#Hmm... looks like rainy days happen about twice a week when I try looking it up for my US state. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewitcherssongbird · 4 years

Text

Your Curse is my Command

Next chapterrrrrr cuz I’m awesome right?

*****

Chapter 3

The following two weeks were a series of mishaps and mayhem and a cacophony of complaints which all together rendered Geralt insane, sleep deprived and sexually frustrated. It was that fucking curse that he’d landed himself into that had started this whole mess and he wasn’t even the one cursed! The thing was, every time he told Jaskier something, he did it. He did it and complained rather loudly while doing so.

He really had tried to avoid ordering Jaskier to do anything but he kept forgetting. Then he tried his best to avoid Jaskier altogether but due to Yennefer, avoiding him completely was impossible.

And that wasn’t even the half of it. The weather took a sudden turn to even more cloudy and rainy days which deflated Geralt’s general mood, not that anyone noticed. And suddenly things that had absolutely nothing to do with the wretched obedience curse started happening on top of the wretched obedience curse and Geralt had a sneaking suspicion Yen had something, or everything, to do with it.

The first evening, Geralt accidentally ordered Jaskier to pass the chicken and immediately got “Geralt!” shouted in his face while Yennefer snickered at the end of the dinner table. Fucking curse.

A few days later he told Jaskier to pick up his goddamn clothes from the fucking floor and put them away because he was a grown man and he immediately sprung to the task immediately with a glare that almost had him retreating from the room, which mind you, was not something Geralt did. Curses were a thing of nightmares.

One perfectly fine morning when Yennefer was busy with a client in the sitting area, the kitchen door locked itself behind him and of course, locked him in with Jaskier. A faint smell of lilac and gooseberries hung in the air. Geralt tried to pick the lock with a metal skewer he found in a cupboard while Jaskier complained very loudly. But the door was locked magically. The door leading to the back of the manor was also magically locked. That was Yennefer’s doing.

But then he told Jaskier to shut the hell up while he fiddled with the lock. Honestly he’d completely forgotten about their predicament until a very sharp knife lodged itself into the door above his head. He couldn’t tell if Jaskier had missed on purpose but he was too busy apologizing to ask. The man was dangerous when he was angry.

The next evening, he ordered the aggravating bard to leave him alone and he promptly left, traversing the town in the dark and efficiently leaving Geralt alone. Geralt had to stalk him for an hour to catch him off guard and release him from the command just so that he could come back to the manor. It was exhausting, who knew Jaskier was so good at avoiding him? He didn’t get the chance to ask, Jaskier was furious and made sure they all knew it.

The next afternoon, it was pouring outside and everyone was bored out of their minds and frankly fed up with Jaskier’s chattering. The bard seemed to have so much pent up energy and frustration that Geralt wouldn’t have been surprised if he had crawled out of his own skin just for something to do. They all decided to play board games, sitting on the floor around the table with blankets and hot cocoa.

Yennefer had decided to give them both a single blanket to share. He was sure she secretly dropped the temperature in the room, he glared at her even as Jaskier huddled closer to him and took his arm around his shoulder, almost climbing into his lap. That was actually nice but he wouldn’t admit that, because he was a firm believer of not taking advantage of someone one was in love with. At least Jaskier had shut up, for some mysterious reason, but Geralt wasn’t going to ask and jinx it.

There were also multiple instances where he told the chatterbox to shut up and well, Geralt had never seen murder so clearly in anyone’s face. Once or twice he’d admit that he ignored the glares and enjoyed the silence just for a moment. But then he’d get hit with pillows, shoes, cutlery, food, chess pieces and on a special occasion, a candelabra. With candles. That were lit.

Jaskier wasn’t unusually clumsy but in two weeks he had tripped twice over a loose floorboard, thrice over absolutely nothing and once he had fallen from the stairs. Luckily he was nearly down them and in all instances Geralt was very conveniently there to catch him and nearly die of lust and longing as his eyes caught on the lips that were always slightly open and showing a hint of perfect teeth as Jaskier’s breathed heavily, probably from shock or frustration, who knew.

Yennefer was of course always lurking somewhere near. Not that it qualified lurking because it was technically her house but that wasn’t the point.

Well, there was one accident which Geralt was actually quite sure had nothing to do with Yennefer or the curse. Geralt was deathly tired when he walked into the bathroom and promptly turned on his heel and walked out again with a growing problem in his trousers.

In the past few months, Jaskier had been more careful about showing skin in Geralt’s presence, he hadn’t noticed until now but he realized it as he walked back down the stairs. Jaskier had been lying languidly in the bathtub, eyes closed in pleasure as his hand no doubt moved hidden under the water. Fuck.

And all these days, Geralt hadn’t fucking slept! Every night he’d go to up to the roof and meditate for an hour or so, but meditation wasn’t meant to keep him functioning for two weeks and Geralt was not friendly when sleep deprived. But what could he do? Sleep in the day and let Yennefer know he was an absolute coward? No. Climb into a bed with the man he was lusting after? No. He had morals.

***

It was another, rainy day when Geralt and Jaskier were sitting on the couch in Yennefer’s apothecary while she worked. Jaskier was trying to see how high he could stack her decorative stones and Geralt nearly dozed off with his feet in Jaskier’s lap. They had nothing better to do in the cold outside. A fire burned merrily in the hearth, there was one in nearly every room of the house. There was no firewood in sight, only a distinct scent that was not smoke hung in the air around the flames.

“Geralt I need you to grab that potion and hand it to me, please. Jaskier don’t touch it, you’re human,” Yennefer said. Bullshit.

This meant Geralt had to lean over Jaskier to get the potion, perfect. And suddenly with that overly familiar scent tickling his nostrils, his hand slipped and he landed with his face in Jaskier’s lap, who squeaked in surprise and probably fear that Geralt was about to bite him or something. Not that he blamed him with the mood he’d been in recently.

He shot a venomous glare at the meddlesome sorceress as grabbed the allegedly dangerous potion and smacked down hard on Yennefer’s table. His glare went unnoticed as she continued humming and leafing through her book, absently taking it and thumbing out the cork.

Why did she insist on making this so hard for him? For all her good intentions couldn’t she see that the stupid, annoying, stupidly handsome, infuriatingly lovable, human bard was not. Fucking. Interested?

“Jaskier, go make us some cocoa,” he said then. Predictably, Jaskier cried out in protest while he got up to make them cocoa.

“Two sugars,” Yennefer called after him, not looking up from her notes, and got a ‘fuck you’ back.

He stared at her. She ignored him.

“Yennefer.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Making a cure for the blacksmith’s daughter. She has an interesting case of smallpox,” she answered casually, still not looking at him.

“No, what are you doing to us?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Geralt grabbed her wrist as she reached for another herb. He let go when she sighed and looked at him.

“Geralt, I thought you two just needed a bit of a push but evidently you need a really hard shove. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Yen.” She must have seen something on his face, she cupped his face in concern and stroked her thumb over the dark circle under his eye, he looked down at the potion she had been making to avoid her mothering eyes.

“Geralt, what’s wrong?”

“Yen, you need to stop,” he started and then his voice shook as he continued, ”You need to leave it alone. Please. It hurts, okay? He- He’s not interested.”

“Have you asked him if he is?”

He pulled away from her as he heard Jaskier’s angry steps. He brought a stormy expression and three cups of cocoa with him.

***

Jaskier on the other hand was nearly boiling with barely contained rage. Geralt had been avoiding him for nearly three whole weeks and when he did see him he was being forcefully ignored or ordered around. Nevermind not taking advantage of the fucking obedience curse.

He went to sleep alone, and he woke up alone. He could barely tell Geralt had been there at all. The man was purposely avoiding him. He didn’t know what he had done but after weeks of saying nothing he was fed up. He hadn’t seen Geralt in two hole days and he hadn’t gone anywhere, Jaskier still heard him downstairs or in the room when he was in the bath or almost asleep. Geralt had been avoiding him.

One night, he waited and waited for Geralt to sneak to bed, because he was sneaking, but he never came. Eventually he got up and checked the upper floor, then padded silently down the stairs. He found Yennefer still on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.

“Where is Geralt?”

Yennefer shrugged. “He went upstairs a while ago.”

That was odd. Jaskier thanked her and headed back up the stairs. Where could he possibly be? He checked the upper floor again, when he found nothing, he intended to go back to bed. That’s when he spotted a ladder at the end of the corridor. He went to investigate and found that it led to a trapdoor in the roof.

Being a curious and determined soul, he of course climbed up and onto the roof. The cold hit him like whip, the wind slashed at his face and he instantly wrapped his arms around himself to keep from shivering. It wasn’t raining but the night had brought a thick layer of mist and cold with it and a thin wind that gave the cold an even sharper bite.

He squinted through the mist, the dark tiles of the roof merged with the darkness of the night, but there! He spotted a figure kneeling in the dark.

“Geralt?” he called. He got no answer.

Jaskier climbed fully onto the roof and moved closer. Shit! Geralt was meditating. In the freezing cold!

“Geralt!” He shook the Witcher’s shoulder. Geralt flinched and grabbed his wrist and in a quick move, he was on his back and Geralt was above him. The tiles bit into his back. Witcher’s and their reflexes. Why was he so turned on by this? He was still angry.

Jaskier pried the Witcher’s hands from him but Geralt let go almost instantly, his whole body sagged even though Jaskier was still trapped under it. Concern did away with any anger he had intended to unleash. He looked like shit.

“Sorry,” Geralt said in that it’s-all-my-fault-and-you-should-probably- hate-me-for-it tone that Jaskier hated so much. And then, “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night, it’s freezing.”

“Oh you’re telling me?!” he shouted, wriggling under Geralt even though he was clearly not moving, why did this feel so obscene? “What are you doing- Geralt, have you been sleeping?” Geralt looked ready to pass out, dark circles were visible under his drooping eyes, even in the dark. His muscles looked tired, barely keeping him from crushing Jaskier as he sighed an exhausted sigh. “You need to get into bed right now.”

Geralt mumbled something unintelligible but moved off of him. Jaskier stood up, then helped Geralt up and took him by the arm when he started swaying on his feet.

He pulled Geralt all the way to their room and then sucked in a fortifying breath and started removing Geralt’s shirt. “Oh no,” Geralt slurred deliriously and batted his hands away, “you should probably stop undressing me.”

Oh gods did he know? Well, Jaskier decided, it didn’t matter. That hadn’t been an order, luckily and Geralt had to sleep. Jaskier tugged the witcher’s shirt off and guided him to the bed. He fell hard onto the mattress and didn’t speak again. Jaskier assumed he was asleep and decided to tug off his boots before letting himself freak out, just holding the mental breakdown away for another minute.

And then the boots were off and to put it lightly: fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckingshit! ‘You should stop undressing me’? He knew. Geralt knew. Definitely. Did he know? Wouldn’t he have protested more? What did this mean? Was he having visions when he said that? He’d seemed out of it. He was a Witcher he didn’t have visions until he was nearly at deaths door. Jaskier lay down and held his head in his hand before it fell off. He stared at the ceiling. What now?

*****

What now indeed. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it, thank you for reading. Please toss a like or a comment to your hard working writer because if not for those what do I do this for? And also I’m so sorry I completely forgot the tag list until now

@so-damn-mishalicious @jaskierisanangel @siriusly-the-best-bi @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #Jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier smut #geraskier fluff #geraskier angst #light angst #fluff and smut #mutual pining #idiots in love #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt is bad at feelings #Your Curse is my Command

198 notes · View notes

heauxplesslydevoted · 5 years

Text

Healing (Part 1)

Summary: Ethan is forced to confront his past after an unexpected meeting

Tags: @canknot @lapisreviewsstuff @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @sparklinglilac @cream-ray @perriewinklenerdie @barricades-of-freedom @dr-brianna-casey-valentine @doroshi-desu @aworldoffandoms

~~V~~

Ethan wakes up to kisses. First on his shoulder, then down his arm, and up his chest to his neck. “Mhmmm, Rookie.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Well, I’m up. Keep me company.”

Ethan cracks open one eye and sees his girlfriend Naomi peering down at him like a kid on Christmas morning. She’s so close, tendrils of her curly hair are tickling his face. “I was having a really good dream.”

“What dream is better than having me in bed with you, Dr. Ramsey?”

She knows he’s a sucker for her using his official title when they’re home alone. “You and I were on vacation.”

“Where were we? Somewhere warm or in the snow?”

“Warm. Private island right off the coast of Fiji.”

“Ooh, maybe I should let you go back to sleep. Or maybe this is a sign that you should actually take me on vacation.”

Ethan rolls over and gives Naomi a kiss. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, handsome.”

“So what are the plans for the day?” It’s one of those rare Sunday mornings where they didn’t have to work. And Naomi always tries to make the most of their off days together.

“I didn’t make any plans,” Naomi confesses.

“Really?”

“No. It’s a rainy day, I figured we could spend it in bed.” It had been a very long week at Edenbrook. Naomi wants nothing more than to stay in bed with Ethan, watch some reality tv, and eat greasy food.

“Well if that was the case, you could’ve let me sleep,” Ethan teases.

“What if I wanted to do something in this bed that is much more fun than sleep?”

“Oh yeah?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

Naomi grins and climbs on top of Ethan, straddling him. “It involves you and me.”

“And do we get naked?”

“Oh, we most certainly do.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Ethan grabs Naomi by the back of her neck and pulls her down, kissing her eagerly. Without breaking their kiss, he loops an arm around her and flips them over, so he’s now hovering above her.

His hand travels up her bare thigh and settles at her hip, making her squirm. Naomi is notoriously ticklish, something Ethan enjoys taking advantage of. He inches his hand up higher, his fingers skimming her sides.

Naomi gaps and tries to disguise it as a cough. “Ethan!”

He feigns innocence. “What?”

“Stop, you know I’m–” she yelps and giggles as he digs his fingers deeper into her side. She snorts and that only spurs Ethan on further. “Ticklish!”

“I happen to think it’s adorable.” Ethan drops his head slightly and kisses Naomi again. He leaves a trail of open mouth kisses on her jaw and neck, careful to not leave any visible marks or bruises. He grips the hem of her shirt again, prepared to pull it off of her this time.

Before he can go any further, the doorbell rings.

“Was that the door?” Naomi asks, her eyes snapping open. She tries to roll out of Ethan’s grasp, but he holds her in place.

“Yes, but who cares. Ignore it.”

Ethan resumes kissing her, instantly forgetting about whoever was just at his front door mere moments ago. But the doorbell rings again, this time twice.

“We should answer,” Naomi says. “It might be important.”

Naomi manages to untangle herself from Ethan and she laughs at the pout adorning his face. She pecks him on the lips and pulls away before he can deepen the kiss.

“Naomi Valentine, you are a tease.”

She smirks wickedly at him and grabs her bathrobe that’s laying at the foot of the bed, tying it. “I’ll be back in a sec, you horny old man.”

Rushing out of their bedroom, Naomi makes her way to the front door, opening it. There’s a woman standing there. She’s older — in her 60s — and pretty tall. She has light brown hair pulled into a neat bun on top of her head, huge blue eyes, and a worried look on her face.

Jenner moves from his pet bed in front of the fireplace in the living room and trots over to Naomi, curious as to who’s at the door. He barks loudly, ready to defend his household.

“Jenner, be nice,” Naomi scolds. She glances at the woman apologetically. “Ignore him, he’s a sweetheart.”

“Hi,” the woman greets slowly. “I think I have the wrong apartment.”

“Who are you looking for?” Naomi asks. “I know most of the tenants on this floor, maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

“Ethan Ramsey. Do you know which apartment is his?”

“Actually, you have the right one. Ethan lives here.” Naomi turns around and yells into the apartment, “Ethan! Someone is at the door for you!”

She can hear him muttering, annoyed at he has to get out of bed, but he comes into the living room anyway.

“Whoever it is better have a damn good reason for–”

He stops dead in his tracks as he saw who was at his front door. “Mom?”

Ethan’s mom smiles brightly upon seeing him. “Ethan! Oh oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you.” She practically throws herself at him, her arms clutching around his neck tightly. He goes rigid for a few moments before reciprocating the hug.

His mom breaks away from the hug after a few seconds. “Sorry for ambushing you like that. I just got excited.”

“It’s alright.”

She turns back to Naomi, a warm smile on her face. “Forgive me, where are my manners?” She extends a hand. “Margaret Ramsey, Ethan’s mom.”

“Naomi Valentine, Ethan’s girlfriend,” Naomi replies, shaking the older woman’s hand.

“You are the prettiest thing!” Margaret coos. She squeezes Naomi’s hand affectionately.

“Thank you.”

“Are you a doctor as well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re so sweet. There’s no need to call me ma’am. Margaret is fine, or Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, Margaret.”

Ethan clears his throat, bringing the attention back to him. “Mom, what are you doing here? It’s 8 o'clock in the morning, on a Saturday.”

“I hope you don’t mind, I forced your sister to give me your address.”

“Why are you here, in Boston?” Confused is an understatement. Ethan’s parents lived in New York. Why was his mom in Boston?

Margaret wrings her hands. She’s anxious. Naomi picks up on it instantly and steps in. “How about I make us some tea? Or coffee?”

“Tea sounds lovely.”

“Great.”

Ethan gestures for his mother to have a seat. She sits in the comfortable chair across from the couch, where Ethan sits. A few minutes later, Naomi joins them, three cups of tea in her hands.

“This is a lovely apartment, Ethan,” Margaret starts. “It’s so...open and airy. You have a great view.”

“Thank you. That view cost me a lot of money.”

“The best ones usually do.”

And then they’re back to awkward silence.

“So...how’s work?” Margaret asks in an attempt to break the ice.

That’s when Ethan knows something is up. His mother has never expressed much interest in his work before, even when he was still on decent terms with them.

“Mom, let’s not beat around the bush. What are you doing out here? Does dad know you’re here?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here, in your home, but yes, he knows I’m in Boston. He’s here with me,” Margaret answers. “He’s still at the hotel, probably asleep.”

“Okay. Well, what brings you to Boston?”

Margaret chews her lip thoughtfully, as if she’s trying to find and choose her words carefully. “Your father...the doctor’s found a tumor on his spine, and it’s cancerous.”

Ethan doesn’t say anything immediately, not having the words to express how he feels about the situation.

“Dad has cancer?”

Margaret nods sadly. “It started out with him having some minor aches and pains. We brushed it off as him just getting older. Then we bought a new mattress, but that didn’t help. Then Bill started having difficulty walking. His doctors originally thought it might’ve been arthritis, but we kept pushing. Finally a neurologist confirmed that it’s cancer of the spinal cord.”

Naomi runs her fingers over Ethan’s knuckles. He’s tense. She grabs hold of his hand and he squeezes tightly, using her as his lifeline.

“So what are you going to do? What’s the treatment plan? Who’s his doctor?”

“Since it’s a pretty rare form of cancer, we had to outsource, which is why we’re here. We are going to meet with his doctor tomorrow at Mass Kenmore–”

“Mass Kenmore?” Ethan can’t hide his disdain. “No, absolutely not. No way is dad going to a podunk, second rate hospital for treatment. When Mass Ken doesn’t have the tools or doctors to help a patient, they send them to Edenbrook.”

“Your father really likes the surgeon he found.”

“Harper Emery is one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, and I work with her.”

“Your father is a stubborn old man, Ethan,” Margaret says. “You know that better than anyone. He’s found a doctor, he likes him. I didn’t come here for your expertise as a doctor, I’m just a mother who hasn’t seen her son in years. And since we were in town, I thought it’d be nice to reach out. It’s been...far too long since we’ve seen each other.”

There was a large elephant in the room, a dark cloud hanging over them. He hadn’t spoken to his parents in 4 years, and he hadn’t seen them in well over 10.

“Your father and I were thinking of going out to dinner tonight. How about you two join us?”

Naomi opens her mouth to accept the invitation, but she stops herself. She glances at Ethan, a pensive look clouding his handsome features and she falls back. Accepting the invitation on his behalf is a complete overstep of boundaries.

“We’ll think about it,” Naomi offers you diplomatically.

“Of course. We have reservations at Meritage for 7 PM,” Margaret says. “Hopefully we’ll see you there.” She checks the time on her watch. “I should get back to the hotel.”

Naomi walks Margaret to the door, seeing the older woman off. When she turns back to the living room, Ethan is still on the couch, almost as if he’s frozen.

“Ethan? Ethan, baby are you okay?”

Ethan looks up and sees Naomi staring at him, concern etched across her face. “Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He stands up. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Ethan–”

“Naomi, you asked a question, I responded. Why do you keep trying to prod?”

Naomi sucks in a deep breath. She knows all of Ethan’s defense mechanisms like the back of her hand. He’s trying to push her away.

“Why are you holding me at arm’s length?”

“I’m not,” Ethan argues as he makes his way back to their bedroom, Naomi following right behind.

“You are. And you should by now that I’m incredibly stubborn, so I won’t let you do it.” She watches as Ethan gets back into bed. She slides in as well, placing her head on his chest. “You just found out that your dad has cancer. That’s a lot to take on. So can you please talk to me?”

“My dad has cancer,” Ethan repeats. “And he didn’t tell me.”

“If he’s anything like you, he’ll beat it. I’m sure he’s stubborn and a fighter like you.”

“Stubborn is one word for it,” Ethan says with a snort.

Naomi laces their fingers together. “You never talk about them, your parents.”

“My dad runs his father’s brokerage firm in Manhattan. Very wealthy, very strict, very stuffy.”

“Sounds familiar,” Naomi teases.

“I have no interest in finance, in New York society, none of it. My younger sister though, she’s my dad’s pride and joy. She’s basically a miniature version of him, though nicer and much prettier. She’s the only one I still keep in contact with.”

Naomi nods. Ethan’s talked about his sister, Vanessa multiple times, and she’s even came to Boston with her husband to visit them.

“When I graduated high school, and told my parents I was going to study biology and chemistry at Dartmouth, he was upset. I was supposed to be the prodigal son, follow in his footsteps, take over the business, marry a descendant of the Rockefellers or Vanderbilts. My mom tried to mediate for a while, but it all fell flat, and I eventually stopped contact with them. I had to put myself through college and medical school because my dad wouldn’t pay, and I didn’t want his money either. The last time I’ve physically seen my dad was my medical school graduation. We argued at my celebration dinner. He told me that I wasn’t going to hack it as a doctor and I’d eventually come crawling back to New York, and I told him he doesn’t understand real success because he's had everything handed to him. He called me a spoiled brat, and I said he was manipulative and spiteful.”

Naomi doesn’t say anything as Ethan vents. It’s obvious he just needs to get all of this out without interruption.

“My father’s love is conditional. It comes with strings and clauses. I hated him and I was so resentful for such a long time, maybe I still am, I don’t know.”

Ethan gets out of the bed and Naomi watches as he paces the floor, back and forth, back and forth.

“I want nothing more than to never think about William Ramsey ever again, but the other half of me wants to gloat. I put myself through 8 years of school. I graduated at the top of my class. I’ve received awards from the American Medical Association, I’ve given keynote speeches at some of the most prestigious medical conferences in the world. I’ve published more researched, been featured in more journals than I can count. I’ve written best selling books and textbooks. I am the best at my job, no one does it better than me. I live in a multi-million dollar penthouse in the heart of Boston, paid for by no one other than myself, I have an amazing and brilliant girlfriend, I am great. I am at the top of my game.”

“It’s okay to still crave your parents’ approval,” Naomi tells him softly.

“But why do I? What makes them so special that I still feel the need to seek validation from them when they haven’t done a damn thing for me.”

“And he has cancer,” Ethan adds. “And he’s probably anxious and scared, and I feel horrible and selfish for feeling all of these things while he’s fighting for his life.”

Naomi gets out of the bed and walks over to where Ethan is pacing. She wraps her arms tightly around his waist. He breaths out a heavy sigh of relief at her touch and melts into the hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

They’re locked in the embrace for a long time, and Naomi feels a few of his tears hit her exposed skin. She doesn’t mind.

��You’re allowed to feel how you feel, Ethan. You’re allowed to be selfish, though I don’t think you are. You’re allowed to have a wide array of emotions because you’re human. You can love your dad and still be mad at him.”

“And you don’t owe anything a damn thing. I’ll follow your lead on this. We don’t have to go to dinner with them tonight. We can stay in bed all day if you want. But if you do want to go, we can, and I’ll be right there with you.”

Ethan’s entire body sags with the weight of the decision. He truly doesn’t know what he wants.

“I want to go back to bed,” he says, his voice muffled, his head still in the crux of her neck. “We can talk more after a nap.”

“That sounds good.”

Naomi leads them back to bed and Ethan all but falls into it. Once Naomi is in, he clings to her, his head on her chest, an arm wrapped tightly around her. She lightly runs her fingers through his hair, offering comfort.

“I love you,” Ethan whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you, too.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Maybe you were really good in your past life. Rescued kittens from trees, walked old ladies across the street.”

Ethan laughs softly. “Whatever I did, I’m grateful.”

Naomi kisses the top of Ethan’s head. “Get some rest, baby.”

Ethan closes his eyes and allows himself to be lulled back to sleep by his girlfriend’s ministrations.

He’s going to see his father, maybe even confront him on some things. He’s never felt more sure of a decision, and he has Naomi and her support to thank.

He’ll tell her later though. First, he has a nap to take.

#choices: stories you play #playchoices #open heart #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #pixelberry #fanfic

158 notes · View notes

namjoonchronicles · 5 years

Text

serenada | nj

↳ genre fluff, domestic

↳ words 2.4k

↳ summary –it’s the little things in life that matters.

↳ warning none

↳ namjoonchronicles’ honorary tag list @kai-tashi @joon94net @yourlocalalien @septemberalien @yoongiseesaw

↳ special thanks to @majestikblue & @fangirlaholicxx

↳ song this story was written with bts ‘jamais vu’

With the sound of chirping birds, accompanied by the rush of warm water between your toes, and coddling sands underneath your feet, you hugged your cardigan tighter, smiling to yourself at a new found freedom you had fought for yourself. Hair swishing back at every strike of wind, the scent of the sea makes you feel quite at home.

Sometimes, it doesn't matter how many times you went down the same road, trying to change how fate unfolds, things will turn out how they're supposed to. We are humans, and not exempted from mistakes. It's when you stand at a cross road knowing fully well that it will never be the last you'll be faced with. The only remedy is to have a hand to hold, when it arrives. Not because you're weak or incompetent. But because you'll need the support.

One week earlier....

Lunch table is set on a beautiful Friday. While your eldest is attending his piano lessons, you only have your four year old baby girl with you at home. Stir-fried beef, steamed broccoli and potatoes with peppers, sliced kimchi and fried anchovies. Pretty simple set up for today. If you knew he was going to be home, you would have bought some chicken, but you know he's not the kind to complaint about what you place on the table for him. Setting the final side bowl of soybean paste soup with beansprouts, you get to your daughter’s eye-level and told her,

"Call dad to come eat..." you say gently, word-by-word, "'Dad, let's eat...' like that." She nodded enthusiastically.

"Knock first..." you reminded her with a smile. You know that he loves listening to the little one calling him that. Its rare and it makes him happy. The little big happiness in life, he said.

The little one did as told. Curling her little fingers and knuckles barely touching the door to Namjoon's studio door. She is tall enough to twist the knob on her tip toes but she didn't do that. She repeated the phrase you taught her twice, but no answer. Curious, you came and join her, twist the knob open to see Namjoon sitting in his chair turned away from the door. His hand on the phone pressed against his ear, he glances over his shoulder and waved his hand to shoo you and your daughter away. It seemed to be an important call. With that stern look in his eye, you're sure to shut the door before you leave. The little one pouted. As she waddled to the dining table before you, she kept her head down.

"Dad is a little busy, he'll eat later... we could eat first," you rubbed her back and carried her on her chair. She can feed herself although slightly sloppy, she was eating very well. She glances at Namjoon's empty bowl from time to time. Because you're very keen, you asked her why. She answered, "Dad's going to be very hungry later. Working, working, always working."

"Dad needs to pay the bills to keep the roof above our head, so daddy's not going to be here often but mama hopes you'll forgive him for being that way? He's trying so hard..."

"I miss dad..." She said.

A few hours later, you took your baby girl to fetch her older brother from piano lesson. Koya, the nickname his dad got him, climbed into the car looking drained. You looked at him through the rear view mirror and beamed at him, but he didn't reply the same enthusiasm.

"How was class, darling?" "I advanced to Grade 7 now, there's placement exam next week..." "Oh, that's amazing. Remember to tell dad later!"

You turned the wipers on because it began to drizzle, your son didn't respond immediately after you told him to tell his dad. And when he did, your heart breaks.

"Why? He's not coming anyways."

Not wanting to drag the sadness, you turned the blinkers to the city instead of the road home. Koya, one who remembers the direction exceptionally well notices this. He swivels his head around to see the hanging bridge you were supposed to use, getting farther and farther away. "Mama? Our house is that way....."

"Home is cancelled. We're getting ice cream." "But it's raining." "Exactly." "Yay! Ice cream!" The youngest one exclaimed.

That was the biggest smile you had seen on her face all day. Your son was confused, but he will retaliate soon. He's such a big loser when it comes to sweet things and he got that from his father, obviously. Parking by the convenient store, you sat on the table with the view outside the street. Next to you is Koya and his little sister, all eating different kinds of ice cream. You wanted something sour, Koya wants the strawberry one and the youngest prefers vanilla.

Passing behind you, an elder woman scoffs, "Why are you feeding your children ice cream on a rainy cold day. They're going to get ill." Koya turns around and spat, "Ice creams makes mama happy. What's wrong with being happy?"

You bowed and wore a stricken smile on your face. The old lady scurried along with her things before returning to buy an ice cream herself.

"Koya," you called. His heavy glasses runs down half of his face but he answers, "Hmm?"

"Do you hate Dad?" "I don't hate him. I just want him to be more like dads. Making money is not everything..." "Money? Is that what he told you?" "Yeah, that time is money. With each time taken away from us, he is making money. That's what he said. I checked dad's net worth the other day and I calculated that he makes roughly, 6.78 dollars an hour." "Koya, how did you..." you frowned but shakes your head, "Anyways, dad has always been busy. We should be more understanding, that's what I think. That's what mama thinks."

Just then, your baby girl froze. Koya checks on her, "You okay?" She giggles and her lips are trembling, "Yes, my brain poof." "You mean, brain freeze?" Koya puffed his cheeks.

Driving home, Namjoon still left his bowl undisturbed. You have to talk to him. Somehow. Koya showered, and then your girl, and then they're tucked in bed. As the night progresses, the lonelier you became. Now that your kids are in bed and sleeping, the house is quieter. You hated it. Listening to Koya not wanting to tell Namjoon that he has advanced piano exams soon, and your girl mumbling how she misses her dad had made you upset that when you staring at the night sky through the glass door, your visions blurred. You're hugging your leg, sitting on the sofa facing the opened curtains with the lights off, leaning your head on the side, on the cushion.

Namjoon twisted the door knob open, and the hallway is dark, catching him off guard. Did the power outage happen when he's in there? Why didn't anyone notify him? He watched you there, sitting in the dark but didn't think much of it.

"Not asleep yet?" he mumbles to your back as he walked out of the hallway into the kitchen to grab a glass of cold water. "I didn't feel like sleeping yet," you answered simply. "Probably all those coffee you've been having," he shot nonchalantly and walked back into his studio. Your gaze shot to the side, your fingers fiddling with your toe, jaw hanging at the answer your husband gave you. You only caught the view of his back, and his white tees walking away. With a script in your head, you slipped off the couch and walked slowly to his studio.

"Can I talk to you? Can we talk?"

Namjoon swivels his chair around to see you standing by his door frame, crossing your arm. The light from the hallway make you look like you had a halo. He smiled at you but you didn't return the same warmth.

"You didn't eat anything I cook," you shrugged. "I was going to but I got carried away... I was going to, I promise," he said in a hurry, sipping hard on the cold water he took himself. "Namjoon, if you're going to be like this at home, I suggest you don't take your work here," you started off strong. And you know that because Namjoon's expression changed from warmth to confusion.

"Like what? I don't understand... I'm home because you told me to be here more often..." "You're home but you're not... home," your voice breaks, "You're not here."

Taking out a crumpled invitation letter out of your cardigan, and you held them out to place on his desk instead of waiting for him to take them from you.

"There's two of that, one for mom, one for dad. I found yours in the bin," you sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeves. Namjoon remains quiet, but his eyes are receiving every information. He doesn't say anything in rebuttal and for that, you're thankful.

"Your daughter is mad at you, so I don't know how you'll fix this but I wish you would learn that being a father is not just providing financial stability. It's about emotional and physical presence as well. You of all people should know. You taught me that," you moved away, digging your eye sockets with the heels of your palm as you leave your husband to understand what you told him.

With the way you ended the conversation, one-sided conversation, Namjoon knows he's not welcomed in the bedroom that night. It didn't take a genius to to know. When he woke up on his studio couch, unaware that he had slept on his hand instead of the pillow, his shoulders began to strain. When his eyes flutters open, several teddies were lined around him like he was going to be sacrificed in a satanic cult. Then he felt little nails scratching his ankle bone, picking the skins there. His daughter is looking at him through her bangs, with wide brown irises decorating her rosy cheeks and baby bird lips, she is an unsplitting image of you.

He spread his arm open for her and she understood what it meant, and for that, Namjoon is thankful.

"Is Dad working until late night? Are you still tired?"

Namjoon nodded. Suddenly she escapes Namjoon's arms and ran down the hall into her room where her brother Koya is still sleeping soundly. When she comes back, she took a small container full of her vitamin gummy bears and a piggy bank.

"What's this, baby?" he asked groggily. "For your body, so daddy can be strong, like me," she smiled, and a dimple dip on the left side of her cheek. That side is deeper than the right one. And, she pushed the piggy bank next to Namjoon's feet, sitting with her knees folded, "For bills. I saved a lot."

Namjoon was stunned.

"Did you save money so daddy could pay bills?"

She nods, while playing with her customized KAWS doll, "So Dad doesn't have to work all the time and play with mama, with Koya and with me."

Several hours later...

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?" you repeated as you were pushed out the house, all dressed up. Namjoon chuckles, "Yes, mama. Tell mama we're going to be okay without her."

Koya was smiling and the youngest were jumping in place. When you heard, you thought you were dreaming. He said that you should go watch movie, shopping and walk on the seaside while he takes the kids to Everland, the largest theme park in Seoul. Not only that, he wants to take them there, without you. So they could bond. Make up for the lost times. No cooking, no pee checks, just get dressed and enjoy yourself. He wants today with the kids and tomorrow, you can join if you want.

"Okay, behave yourself. Koya, and you, and daddy too. Don't give him a hard time alright? Hold daddy's hands at all times, you understand me?" you warned Koya and the little one, darting your eyes at Namjoon next, "And if you don't answer my text or calls, I will come with a butcher knife."

And that's how you ended at the seaside. Life is not a game. You can't press restart at every mishap even though you wish you could. And remedies don't come immediately or in the form you'd expect them to be. It's okay, but it's not okay--a phrase you've grown accustomed to as the years passed. No matter how many times you repeat the story line, tweak whatever you did in the middle of it, the ending is what fate wants them to be. With Namjoon, things can get a little hazy, sometimes foggy. But you know one thing. That his love is real. Even if he needs to be reminded how to be a person sometimes.

He took a seat next to you on the wooden bleacher while the kids runs around the field, playing with rented bicycles and shrieking in delight. You peeled your eyes away from the kids and stare at your husband's side profile.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he begin. Namjoon blinks to the floor, scratching his forehead, blinking repeatedly. "Honestly, I am so warped with perfection that I fail to see the things around me that are also taking shape," he pressed his lips together and straightening in his seat, "I make a lot of mistakes and I'm learning. There's errors I cannot fix but I'm grateful that you called me out before it becomes permanent."

"What are humans without mistakes..." you scooted closed to him, and leaned your head on his shoulder, "I didn't want you to miss a big part of these children's life. You're maybe the nations' greatest philosophy professor, but you're their father and you're all they have... You're all I have, too. I don't want to fight the world for your attentions, and I don't want my kids to do the same thing I've been doing for years."

Namjoon links his head with yours, looking over your children playing. "I need Kim Namjoon back, my Kim Namjoon," you flutter your eyes shut, feeling safe with his arms around you. He doesn't say a word in reply, but brushes his lips on the crown of your head, and tightening his hold around you. His wedding band shimmering on his laced fingers while yours scratching the materials of his sweater.

"I'll love us better now." He promised.

190 notes · View notes

k-drabblings · 5 years

Text

only then (pt. 5)

KIM JIWON (BOBBY) X READER Type | Genre: badboy au | fluff/angst Word Count: 1663 A/N: I thought this was much longer than 1.6k words... Guess not. Also I do update very very slow, I know. It’s mostly because I have no idea what to write next, and I don’t want to write nonsense. So thank you for your patience. I hope this doesn’t disappoint! To be honest, it feels a little weird to write about Hanbin after the huge scandal, but it felt weirder leaving him out of the story after including him in the beginning.

Also wtf happened to line breaks? Why is that not an option anymore? This sucks.

part one two three four

Jiwon looked at the well healed scar on his arm fondly, running his finger along the raised ridge. His smile couldn’t help but widen as his phone buzzed.

[23:22] y/n: i can’t sleep [23:22] jiwon: y? [23:22] jiwon: cause ur too excited to be talking to me? [23:23] y/n: ... zzz ... [23:23] y/n: o look i fell asleep

He chuckled. Within a matter of days, teasing had already become part of their regular banter. So cute.

[23:23] jiwon: ... [23:23] jiwon: do u think ur funny or something bc let me tell u rn that u r not [23:23] jiwon: boooooooo [23:24] y/n: if im so unfunny then y r u texting me hmm HMM??? [23:24] jiwon: cause i pity u [23:24] y/n: ... [23:24] y/n: GOODNIGHT

Even though he knew was joking, his fingers still quickly scrambled to reply.

[23:24] jiwon: im just kidding!! [23:24] jiwon: ur funny sometimes [23:24] jiwon: a little bit [23:24] jiwon: real little [23:25] y/n: then go talk to ur other super exciting and funny friends y dont u [23:25] jiwon: now dont be jealous [23:25] jiwon: the more time u spend with me the more exciting and fun u become [23:25] y/n: ive only seen u like 3x [23:25] jiwon: thats y ur so not funny

His finger hovered over the keyboard, wondering if he should type out the next line. He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he couldn’t help himself. Fuck it. He firmly pressed the upward arrow.

[23:26] jiwon: so i guess we’ve come to the logical conclusion that we should hang out more [23:26] y/n: i guess we have

You felt bold as you sent that last message. Was this considered flirting? You hadn’t known that your heart rate could increase so much within a mere 4 minutes. The past few nights had consisted of increasingly witty and teasing messages - messages that got your heart racing, your face flushing, and your imagination going a little crazy. Nothing even close to romantic had happened between you and him, and yet your ridiculous mind was coming up with possible scenarios that could maybe (just maaaybe) happen in the nearby future. You felt like an silly high schooler again, getting too easily excited over someone you barely knew. You didn’t even know how exactly how old he was or what he did for living.

But all those unanswered questions just made you more excited - kind of like a good mystery book you just didn’t want to put down.

[23:27]: jiwon: ok so whens ur next day off

Your breath hitched. You were off the upcoming Thursday, which was in 2 days. You hadn’t expected the next time you were going to see Jiwon to come so soon. You were used to seeing him like twice a month. You knew you could simply lie and give him your next day off, which was in a week or so, but you knew you didn’t want to wait that long.

[23:28] y/n: thursday [23:28] jiwon: ok cool so ill see u then [23:28] jiwon: and if ur busy... [23:28] jiwon: make yourself unbusy thanks

Your lips curled into a smile. How could someone this cute possibly be bad news?

“You’re distracted, Hyung.” Donghyuk mumbled quietly so Hanbin wouldn’t hear.

“Hm?” Jiwon murmured. “Nah, I’m good.”

Donghyuk’s eyes narrowed as he carefully tried to peer over Jiwon’s shoulder to see what was keeping him so preoccupied. A girl’s name. He rolled his eyes. He was more than willing to bet that this was the same girl that had so nicely bandaged Jiwon up that rainy night. “Let’s keep outsiders... outsiders, okay, Hyung?” Donghyuk warned in a hushed tone.

Jiwon immediately shut off his phone screen and gave his younger friend a long hard stare. “I’m not fucking stupid, okay?”

And of course, despite Donghyuk’s words, he still went to see her on Thursday. They met up later in the afternoon, mainly because he slept in well into the afternoon. Since he did his work mainly at night, his sleeping schedule tended to be slightly off. When he woke up, you were getting some errands done - groceries and such. That gave him some time to get dressed and ready - he wanted to look good for the first date. This is a date right? He hadn’t made it explicitly clear, but he was hoping you were on the same page as he was.

He recalled the the other day that you had said you wanted to try this restaurant that you had seen on some celebrities eating on TV. And since it was on the other side of Seoul Station, they could walk along Seoullo 7017 along the way. He supposed that would be a good, somewhat nice way to start the date.

And you were delightfully surprised at how much Jiwon had actually planned out. You wouldn’t say it aloud, but you had been expecting somewhat of a haphazard schedule of activities that randomly popped up into his mind.

“You look cute.” You jokingly scowled. “Are you saying I wasn’t cute before?” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He put his hands up defensively when he earned a playful punch to the arm. “Hey, you gotta appreciate my honesty, right?” He grinned. “No, but seriously. You should wear dresses more often.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled shyly, having always been slightly awkward at accepting compliments. You glanced down at your outfit. It was a pretty plain dress, but this was the most dressed up he had ever seen you.

“Where’s the scar from - if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked, pointing to the mark on your forearm. If it hadn’t been for that scar, he probably would have never recognized you. “Nothing cool,” you responded. “Got it while I was helping out at the bakery a while ago. Hot stuff can do that to you sometimes, you know.” He laughed. “See? You’re already getting funnier - thanks to me.” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly but couldn’t help but join him in laughter.

You were sure he had a fair share of scars all over his body, and also exciting stories behind them. But you were reluctant to ask, afraid that it could ruin the lighthearted mood.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur - partially because Jiwon had convinced you to share a bottle of soju with him during dinner. ‘You can’t enjoy pork belly without soju!’ he had insisted. You had initially refused, being worried that you might end up blabbering and saying something stupid or embarrassing. But Jiwon was one convincing young man.

But luckily the only embarrassing thing that slipped out was a, “Fine, you’re kinda cute, okay?” after he had pestered you about what you thought about him. And boy, did he enjoy that answer.

You were partially disappointed when the date ended with a simple hug. You probably would have thought he were moving too fast if he had gone in for a kiss, but by no means would you have refused. In fact, as much as you hated to admit it, you'd immediately have shut your eyes and puckered your lips. But a long, warm hug was what you got tonight. And you weren’t complaining. "Thanks. Today was really fun,” you said with a warm smile. “Okay, so when can we have fun again?”

All of a sudden, you had something to look forward to every week. Every date with Jiwon was exciting. You got to experience thrilling things like ziplining, but even just sitting at a cafe and chatting got your heart pumping. You felt like your life had been recharged. You had even bravely kissed him on the cheek when he had dropped you off at your door tonight.

As Jiwon walked over to work after dropping you off, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. “Jiwon Hyung! Hyung!” Junhoe shouted from down the block. "Where’re you coming from?” He asked, frowning. Wherever Jiwon was coming from, it wasn’t from the direction of his home. Jiwon played it off vaguely. “Just was doing something. Don’t worry about it.” “Come on, tell me!” Junhoe whined. “Why’s it a secret, huh?” Jiwon pressed his fingers against his tall friend’s forehead and gave it a good shove. “Have you ever heard of a personal space? Look it up.” He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had made him so easily excited, and he wasn’t willing to part with you now.

His friends had also noticed that he was constantly in a good mood these past few weeks. Donghyuk wasn’t too happy about it, but the others seemed to enjoy having a less moody Jiwon around. He wondered if Hanbin knew what Jiwon was getting himself into outside of work. But he didn’t want to tick off Jiwon, so he kept his mouth shut. A pissed off Jiwon was one scary man.

“How long do u plan on keeping this up, Hyung? It’s going to serve as a distraction to you and a danger to her. She doesn’t even know what you really do. If you tell her, do you think she’ll stay?” Donghyuk hissed. “Yeah, right.” “I know. I know.” Jiwon mumbled. This was like the fifth time he had approached him about this issue. He was thankful that Donghyuk hadn’t blabbed to the rest of the guys, but it was a disturbing reminder every time. Why was it so wrong to enjoy it while it lasted?

#jiwon #kim jiwon #bobby kim #bobby #ikon #ikon bobby #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfics #jiwon x reader #bobby x reader #ikon scenarios #kpop imagines

60 notes · View notes

titriwrites · 5 years

Text

Polaroid Picture -- Chapter Six

It's been a while again. Sorry for the longish wait. But here we are with chapter 6, which you can read under the cut or here on AO3.

Having Tom back in Oxford brings back memories.

Chapter Six

„Libby?“ Tom whispered in her ear, his breath leaving goose bumps on her naked skin as they were lying in bed, blissfully naked, the duvets covering just their lower bodies.

Beth was on her stomach, one arm draped over Tom's abs, her head resting against his shoulder.

“Hmm?” she murmured, way too tired after their lovemaking. Repeatedly.

“Do you want children?”

Her head snapped up, almost knocking Tom in the jaw. “Huh?”

“Children, do you want them?” His eyes were sparkling, and a grin spread over his face.

“Well,” she started. “At the moment we're too broke and too young and too busy.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “As far as I know, you’re not pregnant right now, Ms Smartypants.”

“Mrs Smartypants-Hiddleston, please.”

“I love that sound.”

“You love me.”

“That I do.”

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon two months after their small wedding. They were lying in bed – in the living-room, because that’s where you put the bed in a flat that only has one room, a small kitchen area and a tiny bathroom – enjoying the feels of their bodies after the sex. And probably before the sex as well, because what else were you supposed to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon when you were young and in love? And broke. But they were living in London, like they wanted to.

Beth closed her eyes. She could feel the smile on her face. Tom smelled nice. And goodness, she was so in love with him.

“Libby?” She also loved her name on his lips.

“Hm?”

“Kids? Ever?”

“What is it with you and kids now?”

“Well, we're married,” he shrugged. “Guess it’s time to talk about it.”

“Two months.”

“Best months of my life.”

She rolled her eyes. “Smooth, Hiddleston.”

“You love it, Hiddleston. So. Kids?”

Beth shifted. Her chin rested on Tom’s chest as he grinned down at her. Her fingers trailed patterns on his sides, making him chuckle.

“Yes, Tom. Children. Of course. Not now, not without having a steady income or enough time. But yes. I wouldn’t have married you, if I didn’t want a family.”

His smile grew. “Okay.”

“Okay. Just promise me you’ve got enough time for me and our five children when you’re a big Hollywood heartthrob. And that you’ll leave your three girlfriends waiting in your penthouse.”

Beth screeched when Tom suddenly turned to pin her to the bed. He planted a wet kiss straight on her mouth. “Always.”

***

“—right?”

Beth jerks, shakes her head and blinks once, twice. She stares at her patient in front of her, both hands holding her big, round baby belly.

She shakes her head again, trying to get rid of the last remnants the daydream left in her mind. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Are you alright?” her patient, Sarah, asks.

This time, Beth nods. “Yes. Yes, sorry. And I should ask you that. You’re the one 38 weeks pregnant.”

A smile, almost giddy, graces her face. “I am. I can’t wait. And I wanted to know, if there is a chance that I can come in before the baby’s due. There is, right?”

“You come in at week 40 again, that’s correct.”

Beth tries – and fails – to tear her eyes away from Sarah's stomach. It’s not easy. Not at all. She suppresses a sigh. Damn Tom Hiddleston and him coming back into her life, bringing all the memories with him. She managed just fine before. Has been managing for six years now.

She shakes her head. No. No, Tom’s definitely not back in her life. They haven’t talked all weekend after the night in the pub. He’s not tried to contact her again. But why would he? He was drunk, they were drunk, nothing happened, nothing happens, nothing is going to happen.

Well, maybe she should sign those papers.

It’s just that all these thoughts have been in her head all weekend. And it doesn’t help that she's meeting all of these pregnant women in her job.

Still, Beth is 32. There's enough time. Eventually, she’ll meet the man of her dreams. Again, her mind chimes in, something she shuts down immediately. Tom obviously isn’t the man of her dreams. That never worked out.

There's enough time to have children on her own. Rationally, she knows that. But one doesn’t get married – even at the age of 21 – if one doesn’t want a future with someone. At least, not normally. And Beth wanted a future with Tom. And at the time she thought he wanted that too. He’s told her he wanted that. So, he either lied to himself, her, or in the end she wasn’t important enough.

All of these options hurt. Still hurt.

Beth clears her throat as Sarah does too. Apparently, she's been lost in her thoughts again.

She checks the clock on the wall. 8.45. She sighs. This is going to be the longest Monday she's had in a while.

***

“Okay, Hiddleston. Man up,” Tom whispers to himself as he makes his way to the old Johnson place. To Libby’s flat.

It’s Monday evening, he’s given them both the weekend to recover from Friday night. Or well, has given himself the Saturday off to wallow in self pity induced by a hangover from hell. On Sunday he was too ashamed to meet, and now it’s time to talk business. And by business he means papers.

Time’s running out, it’s not like he wants to spend his time here instead of London with his friends. He needs to get this done before Julia arrives in England to meet his family.

Tom’s here without his car – fresh air does him some good after all – but with food from the Indian place between his flat and Libby's. She's always loved Indian food. Maybe it makes both of them talk to each other like normal human beings.

He sighs and rings the bell. After about half a minute he rings the bell again for good measure. She has to be home, right? Matt is back to work and their friends are home doing coupl-y things. Surely.

Just as Tom puts his finger on the bell to ring yet again, he sees a shadow on the other side of the door.

“Dammit, yes, I'm here!” Libby grumbles as the door flies open. Then she stops, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds, before she shuts it and blinks at him instead. Then she opens her mouth again to utter a, “Tom?”.

He doesn’t answer right away. No. Just a few seconds have passed and now he’s the one staring and being gobsmacked. He hasn’t seen her like this in forever. Well. He hasn’t seen her in forever. Period. Neither like this nor in any other form.

Libby’s apparently had a shower quite recently as her wet hair is combed back, little droplets still falling on her shoulders. Her shoulders that are clad in his old dark blue Cambridge t-shirt he’s never seen again after he left for Los Angeles. Damn it, damn her, she still looks good in it. Especially paired with his old dark grey jogging bottoms she obviously didn’t get rid of either. It was her favourite sleeping outfit back in the days when they would sleep dressed at all.

Brought back to the present by the clearing of a throat, Tom looks back at Libby's face and into her brown eyes. He can’t help but grin as he sees her cheeks darken with a red tint. So, she knows that he’s recognised her outfit. Does she still sleep in this? Is it some sort of melancholy? Hell, he knows he himself feels rushes of memories during his stay here. But then again, he is sleeping in his old room at his father’s house.

“What?” she hisses now, not moving an inch from the door or looking like she would let him into the house anytime soon. Keen on making him leave, obviously.

Tom knows he shouldn't do it, but he can’t stop himself from teasing her. At least a little. A tiny bit of old times. “Nice outfit.”

“It's comfy,” Libby snaps, her cheeks reddening a bit more.

“It's also not an outfit I thought I’d ever see again.” Stop it, Tom.

“Well, here you go. I’m wearing it. Look your fill and then you can go back to--,” A noise from one of the rooms downstairs makes her pause and close the door a bit more. “What do you want?”

Tom holds up the bag containing their food. “I brought dinner.”

Now, Libby stands up little straighter, her lips forming that adorable pout of hers and her eyes squinting at him. “Why?”

“I thought we could talk.”

“Again, why?”

Well, damn it all. Now, he’s the one sighing. “Please, Libby? I think you know why. And can we not do it here? Also, it’s Indian.”

“Is it spicy?” It’s almost a whisper, and Tom has to suppress his grin at that.

“Of course, it is.”

***

Libby’s flat is larger than Tom imagined. He probably thought of a smaller space, because the last time they've been in Oxford together was when she was living in her parent's house.

Not that she's shown him more than the hallway – which admittedly he had to somehow cross – and her living-room with the very comfortable looking sofa, her tv and a massive book shelf along with a dining area. From his place on the chair at the table, Tom also has a good view into the kitchen, which looks bright, woody and inviting.

Munching on her rice and curry, Libby studies him from across the table. She swallows as Tom rises a brow, takes a sip from her beer bottle and then fixes him with a look she's already perfected about ten years ago.

“You wanted to talk, Hiddleston.”

Tom swallows his own food, which is a bit spicier than he thought. He can also see Libby grinning at the light sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. “I did, yes. I wanted to apologise for Friday, actually.”

At that, she looks down. “For what?”

Ugh, she makes him say it, huh? “I probably was a bit drunker than I thought. That and all those memories... I just hope you don’t think I wanted to take advantage of you.”

She smiles a little at that. “It is full of memories here, huh?”

“Yeah.” He can only nod. “I can’t imagine what it must be like still living in all these memories.”

He knows he said the wrong thing the moment the words have left his mouth. He doesn’t even need to look at Libby and see the scowl on her face. He looks at her anyway.

“It's been okay with the right company actually,” is all that she answers, before chewing on another spoonful of rice.

Fair enough. “Okay.” He swallows. “I wondered,” he then continues, before he glances at his plate and puts his fork down. Then, he looks up again. “I wondered if these memories maybe help us talk about the papers like grown up human beings.”

Libby chuckles and rolls her eyes. But it’s not the chuckle he knows from years ago. It’s more grown up and it’s definitely not friendly. Tom used to make her chuckle quite lovingly.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to make her smile, laugh, or chuckle like that again. Julia – his fiancée Julia – has a lovely chuckle as well.

“Is that how you get your fangirls and co-stars to swoon, Hiddleston?”

“Hm?”

“The puppy dog eyes that you just pulled. Along with that tiny pout on your lips. And the furrowed brows. The look you’re sporting right now. You haven’t learned that at RADA. That’s all Hollywood. Surely works wonders on your fans on the internet.”

“I wasn’t--,” Wasn’t he, though? Isn’t he? He’s trying to convince her, and he also knows what works on her. At least he used to.

She interrupts him with a sigh. That he knows from previous arguments. She's always been good at that. “Just, shut up for a moment, Tom. I’ll read your damn papers, and then we both can move on without all these memories, huh?”

Well, isn’t that exactly what he wants? “I’ll bring them over tomorrow then.”

***

Ten minutes later – honestly, what’s the point in staying after dinner? – Tom leaves, walking in front of Libby through the hallway. The walls are full of pictures. Some look like they’re drawn and painted by children, some are photographs of babies and toddlers. They can’t all be related to Libby.

And indeed, as Tom stops to inspect them closer, he can see thank-you-notes written on most of them.

She's helped these children into the world.

“Don't you want children on your own?” he asks and immediately feels the tension in the room shift. He looks back over his shoulder at Libby. She's glaring at him. “What?” he mumbles.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Uh.”

“Yes, Tom,” she hisses, and he cringes. “Yes, I fucking want children on my own. I wanted them ten years ago, and I wanted them six years ago. You wanted them too. You wanted them with me. We got married, Tom. We got fucking married and we talked about children. How dare you ask me that?”

Just as he wants to answer, though he’s got no idea what he should even say, Libby continues. “I wanted children with you Tom, and you left me. I see children every day at work and they’re not mine. And you know what? That’s fine. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. We didn’t work out because of exactly that. Work. You chose work over a life with me, and you chose work over having children with me. I just wonder what changed.”

Tom looks at her, stunned. It was a simple question. She always loved children. And yes. They talked about them. Apparently. But now tears are streaming down Libby's face as she stands before him, shaking and holding herself, wearing clothes from his Cambridge days.

“I wonder, if it was just me that wasn’t enough for you. Because I couldn’t compete with your job. And Julia – that’s her name, right? – Julia can compete with your job. So. It was me.”

“Libby.”

She shakes her head. “You should leave. Put the papers in the mailbox tomorrow, I’ll read and sign them.”

“Libby, I...”

“Leave.”

And so, he does. Glancing at Libby, he turns and hears the door close behind him. He doesn’t know what to think. Has no idea what to do.

Tom sighs. That’s a lie. He does know. Leave the papers, have her send them to his solicitor and leave for London.

Tagging @devikafernando @itsliterallythis @justthelosersblog @avenger-nerd-mom @archy3001 @nuggsmum @majk78 @hakimo2015 @noplacelikehome77

#tom hiddleston fanfiction #real person fanfiction #polaroid picture #chapter six #beth + tom

33 notes · View notes