a lot of the ones on display, less elaborate.

    But it felt right.

    Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she rifled for the few spare coins she kept there for emergencies with her spare hand. He’d yet to take the bouquet. She slapped them onto the space in front of him with a clink. Just enough. Flora was strangely silent. “And already paid for.”

    Thomas’ eyes felt hot on her face. Almost a brand.

    He didn’t say a thank you, just gave a hum under his breath, and when he reached out to grab the flowers, his fingers grazed her own. She wondered what he thought of the scar tissue stretched across her knuckles, her fingers, if he could feel it against his skin, bumpy and rigid. This touch felt different than when he’d shook her hand, and it sent pinpricks of sensation up her forearm. When he let go, she shook out her hand away from view, trying to force the odd tingling away. It lingered.

    “Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

    “Eleanor.” And when he left, it was with a chime of the shop’s bell.

    For a moment, the whole shop was suspended in a hush, as if the world itself had paused, reverberating with that single chime. But then Florence was up in a flurry of movement, flinging herself into Eleanor’s space with a string of expletives that didn’t belong in the mouth of a grown man, not to mention a fourteen-year-old girl. Eleanor laughed despite herself. Threw back her head with the force of it.

    “Language,” she chided.

    “D’ you ‘ave a death wish?”

    Florence’s round eyes were roving over Eleanor’s face, her hands on her hips. She looked very serious—or would’ve, if not for the spot of dirt on the side of her nose.

    Eleanor smiled. “Not recently, no.”

    The younger girl didn’t seem to find that very funny, and a scowl twisted her features. “That’s Tommy Shelby you just ran your mouth off to, Ella,” she stated, jabbed a finger at her chest. Adorable, Eleanor thought. “Tommy. Shelby.” The stress on these two words was punctuated with another two jabs.

    “I know his name.” I’ve met his wife.

    “You don’t get it,” she said, and there was a franticness to her voice, her posture. Her hands twitched and fidgeted. “’E’s the leader of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders. People say ‘e’s worse than the devil ‘imself."

    “Language.” But Eleanor’s head was already tilted in curiosity. Worse than the devil? “Peaky Blinders, huh?" She snorted. “Cute.”

    “Not cute, Ella, not cute. Dangerous. Deadly. They’re the biggest gang in Birmingham. Turned businessmen. They own us.” She puffed a stray hair out of her eyes. “You get a glance at his cap?” At Eleanor’s nod, she continued. “They sew razors into the brim. You fuck with ‘em, they cut out your eyes.”

    Huh. “Is that very effective?” she asked, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “I mean, that’s a bit of an awkward angle, isn’t it?” Flora groaned, flopping onto a stool besides her, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her forehead in her hands. Eleanor rubbed her back. She seemed to do this quite a lot when Eleanor was around.

   Her next words came out muffled by her palms. “The Blinders ain’t no joke, Ella. They set fire to The Marquis for messin’ with one of theirs. Their enemies get found in The Cut without their faces.” Her voice became very quiet, near trembling. Almost tearful. “You shoulda never spoken to Mr. Shelby like that.”

   Despite her best efforts, Eleanor felt a shiver run through her. Only she could be stupid enough to meet a devil and reach out to shake his hand. With a smile, no less. Well, it was too late now. She leaned until her shoulder pressed into Flora’s own. “Hey,” she soothed. “Look at me, huh?” Eleanor tapped at the girl’s cheek with a nail until she peered up at her, eyes a bit puffy. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon. Not with the warm welcome I gave him.” And she smiled until Florence couldn’t help but smile back.

    The second time Eleanor saw the devil of Small Heath, it was a week later. At Flora’s. And it would be the same as the first.

    That damn bell chimed.

    It was with relief that Eleanor noted Florence was out of the shop when a Mr. Thomas Shelby arrived for the second time, having been sent off by Cora to the gelateria with just enough money for scoop of her favorite, strawberry swirl. This time around, it was just her and Cora in the near silence of the shop, the record player in the back a mere whisper of jazz. Instead of being up to her elbows in damp soil, she had a paintbrush in her mouth and another clutched between her fingers and thumb, making a new display sign with some thick paper and her tin of watercolors. A sketch of Flora, blowing petals out of the palm of her hand. It was as she was halfway through mixing a color for the shadows of her face that the front door opened. At her side, using twine to bind their loose flowers for the paint buckets, Cora gave a sharp intake of breath.

    “Mr. Shelby,” the older woman greeted, hurrying to stand. A strong-featured woman of near fifty, Cora Evans wasn’t one to show fear, or much emotion at all beyond a muted amusement at her surroundings. This sort of “why the hell not?” air of being that she'd clearly perfected over her years. Yet, while her own blue eyes were unwavering on Thomas’ own, Eleanor detected the tense line of her broad shoulders, hiked nearly up to her ears and tickling the grey-brown of her hair. Thomas inclined his head at her boss, and if he looked her way, Eleanor didn’t see it, because she had already turned back to her work, watering down a vermilion for the high spots of color on Flora’s youthful cheeks.

    If she didn’t look at him, maybe she wouldn’t be compelled by whatever urge had struck her before—a sudden desire to pick at and tease, to wrestle up a smile on that pretty mouth.

    Eleanor shook her head, a minuscule gesture, and huffed a curl out of her eyes. Get it together.

    “’Ow may I ‘elp you, sir?” And Cora’s voice was polite, restrained, the normal warmth in her Brummie accent stripped into something foreign to Eleanor. “On the ‘ouse, of course.” At that, she felt her lips pinch despite herself.

    While Cora hadn’t been upset when her granddaughter had finally told her the story of Eleanor back-talking to a Peaky Blinder, she had gone a bit pale, setting down the pot in her hands with a heavy clunk on their scraped-up work table. Staring at Eleanor with new eyes. “Pretty fuckin’ stupid of you, love,” she’d said. “They’ve set fire to businesses for less.” And she’d shaken her head. “Messin’ with that Blinder Devil—thought you had some wits about you.” In the end, though, Cora shooed her off when she hastened to spill out apologies, holding out a hand to pat her on her shoulder.

    “That Thomas Shelby is more sensible than most of ‘em put together. Not like his mad dog brother. It’ll work out for the best, I bet.”

    But now he was back yet again, in a suit lighter than the one before, a pale grey waistcoat with no jacket in sight. His tie was missing, she could tell even from where she hunched over her work, the top button of his dress-shirt undone at the throat. Still looking unbearably hot for the weather. Even the thin material of her house dress clung to her skin with the sweat of being trapped in the shop all day. She didn’t know how he bore it.

    “No need,” he said in that already familiar rasp, and she ducked her head further down instead of looking up and catching a glimpse of his face like she wanted. “Found myself in need of another bouquet.” And she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Eleanor. If you would.”

    The empty space to the upper right of her drawing distracted her. Should she fill it with roses? Lilies? There was a pause that could be felt hanging in the shop, like a physical touch against her skin, but she kept her gaze to that expanse of untouched white.

    “Eleanor,” Cora said, touching gentle fingers to the bared skin of her upper arm. She very rarely wore short sleeves, but with the heat, it felt unavoidable. The circular burns that peppered her arms like kisses—they weren’t even that noticeable, not anymore. Still.

    (On another August day, one from over a decade ago, she recalled the press and hiss of the cigarette when it hit her skin, and the way the mud never dried in that miserable backyard back in New York. Before her uncle came and packed her off to London. The backs of her knees were slippery with it as she squirmed and kicked. But the older girl kept a firm grip on her, and Eleanor stayed in place, sinking into the mud and dead, yellow grass. The cigarette was pulled back, still fizzling, and with the click of a lighter, was relit again. And again.)

    Eleanor blinked. Blinked again and rubbed a hand over her eyes, eyes that felt much more tired than before. She pulled the paintbrush from her mouth, set it on the countertop. “Of course, I can make you another bouquet, Mr. Shelby. Anything in mind?”

    She couldn’t see him, no, but she knew his eyes were smirking at her. Her fingers twitched on her remaining paintbrush. Smug bastard. “Oh, just something to brighten up me office, I think.” And Eleanor clenched her jaw, because that sounded like such shit to her. Why’re you here again, Thomas? She nodded nonetheless, kept her eyes down. You make it very hard to behave. She set down the brush with a clatter.

    “I can do that.”

    She searched for the most spiteful fucking flowers she could think of. Valerian, an herb frequently used for insomnia, green stems bloomed with clusters of white flowers. Readiness. I could take you, Mr. Shelby. Borage, or starflower, brilliant blue with hints of blush from the blooms with their white spines. Rudeness. Bluntness. And buttercups, their delicate yellow blossoms. A personal favorite and a good splash of color against all the blues and whites. Childishness. And, finally, Love-in-a-mist, or Nigella damascena, with their needle-point leaves and rich indigo petals ending in jagged points. A confession more than anything else, not that he’d know it. You puzzle me.

    In her youth, she’d gobbled up all the books on plants and herbs that she could find in her botanically obsessed uncle’s extensive library, and that included tomes on the language of flowers. The knowledge had stuck. And now more than ever, she found herself grateful.

    Eleanor plucked all the respective flowers out of their different buckets, organized by color, and set to work gathering the right amounts of each. She took a canary yellow ribbon from the ribbon pail with a flourish, flicking it in the air to get the kinks out. Grabbing a random empty vase that had once housed a beautiful but boring bouquet of a dozen roses—bought by a very frantic man in worker’s clothes and sturdy boots an hour prior, who looked like he was running quite late—she set the mass of flowers inside and set to arranging them.

    Flora, who hid a chuckle with a cough at the sight of her flowers of choice, left with a quick word to the backroom and a warning glance that burned into the back of Eleanor’s head. She tried not to fidget.

    She was wrapping the ribbon around the hunk of stems when a throat cleared from right by her side. Fuck. Eleanor started, spasming fingers losing the ability to form a bow. Fuck.

    “What’s a rich socialite like yourself doing in a flower shop in Birmingham, eh?”

    But, God, she couldn’t help but spin to face the man now. Thomas stood with his hip propped up against the table she was using, head tilted and pieces of the unshaved part of his hair near falling into his eyes. Seemed he recognized her now. He looked curious. Hungry. Up close as he was, their shoulders near brushing, she saw the hint of freckles beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. It seemed even devils tanned in the sun.

    Everything about him was all graceful command, words spoken in a way that showed he expected to be answered, obeyed.

    It reminded her of his wife.

    The first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Grace Shelby, it had been at a luncheon held at The Midland Hotel, for the sake of convincing the richest of London society to donate to her cause—the Shelby Foundation, whose first action was building an orphanage in Birmingham. When her uncle, Samuel Connolly, had told her the news, alongside the fact that he’d been invited to attend a luncheon on the subject, she’d begged to be brought along.

    “If anyone would have a stake in this,” she’d said at their breakfast table, pointing at his chest with a grapefruit spoon, “it’s me, don’t you think? Let me see how genuine this is.” Sam had set his hazel eyes on hers, lips pursed, but he hadn’t disagreed.

    “You’ll have to dress up,” he’d warned, and she’d stuck out her tongue at him, taking a stab at a section of fruit.

    Eleanor remembered the way the beading of her dress weighted her down that afternoon, and how all she wanted was to be back home in a pair of trousers, lounging with a book in her lap and Fennel, Sam’s Spinone Italiano, laying on the tops of her bare feet. Keeping her warm. But the rich had an ability to do any good works as half-assed as possible, and with all of her blunt Brooklynite manners from childhood, she had sworn to dig out the truth from this Mrs. Grace Shelby even if it meant pulling out the plyers and using some old-fashioned elbow grease.

    That hadn’t been necessary.

    The waitress that escorted them both to the hotel’s largest dining room was a near-silent woman, who meekly commented on the pale jade color of Eleanor’s dress before showing them to a room with a table longer than she’d ever seen. A rich, dark-colored wood leaning near black. The napkins were a fashionable rose, the plates rimmed in gold and dotted in florals along the edges. All the candles smelled of faint vanilla and sandalwood.

    Even for Eleanor, who had spent her teen years and beyond in Sam’s by-no-means-minuscule manor and had attended many a party due to his notoriety, it was extravagant beyond measure.

    At the head of the table, not yet seated and chatting with a plastic but pretty smile on her painted lips, was a woman with honeyed hair and aristocratic, well-bred features. She radiated old wealth in a way Eleanor never could, brought into the fold far-too-late.

    (“Oh my, it’s the little orphan bastard.” One of the wives of some business mogul whispered to her friends behind a glove. They all tittered away at her remark, and Eleanor, all awkward limbs and pale pink scars at fifteen years old, sunk back into the shadows of the sitting room. Uncomfortable in her new dress. Uncomfortable in her new life. “How quaint. It seems he really did pick up a new stray, after all.”)

    Most of the night was a blur, filled with soft, exaggerated laughter and mutual back-patting. In the dining room, the lighting was dim, almost sensual despite it being only two in the afternoon. Flattering everything into a near dream-like state. At the front of the table, Mrs. Shelby had glowed. Almost an hour prior, her hand had been soft and unblemished in Eleanor’s own. Even her handshakes felt soft as silk. But when Eleanor had cornered her later in the evening over a round of drinks, her own whiskey-sour in a fine crystal glass that felt like a paperweight in her hand, she had revealed pure steel beneath the refined veneer. Eleanor could barely recall her barrage of questions now, from over a year ago.

    “What of the orphans with surviving family? Will they be entitled to visitation? And the staff—what of them? Would they be receiving proper background checks prior to their employment?” It had gone on-and-on, and Grace Shelby had answered with assurance blanketing her tone, and a blade tucked beneath her tongue, ready to wield. Her eyes steady. Demanding trust. Eleanor had, though begrudgingly, given it. And promised to have more questions the next time they met. Mrs. Shelby had seemed, almost, like she was looking forward to it.

    But, well, the second and last time she’d seen Grace Shelby. Well.

    In the present, Eleanor zeroed back in on Thomas. He was studying her.

    She knew the red of her lipstick must be smudged. That there was surely charcoal streaked on her face from using her pencils earlier in the day. That the nape of her neck was sticky with sweat, soaking the curls there.

    Still, Eleanor arched her brow at who, apparently, was the most fearsome man in Birmingham. “I used the wrong fork,” she drawled. “Perilous mistake.”

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.”

    They locked eyes, and Eleanor wasn’t going to be the one to blink first. Without looking, she knotted the bow and pulled tight. “All done,” she said. She rambled off a price, perhaps one a little higher than necessary. She couldn’t help herself.

    He blinked at her before reaching into his pocket for the money, and Eleanor let out a gust of air when his eyes left her. How were they so blue? Reaching under the table for some tissue paper to wrap the bouquet in, she offered it forward, gripping it by the bottom of the stems. His own fingers grasped it above her own and tugged it out of her hand. He was oddly gentle about it. “Have a nice day, Thomas,” she told him, a clear dismissal, and he quirked a brow at her in a barely-there question. Whether it was because of the curt tone or the usage of his first name—it had just slipped out, she didn’t know why—she wasn’t sure.

    Either way, he left. And Eleanor slumped, boneless, against the countertop. What the honest fuck.

    Now, she knew better than to believe this would be the last time they saw each other.

    And true enough, they met yet again. This time at no fault of their own.