#tw: pregnancy issues | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nickfowlerrr · 2 years

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waiting

pairing: dark!andy barber x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. angst angst angst. mommy issues. mentions of pregnancy. allusion to thoughts of abortion (this blog is firmly pro choice btw). self loathing. everyone is just really mean to poor reader. ☹️. oh and a mention or two of mr. ransom drysale 😶 if i’m missing something important pls feel free to let me know.

words: 5.3k

notes: i’ve had this fic in my wips since july and finished since the beginning of this month, i just never posted it lol but i’m so excited to share it finally. this definitely isn’t for everyone and really was just an indulgent write but if you do read this, i hope you enjoy the angst. comments and reblogs are more than welcome and appreciated. i’d love to hear what you think. thank you for reading 🖤

The flickering light in the nearly empty emergency room was unsettling. Your mind was taunting you as you sat in the waiting area, the chair beneath you growing harder and more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

You had jinxed yourself.

Cursing your fate mere hours ago and dwelling on how horribly things were going lately, thinking it couldn’t possibly get any worse.. Of course, it could.

In all honesty, you didn’t really know why you were here. Maybe just as an excuse to try and avoid the inevitable.

Maybe it was some sick sense of guilt hanging over you..

A part of you now desperate to remember the sense of comfort you could find in her - even if only for a few moments. As hard as you’ve tried these last 24 hours, you just couldn’t seem to remember what it felt like. You started to wonder if there was really anything to remember at all. But there had to be, right? She was your mother. There had to be. And then your phone rang. You didn’t let yourself think before you told whoever was on the other end that you would be there soon. You just called an Uber and went right down. Now here you were.

Whatever it was that drove you here - fear, guilt, obligation, a need for reassurance - that maybe this all wouldn’t be so bad, it brought you to this moment. Waiting with baited breath for your name to be called, for someone to escort you to her room, to finally see the damage she had done with her refusal to help herself. You felt bad, though you knew you shouldn’t. The damage she had done to you could be seen every time you looked in the mirror.

Stare too long at your reflection and you're lost again to the darkness that has managed to follow you all your life. You felt hollow a lot of the time, but the more apt word would be numb. Because you weren’t hollow by any means. No, you were full to the brim with hurt and anger and despair. You didn’t like feeling that. So numbness was better.

Just try to forget. Don’t let your mind sit in silence for too long. It was prone to wandering. And so were you. Maybe that’s why you were in the position you were now. You could never let yourself be content. Always searching, always reaching for something more. Something that could finally make you feel. Force you to feel. You just didn’t realize that it would lead you to him. That anyone could ever make you feel as much as he did. That you could ever feel like this.

The flickering of the light was bad, but the seemingly deafening silence was worse.

Until it wasn’t.

The entrance door slid open and you vaguely heard the footfall of whoever had just entered approaching behind you while the chilling breeze from outside came rushing in with them.

The shadow loomed over you and you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The creaking of the old chair as he sat directly behind you was irksome, as was his unwanted presence. Maybe if you just pretended he wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have to deal with him right now. Maybe he’d just go away for tonight. Maybe he’d be kind enough to leave you alone.

You could have scoffed out loud at yourself.

Kindness wasn’t really his thing. Not lately. And if you’d learned anything these past six months it was that the times you most wished he’d leave you be, were the times he was sure not to.

Waiting for him to move or speak or to do something, anything at all, was even more frustrating and did nothing to help settle the anxiety that was already turning your stomach. You couldn’t take the silence a moment longer. You spoke with your back to him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been calling you all night,” he responded without answering your question. You could hear the edge in his tone and it only served to piss you off. He had the audacity to be upset when he knew what was going on. You weren’t stupid enough to just not show up when he expected you at his place, you texted him and told him where you’d be and why. It wasn’t like you were hiding from him. At least not in a way he could prove.

“Yeah, well, I've been a little preoccupied.” you said harshly. Biting your lip as you instantly regretted your tone. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but you couldn’t deal with the repercussions you’d get for it from him right now. You were already on the verge of breaking completely.

“Sweetheart,” he leaned forward in his chair as he spoke, voice hard, getting even closer to you as if his presence wasn’t already all together suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. I’ve been waiting since I texted you. They won’t let me back there.”

Truthfully, you were more upset about the news you’d gotten yesterday than you were about the wait - you weren’t even really sure you wanted to go back there. Their ignorance of you was more helpful than you were sure they realized. You couldn't be accused of not showing up, it’s not like it was your fault they never got to you. You were still there.

You didn’t speak that aloud though, and he wouldn’t have given you any time to if you’d wanted.

He clicked his tongue and got up without saying a word and walked to the receptionist. You watched as they spoke, his charm shining through as the young woman was in complete admiration at the man before her. If only she knew the real him. If only anyone knew what he was really like. But no. He saved his true self for you and you alone.

The shrill laughter of the woman pierced your ears as Andy smiled, charming oozing off of him. You were reminded of the first time you met him. How easily you had fallen for his act, much the same way. Laughing shyly at his compliments and smiling softly at that same smirk you now dread. The one that haunts your dreams at night after he finally grants you some peace. He’d taken over everything. Every aspect of your life. All of you.

He didn’t care. Not really. Not about the situation. Not even truly about you. He could pretend all he liked, but you knew the truth, whether he accepted it or not.

He didn’t care, he just wanted people to believe he did. That’s what it felt like. And damn did they believe. You had, too. Until you got too close. Finally saw him drop the facade.

Sometimes you could convince yourself it was better this way. To really know him, to know the truth. It helped you not feel so much like a fool anymore. And the way you saw people react to him, falling for every kind smile and caring word, that helped too. You couldn’t blame yourself, he was just so damn good at hiding it.

The woman behind the desk pressed a button and the door leading further into the hospital buzzed open. Andy smiled at her again, giving her a soft ‘thank you’.

He stood at the door, looking at you while holding it open, waiting for you to get up. You stared blankly a moment, your body not wanting to move. This was stupid. Seeing her wouldn’t change anything. It’d do no good for either of you. In fact, it’d probably just send you spiraling even further. You never should have come here in the first place. Never should have answered the phone to begin with. You had bigger problems to worry about. This was too much. It was all too much. Maybe you could visit her after she got home, but you couldn’t do this, especially not right now. Your heart was starting to race and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You opened your mouth slightly, wanting to speak but no words would come out. You vaguely heard Andy call your name, but didn’t respond to it, not until he loudly cleared his throat and broke through your trance. You looked at him immediately, his annoyance clear in what used to be such kind eyes. You couldn’t find the softness or warmth you did before. Only harsh blue staring a hole through you. You forced your body to move, albeit slowly, standing up and walking toward him. When you were close enough and he was sure no one was watching, he gripped your arm tight and pulled you through the threshold of the door. You stumbled forward, gasping slightly, and tried to pull your arm away, grimacing as his grip was too tight. You looked up at him, pleading without words, eyes begging him to relent. Instead of just letting go of you, he threw your arm away from him and out of his hold. Another needless aggression.

“Stop acting so goddamn catatonic,” he snarled.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” you murmured. “I can’t do this,” you breathed as you tried to move past him, back through the door you’d just entered through.

“Now you want to leave? The second I get you back here? You’re that fucking stubborn. You won’t let me do any nice thing for you, you just like when I’m mean to you, is that it?”

“Andy, please,” you tried to calm him. “It’s not you, I just, I can’t do this, okay. I can’t see her. Please. Let’s just go, I’ll go with you, alright? Wherever you wanted to go tonight, let’s go,” you pleaded. You really couldn’t fathom having to face her. Now that you were so close, you just couldn’t do it. Hell, you were begging the man you’d been trying to keep away from to take you anywhere else, you were that desperate to avoid this reunion.

Your head was down now, staring at his solid chest as he continued to keep you blocked from the door. You felt his hand come up, moving some of your hair out of your face. His touch, deceptively gentle. He moved to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You are leaving with me, you already know that. But we’re not going anywhere until I say we are. You’re gonna be a big girl,” he said, voice dripping with condescension as he gripped your chin painfully, “and do what you came here to do. You can’t run from your fears forever.”

You felt tears welling in your eyes but you fought them back with everything you had.

I hate you I hate you I hate you.

That was all that was running through your head as you blinked away the tears threatening to spill. He didn’t deserve your tears. Neither of them did.

You backed away, lips in a tight line and eyes hard.

A nurse was passing by as you did and Andy was quick to put on a show.

He grabbed your hand gently and it took everything in you not to rip it away. He pulled you back closer and wrapped his arms around you, burying your face in his chest. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he spoke softly. You couldn’t see his face, so you didn’t know for sure, but you would have bet money he smiled at the nurse as they passed by. Another phony display of comfort.

You weren’t even sure he realized why he was doing it, or how hollow of a gesture it was. You wondered if he really was that deluded that he could think this was a sincere intimate moment between the two of you. His heavy hand was rubbing your back in an attempt to be soothing, and seemed to confirm your thoughts. He turned you in his hold, your back to his chest as he ushered you in the direction of the room number he had been given.

Your feet were only moving because he was pushing you forward. You didn’t know what room you were going to, but when Andy stopped in front of a cracked door, you figured that must be it. You swallowed hard, turning to face him again. Having to see her on your own was enough to leave you feeling sick, but with the news you got yesterday still weighing on you and Andy hovering so close, you felt nearly immobile. The more you thought about what was about to happen, the more anxious you got. You started to think about the last time you’d had to introduce your mother to the person you were seeing. It went horribly, even he agreed. And Ransom had a pretty low bar set for family as it was. Not that he had any room to judge.. Thinking about him and everything that had gone down those few years ago gave you chills even now. How the hell did you constantly end up in these convoluted, fucked up relationships. You worried it said more about you than it did any of them.

“You, you can’t go in,” you said, shaking your head as you avoided eye contact. “She’ll…it’ll be a whole thing,” you tried to explain.

“She doesn’t know about me?” he sniffed.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year,”

“You don’t call?” You cringed at his tone. Accusatory, like he always was, already putting the blame for the rift you had with your mother on you without knowing any of the details. You swallowed the renewed lump forming in your throat and took a stabilizing breath before you responded.

“It’s been a while,” you choked, your voice thick and throat tight.

“Well I can introduce myself just fine,”

You moved to block him from entering the door, earning a stern glare in response.

“I’m only going to say this once,” he seethed. “Move.”

“Let me just talk to her first,” you refused.

His jaw ticked as he stared down at you, eyes narrowed. He huffed, agitated. You thought for a second he was going to listen, but you should have known better. He took a step closer, bending down and grabbing your face in his large hands.

“You’re gonna remember this exact moment later tonight. And you’re gonna regret it.”

His voice was calm, his eyes sure - and you believed him. Your shoulders sagged as you deflated. You weren’t gonna win this one. He brushed past you and entered the room with a knock on the door as he pushed it open. His previous irritation was quickly replaced by his mask of goodheartedness.

You heard her before you saw her, the lilt of her voice paralyzing you.

Suddenly you were a kid all over again, teary eyed and broken hearted at the words that spilled from her lips as she held up clothes to you in the department store, vicious in meaning but so gentle in her delivery. If you didn’t pay attention to the words, you could convince yourself she was reassuring you instead of tearing you apart. That’s what it looked like to passersby, you were sure. The unadulterated spite and barely concealed hatred was saved for you behind closed doors. Living under her roof was your own personal hell and once you got out from under her thumb, you refused to settle back down anywhere. Never believing you were secure, wanted. You just kept searching for what you were longing for, never accepting when you’d found it, or just too scared to stay. Always wandering to the next. You couldn't stay too long or they'd grow to despise you, too.

Who would have thought you'd find yourself trapped again after all these years, all the time you spent desperate to avoid it. It was almost comical. It had to be cosmic. It was like you ran right into him. You wanted to know what you had done in your past life to have cursed yourself to such a fate in this one. How did they keep finding you and what had you done to deserve it? Another devil holding you down. You should have seen it coming. Maybe you did. Maybe it just felt so familiar, the only love you knew as a kid. Anything else you'd received felt like a joke, like you didn't deserve it. Or maybe it was even simpler than that. Maybe you were just tired of trying to outrun fate.

The people you found yourself closest to were always the wolves in sheep’s clothing. Seeming so gentle and loving from the outside, but ready to tear you apart the second they get you alone. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Maybe you did deserve this. The second you started to believe things were finally going right for you, that maybe you could finally be happy, that seeming reality was shattered for you by the very hands you thought were helping put you back together after spending so much of your life feeling absolutely broken.

You didn’t really hear the words they were exchanging as you walked into the room after a moment, taking a heavy breath. When you finally focused in, you heard the end of their brief introductions.

“There’s my daughter,” she announced as you approached. “Look at you,” she intoned, looking you up and down before landing on your face. “You’re all done up. Got all your makeup on.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest uncomfortably as you took a breath, looking away from her. You could hear the judgment clear as day laced in her words.

“It looks pretty,” she tried to compliment when you looked to her, face solemn. “I wish I could do my makeup like that,” she said smiling.

“Thanks, mom,” you replied, taking a step further into the room. You could feel Andy’s gaze on you, watching you intently, waiting for you to make your way to him, you were sure. “...How are you?”

You felt stupid for even asking, but you didn’t really know what else to say.

“Oh, ya know,” she tried to play off. “I’m fine, honey, I’m fine,” she assured you when you looked at her with a slightly raised brow. She took a breath. “I haven’t seen you in over a year. Haven’t heard from you nearly at all, either, I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” you said, feeling guilty.

“Hey, that’s life, though. Gets hard. Trust me, I know,” she said before she considered you a moment. With just the tilt of her head you knew she was about to say something provocative. “You look so different…. A lot can change in over a year, though, right?” she continued, looking over to Andy deliberately.

“Uhm. Mom, this is Andy Barber. Andy, my mother,” you introduced them only out of obligation. Manners were important to both of them. Something else they had in common.

“So he told me,” she smiled. “I’m assuming you’re… dating?” You swallowed hard as you looked at her before looking to Andy.

“Six months now,” he responded for you, walking to where you were still standing, smiling softly as he put his arm around you. It was deceptively sweet, comforting. You almost wanted to let yourself relax into him, use him as a shield against the vitrole you knew would be coming eventually.

“Six months? Wow. That must be a record for you, right?” she baited you with a laugh. You didn’t respond, just looked down to the one teal tile on the floor amongst the sea of white. You could feel her eyes on you before she realized she wouldn’t be getting a response, turning her attention to Andy instead.

“So, what do you do for work?” she prodded.

“I’m an assistant DA,” he answered her.

“A lawyer?” your mother said, shocked evident in her voice as she looked at you. “Well, better make sure this one lasts,'' she told you. “And if it does last, you’d better get a prenup,” she laughed again as she nodded to Andy.

You stiffened as Andy did beside you and bit your cheek, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. She noticed your face and her scoff made your stomach turn. You looked up to see her rolling her eyes as she looked away like she was exhausted by you already. “You just always have to have an attitude don’t you?” she said almost under her breath, frustrated. “Why are you so sensitive? You’re an adult. Stop taking things so personally. Lighten up, grow some skin. I’m trying to have a conversation and it's like everything I say you have an issue with.

God, y/n, ya know, why are you even here? To make me feel worse? Remind me how much of a fuck up mother I am?” You knew it was coming. It always did. And yet you were still jostled by her flip. You felt Andy’s hand squeeze your waist as you unconsciously backed further into him, pressing closer to his side like a frightened puppy trying to hide yourself.

“Mom, I didn’t say anyt-”

“Why are you here?” she enunciated each word loudly, interrupting and talking over you.

“They called when they brought you in. I’m your emergency contact, remember?”

“Remember? Don’t talk to me like I’m senile.” she nearly sneered.

You bite your tongue and cursed yourself for feeling tears well up already.

“Yeah, that’s great. Bring out the waterworks. Put on a show, make me the bad guy. It’s always me, right? It’s always my fault,” she continued. “What do you have to cry for? I’m the one who was abandoned by you. You show up after over a year of rejecting my calls and one word text responses, what to make yourself feel better? Where were you when I needed you, huh?” she questioned, words like knives in your heart. You felt so small under her angry gaze. You felt like the worst person in the world. You felt like a child. A weak, scared, sorry child.

“Andy was it?” she asked, pulling her eyes from you as she turned them to Andy.

“Mr. Barber is fine,” he corrected, voice hard and defensive.

“Well, Mr. Barber,” she mimicked, “I’m sorry you have to see this, but let me just warn you. If I know my daughter, I know she's not much for sticking around. She’ll run as soon as she gets the chance. She’s like her father that way. The second she gets tired of you. The second you can’t offer her anything anymore,” the bitterness was dripping from her every word, “she’ll be gone.”

You gulped down the lump in your throat and squeezed your own hand to try and keep yourself calm.

“If you don’t believe me, just ask her ex. He’ll tell you the same thing,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” you said dumbfounded and exasperated.

“What do you think I’m talking about? Ransom,” she said as if it was obvious. The mention of his name had you frozen. “The second you found out he was written out of that will, you left him like it was nothing.”

“Are you serious? You’re gonna bring that up right now? He went to prison for murder, mom!” you raged. “And you know what, my relationships are none of your business,” you seethed.

“You slept with him for his money, you and I both know it. Just because it turned into something more after doesn’t change the way it started.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered angrily.

“I don’t believe you,” she told you, voice eerily level as tears renewed in your eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” you asked, voice breaking as Andy pulled you behind him.

“That’s enough. It’s clear this was a bad idea,” he stated, making you want to scream. As if you hadn’t told him as much before he forced you in here. You turned to the side as you held your head in your hands, trying to regain your composure.

“Oh my god,” your mother breathed as she took in your side profile for the first time. Her voice was full of worry and your head shot over to her immediately in response to your name being spoken in near reprimand. “Are...are you pregnant?” she asked out of nowhere.

“What?” you breathed.

“Your stomach looks bigger. Like there’s a bump there. It’s been a year but I know what you look like when you put on weight,” she started, eyes locked on your tummy. “And I know what baby weight looks like.. Yo-you’re pregnant aren’t you?” she asked again. She sounded..scared.

You were looking at her, confounded as Andy turned to you, looking much the same. He eyed you up and down before you felt his gaze settle on your stomach. Your hands came up to your lower belly self consciously.. Or maybe it was protectively.

You didn’t know how she knew. You’d only just found out yourself. You didn’t think you were showing noticeably in the slightest. Your periods were always irregular. Skipping cycles wasn’t anything you would think twice about. You were on the pill. You thought maybe you were just more bloated lately. Gaining weight wasn’t anything new for you, either. You didn’t piece any of it together right away. You had no reason to. You were protected. Or so you thought. And you had zero plans of informing Andy of the news. Not yet. You were still trying to process it. You couldn’t be a mother. You couldn’t become your mother. But what were you supposed to do? You could deny it easily enough, put the conversation off, but you knew Andy wouldn’t let it go. He’d want a test to know for sure either way. He’d find out the truth. You were planning to make your appointment next week to find out how far along you were. See if you had any options left.

“Are you pregnant?” Andy asked softly, walking closer to you.

Your mouth was dry. You didn’t want to answer him, but you knew you’d have to. You licked your lips before you spoke.

“I don’t- I- I think.. maybe,” you breathed, words fumbling while you were avoiding eye contact with both of them.

Your attention was caught by your mother lamenting your nickname, pained and sorrowful. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she pleaded. “You’re so young, you’re not ready to be a mother. You-”

“All due respect,” Andy snapped, “- which is near none,” he added, sneering as he turned on your mother while you watched in sudden shock, mouth slightly agape while your mind spun, “you have absolutely no say here. In fact, it’s none of your business. This is a private matter between your daughter and I - no one else. But if you really want to worry about anyone’s ability to mother, I’d focus on yourself first. You’ve done a real bang up job so far,” he said sarcastically.

“Andy,” you reproached, walking quietly to him, wanting to calm things before they got worse.

“We’re leaving,” he said to you while sending daggers to your mother who looked at you with tears in her eyes, “You never should have come here.”

You looked at your mom, discontent clear on your face.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” she said, voice cracking. You had to look away before your own tears started to fall, lip wobbling. You weren’t sure what she was apologizing for, but it was the first time you ever heard her say those words sincerely. And it broke your heart. Andy grabbed your hand in his as he pulled you to the door and out of the room. The second you were past the door, you immediately broke down in tears. Everything hitting you all at once. Suddenly you were gasping for air as you felt like your legs were about to give out beneath you. Andy’s arms wrapped around you, turning you to pull you into his chest, his strength keeping you up as you leaned fully into him. One hand was holding your head while the other was wrapped around you, rubbing your back as you cried. He placed a kiss atop your head while he hushed you quietly, both of you standing in the empty hospital hallway.

You caught your breath after a minute and let yourself believe he was holding you so gently because he really cared. Because he was sorry for not listening to you. Because he wanted you to feel better, to comfort you. Whether it was true or not, it helped. Slowly you pulled away from him, and his hand came up to brush the tears off your puffy cheeks.

“How far along are you?”

“I really don’t know,” you said honestly. “If I had to guess, at least ten weeks,”

“How long have you known?” he asked quietly, thumb still stroking your cheek.

You looked at him doe eyed, lips set in a small pout. You opened your mouth to speak before he cut you off,

“I’m gonna tell you right now, don’t lie to me,” he warned, an ocean storm brewing in his normally brilliant blue eyes as he forced you to look him in the eye.

“Since yesterday,” you murmured. “I swear.”

He nodded slightly then took you by surprise, pulling you closer for a slow and deep kiss. Your brows were furrowed as he pulled away to allow you both a breath.

“You should have told me right when you found out,” he reproached.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I was still trying to wrap my head around it. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I don’t know how this even happened,” you confessed. But Andy knew.

He’d been switching out your birth control for nearly four months now and had long since stopped wearing condoms with you, though that you were aware of. He didn’t think it was important to tell you about the swap he’d made with your pills, so he decided to keep that to himself. No need to get you worked up again. Especially now that he knew you finally were pregnant. He’d have to figure out a way to keep you as stress free as possible. Keeping you home would be easy enough, he basically had you living with him already, but he’d have to make that change slowly, you would surely resist his attempts to keep you at home if he made it too obvious.

He found your mother’s warning funny, though. As if you’d ever be able to run from him. You’d tried, but he was always two steps ahead. You didn’t go anywhere without him knowing, whether you knew that or not. You were his now. You had been since the day he first laid eyes on you. You weren’t going anywhere. As he thought about the changes he’d have to make now that you were pregnant, he remembered the punishment he’d given you a few nights ago. It reminded him you had another one coming tonight, too. He’d have to go about them differently now, though. As much as he loved discipling you, his tactics would have to change, he’d need to be even more careful with you. And more lenient, he realized. He loved your responses to spankings, but he was looking forward to changing your punishments up with edging or overstimulation now instead. Either way, he was sure to make you cry. Make sure you’d learn your lessons. And he’d get started tonight. You brought out the darkness in him, but you brought the softness out, too. He wanted to remind you how good things could be. There was just one more thing bugging him at the moment that he’d have to let out.

“Come on,” he instructed. “I parked in the garage.”

You walked with him to the entrance before he led the way to his car.

He opened the door for you and helped you in before he went around and got in himself. He sighed heavily as you sat in silence for a moment before he turned to you.

“Who the fuck is Ransom?”

654 notes · View notes

narcissosbythepool · 9 days

Text

PriceGaz Week - Day 1 (and 4, arguably)

Poetry prompt: "& how many times have you loved me without my asking? how often have i loved a thing because you loved it? including me"

Rosie AU

Tags: Established pricegaz, past trans pregnancy, non-sexual intimacy, showering together, scars (incl. caesarean section), mild body image issues, fluff, kissing

Kyle has always been handsome to John.

From the very first moment they met, John could vaguely estimate that Kyle was a good-looking guy, though at the time he didn't think much of it, busy with the whole gas operation and helping Farah. After he recruited Kyle for 141 and they began to work closer together, it kept slowly creeping up on him, the attraction, the affection. And then one day he looked at Kyle and his eyes truly opened to his beauty, the depth of his eyes, his full lips, how his brown skin glowed in sunlight. Toned body and a wicked smile, add his charming personality on top, and John found himself inevitably, inescapably falling deeper into an infatuation that then became something more.

The man who met Kyle in Piccadilly had no idea where he would end up.

The man who first noticed Kyle months later had no idea that Kyle could become, somehow, inexplicably even more alluring.

John knew the changes to Kyle's body from the pregnancy, and even postpartum, were not the easiest for Kyle to process. John knew that no matter how much and thoroughly he convinced that Kyle was still gorgeous to him, it did not really matter as long as it bothered Kyle. Now, nearly 18 months later, Kyle is almost back to the shape he was before the pregnancy, and he seems more comfortable in his skin than he has in ages.

Fatherhood also suits him well. He's become irresistible. John doesn't know how he's able to keep his hands off at any time. And he doesn't – whenever he's back home he finds himself touching Kyle constantly. Pressing a hand to the small of his back at every chance, caressing his face and hair, giving him hundreds and then thousands of kisses so that they lose count by the time he has to go.

He had already thought he had found the love of his life, that this was the extent of how much a human heart could handle affection – and then came their little Rosanna and grew his heart at least three sizes just to contain all of his devotion for her. With all the hard work that comes with parenthood, she's truly his everything. Not a day goes by that he doesn't miss her, want to hold her and watch her grow, become a person in this frightening world. Her smile is the reason he keeps going, her laugh and little arms around his neck life's greatest gift.

So naturally watching Kyle interact with her makes his brain break.

Kyle is so comfortable with her – it's no wonder, they've spent 18 months together, a criminal amount of it alone as John's been gone. Kyle's attentive to her every need and when they look at each other it's clear that they're each other's world. John is merely grateful he's allowed within this galaxy of parental wonder. He'll make it up, he tries each time he comes back, but he also finds it sweet that the two people he loves the most in this world adore each other like this. Kyle handles her with ease, taking everything in stride, be it tearful meltdowns or Rosie’s boundless energy. She is such a happy little child and John could not be more grateful that his absence doesn’t seem to have affected her sense of safety in the world.

He’s watching now as Kyle puts Rosie to bed (he insisted on doing it tonight, claiming that ‘you’re hogging her all to yourself, let me have a moment’, which isn’t untrue).

“Say ‘good night’ to Da,” Kyle tells Rosie, to which Rosie replies “Night-night!” and they both turn to wave at John, who waves back, clearly being chased out – fine, he can take the hint, and he blows a kiss to the pieces of his heart and then closes the door behind him. He listens by the door as Kyle starts reading a story to Rosie.

“Now that Da has stopped eavesdropping,” he begins and John rolls his eyes, finally tearing himself from the door. He takes a look at the flat and then sets himself to cleaning up the day’s activities. He gathers Rosie’s toys and arranges them in their respective boxes, puts all the pillows back on the sofa, and then turns to the kitchen, filling up the dishwasher as quietly as he can, resolving to get to the frying pan tomorrow, and then wipes the counters, the table and the tray of Rosie’s high chair.

With all that done, he looks around and there’s just… nothing else to do. He should welcome the quiet, and he does on some level – life with a toddler isn’t the easiest thing in the world, no matter how adorable and sweet Rosanna is, but he still doesn’t feel the pull of sleep like he usually does at the end of the day.

No can do – he’s restless. Leaves have always been tough for him, his mind constantly in mission-mode. It was worse, before, he would pace around like a restless dog yearning for a run, and he would do that too. Run for miles, try to distract his mind from the emptiness around him. Now it’s different, with Kyle and Rosie, and he’s happy that he can channel all of his restless energy into spending time with his daughter. Give some alone-time and well-earned rest to Kyle and make sure that he bonds with his daughter properly before he has to go again.

Rosie still cries when he leaves. It tears him apart every time.

He glances at the clock. It’s only 7pm, normal bedtime for Rosie, perhaps even a bit early, but she was getting cranky and getting her to sleep before a meltdown is always better. She’ll most likely fall asleep mid-story again, which is always very cute, but it will take some time and John now has to figure out what to do in the meantime.

He ends up scrolling on his phone on the sofa and bothering Nikolai, trying his best not to ask about work things. These days he really tries to disengage from work, try out the whole work-and-life balance thing that’s all the rage these days. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year and a half already, of living this new life of his – being a father (the thought still makes him feel a bit dizzy), returning home to his family, being the kind of person who gets to leave work to his workplace and then just… be done. Be home.

He’s still really bad with alone time, though. Waiting for Kyle to re-emerge from Rosie’s room feels like it takes forever, and John can’t help but be reminded of a dog again.

He looks up when he hears the door and Kyle smiles at him.

“She fell asleep fast,” John lies and Kyle yawns.

“I almost fell asleep first,” he admits and then joins John on the sofa. John opens his arms and Kyle settles sideways on his lap, practised by now in the fine art of cuddling.

“No TV tonight?” John asks and Kyle presses his face against John’s neck, and then nods.

“Can’t concentrate,” Kyle admits. “I don’t understand how I’m this tired…”

A thought occurs to John. “How about,” he suggests, “we take a shower?”

“In that case,” Kyle concurs and then leans in to kiss John’s cheek. “What are we waiting for?”

Kyle slowly raises his head. “Too tired for sex, too.”

“That’s why I suggested showering,” John raises a brow at him and Kyle flushes a little.

“For you to get off my lap,” John replies cheekily and gets a light tug on his beard.

“Piss off,” Kyle chuckles and then blesses John with another kiss.

John gets them the softest towels he can find and takes the baby monitor to the bathroom just in case. Kyle waits for him there already, still clothed, helping him out of his shirt and pants and dropping them to the laundry bin (which seem to have multiplied ever since they had their baby). When it’s Kyle’s turn, they both halt.

“How are you feeling today?” John asks. “Clothes on or off?”

Kyle swallows. This is always a bit of a difficult thing for them – they enjoy the intimacy of being skin-to-skin, but recently Kyle has had days when he’s just not feeling like feeling or looking at his body. Be it the sensory overload of parenting a tactile toddler or dysphoria, the reasons differ or intertwine, some days being touched and seen is overwhelming for him. John’s tried to make it clear that he never expects anything, is willing to go by Kyle’s wishes no matter what, but he knows Kyle worries about this.

Still John asks every time.

“Off,” Kyle says then. John resists the urge to ask if he’s certain – he’s learned that Kyle does not enjoy fussing, and would rather John take him at his word.

John lets Kyle take off his own clothes, as much as he longs to touch, but then Kyle plasters himself against John’s body and John’s arms come around to pull him closer into the embrace.

“Hi,” Kyle mumbles against his skin and John is met with such a rush of fondness that he has to close his eyes for a moment.

“Hello there. Ready?”

Kyle nods and then pulls back just to slide his hands from behind John’s back over his sides, all the way to his pecs, lovingly caressing his chest and the hair there. John enjoys the petting, lifting his hand to cup the back of Kyle’s head and press a kiss on his forehead. Kyle chuckles, until his gaze falls on John’s arm – specifically the tattoo there.

A simple rose, with Rosanna’s birth date on it. There are many marks of life on John’s body and this one he’s the proudest of. He got it not that long after Rosie’s birth. Kyle follows the shape of it, the series of numbers, with his fingers, and then presses a gentle kiss on John’s shoulder, then his neck, a trail of soft kisses all the way up to his jaw.

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs in his ear and John feels heady with Kyle’s undivided attention. His hand travels to Kyle’s ribs, to the tattoo commemorating their daughter right under his top surgery scar on the left. A stylized bee design, mimicking their nickname for Rosie, and her birth date next to it. He knows the lines of it by heart, doesn’t even need to look. The symbols of their daughter permanently etched in their skin feels appropriate – she turned their lives upside down, and it would not be fair if the inner workings of their souls were not reflected externally.

Close to the heart, always.

They step in the shower hand in hand and John makes sure the water temperature is warm enough before they step under the spray. He pulls Kyle close again and for a moment they just stand there under the water, brows pressed together and eyes closed, taking in the skin contact and closeness.

He lets Kyle take charge, as much as he yearns to touch and pamper him – but Kyle seems determined to be the active participant today, and John’s still not sure where they stand on the whole touching thing today. So he lets Kyle soap him, lets the touch ground him as Kyle washes his body, hands roaming gentle, stopping every now and then to appreciate a detail – a gnarly old scar by his shoulder; the expanse of his chest; another wide, deep scar from a knife wound across his waist (almost spilled his guts in Latvia); and throughout John watches him with soft eyes, feeling loved and cherished.

“My turn?” he asks finally, and Kyle returns to him with yet another sweet kiss.

“Sure.”

John repeats the same process: soaps Kyle thoroughly, washes him clean of sweat and the day’s grime, and presses kisses to his shoulders and neck whenever he can reach. His hands follow the lines of Kyle’s body – the toned muscles, the softness of his dark skin, stalling by the stretch marks he adores. He knows Kyle isn’t the biggest fan of them, but John loves them. He runs his fingers over them.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and Kyle cups his cheek, caressing his cheekbone with his thumb.

“So you’ve told me.”

“It’s true. Every time.”

Kyle answers with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and John has to keep going to keep himself from crumbling on the spot.

He traces Kyle’s scars with reverence, as always. He knows them all by heart: that’s from when he ordered Gaz to rescue the hostages; this one’s from when he told Gaz to leave them. That’s from a gunshot wound from a sniper John didn’t notice; there’s a stab wound from Gaz covering for Soap. All these marks of life on him, and yet—

“I love this one the most,” John says, tracing the C-section scar across Kyle’s abdomen. It’s healed by now, but still clear – he knows it occasionally bothers Kyle, but John himself is positively obsessed with it.

“Yeah?” Kyle chuckles. “How so?”

“It feels like I put it there,” John says, transfixed on the darker line contrasting against Kyle’s beautiful brown skin. The truth is – he thinks most of Kyle’s scars, received after he joined John’s task force, as his. Both with the occasional guilt, but also with a sense of devotion. Kyle got these scars because of his orders.

This one, though. This one he knows he’s responsible for.

Kyle knows this, and throws his head back with a rich laugh. “You’re deranged.”

“Yup,” John replies and then leans in to chase Kyle’s laugh with his lips, pulling him into a deep kiss once again. Kyle hums in his mouth and then pulls back with a sweet little peck.

“You know what I like about you?” Kyle asks, hooking his arms around John’s shoulders.

“Mmhm?”

“You always make me feel better about myself.”

“Really now?”

“Swear. You compliment me and say nice things.”

“Of course. You’ll always be gorgeous to me,” he says and Kyle grins.

“Yep, that’s what I mean,” he chuckles, bringing them nose to nose, nearly touching. “You’ve made me like many things. Including myself.”

It’s suddenly hard to speak. He parts his mouth but nothing comes out, and Kyle closes the distance, kissing him right on his stupefied face, the tip of his nose, then his cheek and finally his lips – by then John’s brain has caught on and he returns the kiss with a gentle kind of cupidity.

“The least I can do,” he murmurs. Kyle laughs again, the sweetest sound.

“And that’s why I love you,” Kyle says to that, sincere and heavy, and John doesn’t know how to verbalise the depth of emotion he feels – love just isn’t enough, with his entire being yearning to merge their very souls into one spinning spiral of light. Who else could he stand with in the water, like this, just exist together like the entire world revolves around them? Who else would he spend the rest of his life with? It feels impossible to even think that this could ever end, and he does not even dare to imagine such an impossibility.

“You alright there?” Kyle wipes a thumb over his cheek and John can’t tell if he’s wiping away a stray droplet of water or tears, and he doesn’t really care.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “I love you too.”

“Wow, for a moment I was worried you wouldn’t say it back,” Kyle teases – as if John could ever deny him the confession. He replies by brushing the tip of his nose against Kyle’s.

“Like I could resist.”

They enjoy the hot water, holding each other close, until the tips of their fingertips are all pruny.

John dries Kyle with the soft towel, takes his time with it, and Kyle lets him, understanding that John needs this moment to wind down from the emotional intensity. He gets on his knees to dry Kyle’s legs and when he looks up, it’s a sight from his dreams: Kyle looking down at him with a benevolent smile, like some saint, and John can’t resist but press a reverent kiss on the scar on his abdomen.

You’ve given me everything, he wants to say, you’re like a painting by the renaissance masters; I’d build a cathedral to your worship if you gave me the word; you’re the father of my child and I can never thank you enough.

But perhaps Kyle understands – he lifts John’s chin with two of his fingers and pulls him up to his feet as if tethered to his touch.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says.

Kyle’s word is law, so John dries them both as carefully and hastily as he can.

They change into their pyjamas (a matching set – a gift joke from Dotty, but in frequent use nonetheless) and climb under the covers, Kyle settling in John’s arms as easy as breathing, like their bodies were made to be moulded together like this.

On their way to bed, he lingers for a moment by Rosie’s nursery, eager to peek in and see if everything’s alright. He feels a touch to his elbow and it’s Kyle, gesturing with the baby monitor in his hand.

“She’s fine,” he says and tugs John by the arm. “Come to bed.”

He’s gorgeous. He’s everything John could ever have wished for and was convinced for so long that he didn’t deserve, couldn’t even dream of this reality. And yet here he is – sleeping in the same bed with his partner, their toddler dozing away in the next room, and it really can’t get better than this. And he owes it all to this man in his arms, the man of his dreams, the man—

“Stop thinking and go to sleep.”

He’s barely able to stop the audible laugh bubbling in his chest. Best not to wake their little one behind the wall.

“Yes, sir.”

END.

#pricegaz #gazprice #pricegazweek2024 #pricegazweek #rosie au #narcissosbythepool #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #trans pregnancy #tw body image issues

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touyasdoll · 2 years

Note

Ok but what if he had a breastfeeding kink click that he didn’t know about

oh he does, but he doesn't figure that out until the first time that you're able to do the deed after giving birth. he latches onto your nipple—like he's done so many times before—and when he tastes milk, he's suddenly harder than he's ever been in his life. he lets out a positively sinful moan and suddenly he's struggling to contain himself, bucking his hips to grind his painfully erect and leaking cock against your inner thigh. he so, so wants to be careful with you still, but the sweet taste in his mouth almost makes him feral for a moment.

he also finds a great deal of comfort from it. maybe you can blame it on the mommy issues, but he definitely enjoys just latching to you when you're relaxing on the couch or going to bed for the night. it soothes him and he loves how sensitive you are. he'll always lay there and happily massage and drain some of the excess from your breasts when you're feeling particularily full <3

#dabi drabble #touya drabble #tw lactation #tw breastfeeding #tw pregnancy #tw mommy kink #in case #tw mommy issues #just vibing 💌

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epilogue-and-prologue · 11 months

Text

Happiness - Part 3 - Final Part

Fandom: LOTR Ship: Eomer x F!Reader Trope: Arranged marriage Note: Reader is Elfhelm's daughter and I invented a lot for what I didn't know so probably A LOT of mistakes.

Warnings: Dealing with grief, loved one's deaths, depression, SMUT at some point, poverty, war's aftermath, diplomatic relations, pregnancy, blood, miscarriage

Word counts: 6 773

Tags: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

When you woke up the first time, the bed was warm but empty. The sun outside was barely visible behind the mountains, but Eomer was already gone. A sigh escaped your lips, as you snuggled deeper into the covers. It still smelled like him, crackling fire and sex mixed in a musky embrace. You would not be getting out of bed anytime soon, your eyes fluttering close. The second time you woke up, the sun was higher up, but not all that much. A sound had woken you up, a door closing if you could recall. A dip in the bed made you frown before a soft kiss was placed on your naked shoulder. You could smell the spring’s arrival in the air, rain and wet earth as Eomer’s hand slid around your waist, his clothes soft against your back, a sigh of contentment escaping him.

“Good morning, lover.”

His hands were on yours making this place the only one you would be all day if you could. Upon turning around, you were met with a sincere smile and a kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning, Eomer.”

His name in your mouth was the only music he ever wanted to hear.

“Still not pregnant I gather?”

You laughed at the question. You touched your stomach, as if in search of something.

“No, I don’t think so. Would you mind if we tried again?”

He arched a brow, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips, his eyes shining with something you knew to be lust. It mirrored your own.

“Right now?”

You nodded eagerly, laughing when he pulled his tunic off, grabbing your body, caressing every valley and crease. He made good on his promise to be good to you. That day and all the others too. Nights were spent in his company, sometimes just reading in peace, together. Sometimes you were having diners with your parents, hosting diplomatic venues. Others you were dragging him out of his office, by any means necessary, more often than not finding yourself naked on his desk (or against the door). Even as king, he made it a priority to be with you as much as he could, especially after you made him sleep on his own when he prioritized a meeting with your own father over you.

As the winter months came, your appetite only grew. Nausea plagued you in the mornings, and before you could tell for sure, both your mother and Gera as well as the midwife confirmed it. You were with child.

“Eomer?

-Yes?”

You put your hand around your stomach, smiling brightly. It took nothing else from you for him to understand. He embraced you, kissing you deeply, now even more careful than ever as if in the span of a minute you had turned into fragile glass.

That night was spent around the fireplace, talking about future names.

“I was thinking, if it’s a girl, we could go for Brunhilde?

-My mother’s name? What did you do?

-Nothing that could grant her to be angry with me, I assure you.”

His false air of innocence earned him a hit against his chest, half-hearted while you laughed to yourself, wondering what could have happenned for him to suggest such an old fashion name - and that just to appease your mother’s desires.

Eomer turned even more protective of you as the weeks kept on, as you were running around the castle, helping everywhere and anywhere you could.

As you usually would, but he would have none of it. Especially when his sister gave birth, and you asked, begged, insisted to go see her even if it meant that you would go without him.

“I promise to be careful.

-I know you will be, I know my knights will be too. It is not that I am worried about.”

You frowned, unsettled by his words. He was already laughing around the words of his answer, grabbing your hands.

“It is me. How will I cope, these days without you? Without your touch and your care? How am I supposed to survive?

-You will manage I believe. Don’t act like a child. I cannot have two children to watch over once this one is born.”

He arched a brow before pulling you onto his lap and kissing you deeply.

“All things considered, I might just not let you go see this nephew of ours.”

The way he mentioned off-handedly the fact that he was both yours never failed to bring butterflies to your stomach. Instinctively, you smoothed your hand over your belly. His hand joined yours in a pleasant embrace. He kissed your forehead, leaning into you.

“I will miss you. I will join you in the next few days. Sooner, if I can.”

As his hand was drawing soothing circles where it rested, you let your head fall against his shoulder, lulled into a dreamless sleep.

The day before the departure was a heavy one. You had finished packing for the week, hoping the gifts you brought with you would be enough.

“My love, you are going to spoil the child.

-Better that than nothing. He is not mine, if he grows to be incredibly annoying I’m not the one who will have to handle his moods.”

Eomer’s laughter echoed through the room.

“I do hope, for my brother in law’s sake, that it is not the case.”

Before going to bed, you pulled out an extra blanket for the travel, the weather turning chilly this time of year.

In the middle of the night, you awoke to a sharp pain in your abdomen. Only thinking it was another pregnancy symptom, you slipped out of to fetch some water. You did not make it that far. A cry escaped your lips as you found yourself kneeling over on the ground.

“What is it?”

Eomer woke up when you left the bed and now worry was taking over his better instincts. His words were met with silence. Anguished, he reached out for you, in vain. He lit up the candles. What he found was what his nightmares wished they could conjure.

You were on the floor, sobs escaping you without a sound as if you were biting your tongue. Your hands were gripping the sheets at the edge of the bed. A fever seemed to be running through you. What he would never be able to erase from his memory was the pool of blood between your legs, staining the floor, your nightgown, your legs. Without thinking, he caught you in his arms, your tears wetting his chest as he went and called for the healers.

You could barely move. The pain was so strong, you thought you were going to die. Eomer’s hand was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. The words of your mother’s prayers accompanied you as the night grew into a new day. She, as well as yourself knew what was happening even before they told you. The midwives were keeping their heads down, wiping the blood from their hands. They had given you a sedative for the pain, waiting until morning to see if you would live. It was not what you wanted. At that moment, all you wanted to do was die, just like your baby had; a part of yourself gone with them.

Dawn brought news of your miscarriage to the population. The infirmary was soon replaced by a bedroom, Eomer’s ever-watchful eyes never leaving you the whole time. From then on, your shared bedroom was abandoned, the home to this memory too vivid at the forefront of your mind. The names you had uttered and wished for, how they would look like with Eomer’s smile, a whole life in front of them. Now, they were gone, no more incarnation than a breeze in summer. Torture would have been kinder.

Days passed in a blur, winter morphing into spring and then summer and autumn again. Only Gera, your mother and Eomer could approach you. You were thankful he never insisted you talk to him, just sitting with you, sharing his days, and his concerns even when you would not answer.

You only ever left your bed to wash, change into another nightgown and go back. The maids were going in and out of your room changing your sheets and collecting your dirty clothes. It lasted so long, your parents feared for your life. Eomer’s concern could be seen even from a distance, and the whispers of the maids and the midwives were driving you insane.

As spring grew, your body took his own pace again. Your period came back. Eomer was the one to sleep with you when it happened. He felt helpless, cradling your head against his chest, soothing the pain however he could, panic taking you over, uncontrollable tears streaming down your cheeks. It was the final straw, the blood a sign of final death for that baby you lost, as well as a trigger to that night you would never forget.

Another morning in the winds announcing the beginning of winter, another day of loneliness. Eomer had gone to Gondor, explicitly demanded by King Aragorn concerning raids happening at their borders. He was more worried than he had let on to you. He had no choice but to go. You thought it would provide clarity for him, maybe a breath of fresh air, companionship…

All the things you knew you had deprived him of in the last few months.

Gera entered your room carrying a full plate of food at midday, even though she knew you would barely touch it.

“Your Highness, your breakfast is here.”

It was difficult from your windows to see what was happening downwards. The marketplace inside the city was full, but you could not see who was there, the snow covering the ground and shops in a thin and solid layer, as snowflakes kept falling.

“Thank you, Gera.”

The old woman gasped upon seeing your face, before shutting her mouth closed. She knew her place and you hated it. You had not slept that night, your lids becoming heavy without ever letting you rest.

“Milady, if I may be so bold, you should go get changed.

-I am fine, Gera.”

Her eyes stilled for a moment, reminiscing something you could not see. Her tone became commanding, solid stone against you. She would not let you fall into the abyss like this.

“No, you are not.” She put down her tray on a nearby table. “You have not been since the miscarriage. I know I am out of line, but I refuse to let you wither away like this. You will get dressed and you will accompany me outside. I am not asking.”

Stunned, you could not answer her, even when anger and frustration took you over. You knew she would not let it go. Even more so, when she came back with your mother. Her eyes told you more about your state than your own could.

All the dams had broken in her. She was crying and you received her with open arms, finding yourself crying on her shoulder. Only then did you realize, that seeing you like this must have broken her heart into a thousand pieces. What selfish person would put their mother through such pain? All those years and now you knew her grief, now you knew why she could not stop talking about her children passing. They were ghosts accompanying her everywhere she went. Present until her last breath.

Soon, you found yourself embracing one another, kneeling on the ground. Gera helped you get back up, all sniffles and tears herself. As she was about to bow out, you grabbed her forearm, asking for her to sit with you. She did not leave.

Silently, you all shared the food left on the table, hands clasped over theirs in a sign of gratitude. You spent the rest of the day with both of them, strangely accommodating one another, going out and cooking again, for the first time in months. It had been so long since you left your room, you wondered for a moment if you’d remember where to go. Gera was quick to guide you, as your mother kept talking and talking about how the winter had been so cold this year, the older women distracting you from any semblance of loneliness.

They were a bowl of fresh air, soothing your pain a little bit of gossip and tea, at a time.

Eomer’s trip had been silent. Leaving you was the hardest thing he could do. Initially, he had planned to refuse. You were the one who had insisted, telling him he could not put his duty on hold any longer. Seeing his sister felt like a balm to his heart but, when he saw his nephew’s face, his heart broke all over again.

The child was a mere babe still, babbling away at random things, throwing food around. He had been named after a Stewart of Gondor, Thorondir.

He had his mother’s eyes, vivacious and rebellious. He had been letting the boy play with his hair, letting him get it tangled and wet with his slobber. That night, the dark had been quiet, the bird abandoning the planes reaching beyond where his eyes could see. He was thinking of all the memories you both had conjured for that child, the ones that would never come to be.

The night he had found you, his first concern was that he was going to have to watch you die. All the blood you lost had clung to his skin as if it had been his own wound.

After learning of your loss, he knew he had failed you. You were clear with him from the very beginning: you wanted a family. Your dedication and self-sacrifice never ceased to make him proud of you, but what good it did to you, he did not know. His heart clenched, the babe in his arms lulling himself to sleep against his chest. He brought him back to Eowyn, her face a haven of happiness if he had ever seen one. But he had seen one. Yours. Before all of this had happened.

His sister’s hand startled him.

“Lost in thought brother?”

She was putting Thorondir in his cradle, soundly asleep, ever so careful with the small being when she added.

“If you are doing what I think you are doing, let me tell you one thing: this was not your fault. Miscarriages are more common than you would know.

-I…” He stopped, tears forming in his eyes. It stunned Eowyn to silence, her brother never one to show vulnerability before. “I was so helpless… Useless. For all I am, I could not be that for her. I could not be there as I should have.”

The lump in his throat kept him from speaking.

“When I left, her voice was so faint, so frail… She made me promise to keep warm.”

He chuckled, despair distinct in the undertones of his voice.

“Even when so low, she still manages to show care and love for me. I fear she believes I might leave her. I have never felt so lost in my entire life.”

As he was whispering those words, the door opened revealing Faramir, slightly flushed by the evening air, accompanied by somebody Eomer recognized immediately. He stood to his feet in a hurry.

“Your Highness.

-You may ease Eomer. I am here as a friend.”

Aragorn was only wearing his ranger’s attire. He closed the door behind him, Faramir offering him a cup of wine he accepted gratefully.

They all settled a little further away into the rooms, around an oval wooden table, to not wake the babe. Smoke was starting to gather above their heads when Aragorn spoke again.

“When we met earlier, you did not say how much the loss of your child was affecting you.”

Upon his arrival, the King had assured him his thoughts were with him and his wife for their loss. Eomer stayed silent, not feeling capable of articulating any words capable of qualifying what he felt.

“Not many people know this, but Arwen and I found ourselves in a similar situation. She was barely aware she was with child when they were ripped from us.”

Eomer’s tears were making him ache deep inside his chest. For your touch. For you. Who you were before this tragedy. Who he was before too.

“Her grief was overcoming. Her soul shattered. So much so, I feared I was losing her.”

Eowyn and Faramir were gripping each other’s hands, her head resting on his shoulder, as she was watching over her brother, again powerless in helping him grieve.

“Time and only time can heal this wound. The only thing you can do is be there for her, and you must know that your grief is shared amongst the people at this table.

-And I am thankful for that, my lord. Alas, I am at my wits’ end. Every time I leave her room, I fear she… I fear I will find her body the next time I open the door.”

Aragorn’s hand reached for Eomer’s shoulder.

“I know. This fear I have had myself. I know it all too well. In truth, my friend, it will never really pass. All you can do is support her in any way she needs. But I trust you to do so if you have not already.”

The Rohirrim smiled sadly, brows furrowed.

“Only someone who has felt the same thing she has can understand her pain. If she is able, let her know that Arwen would be willing to talk with her on the matter. Considering she just gave birth, moving will not be an option but she offered to write letters.

-This is ever so kind, your Highness.”

He smiled, understanding shining through his eyes.

“No. My wife is the kind one. I am merely the messenger.

-Then, If I may be so bold, thank her for me. And for her.”

These exchanges lasted long into the nights Eomer stayed there and by the end, the pain had receded, the guilt hiding in the nights he could not sleep.

Suddenly, the cold breeze of winter hit Eomer at full force, made him shiver and snapped him out of his memories. The lights of Edoras were dimmed by the snow, he had never been so happy to see them again.

At last, it meant he would see you again.

* “Eomer!”

His steps had first led him to your chambers, and what he found there surprised him. Your mother, Gera and two women he did not know were there, playing a game of cards. You looked less pale than the last time he had seen you and even if your smile did not quite reach your eyes, your embrace was as fierce and strong as he remembered.

“How much I’ve missed you, my love.

-Me too.”

His eyes wandered around the room, bewildered. Feeling somewhat guilty, you pulled him aside.

“I… I hope this is alright. Finding myself in their company when I can’t sleep is very helpful.”

A warmth grew in his chest. Like a flower, you were blooming again, cared for and surrounded by people who only wanted the best for you. He knew you were in good hands. He only hoped to help you grow again from now on.

“You are usually there but since you were not I…

-It is quite alright. I am happy to see you smiling again. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

His lips met the crown of your head, in a departing gesture. You stopped him, a strong sense of longing inside of you.

“We are almost done. Would you wish to stay? I have missed you greatly these past few days. Sleeping without you is…”

His embrace drowned all your worries in a second.

“Of course, I will stay.”

Once the game ended - won by Gera, of course - and the women were gone, Eomer helped you get into your nightgown, before stripping his clothes and going to bed with you. You settled between his legs, his chest to your back. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, before laying down, sleeping a dreamless sleep entangled with you.

After this, Eomer had made a point of spending even more time with you. Going as far as playing cards with the women who surrounded you now. Their names came easily to him when meeting them outside of your “reunions”. One was a merchant’s daughter, she had been married to a man of Rohan long before you, around your age named Hilde and the other was Gera’s daughter, Sofia. He was only now realizing how lonely you had been from the very beginning of your marriage, without the company of other women. Of friends.

You were astonished by the Queen’s offer. It was with a feeble hand you had written the first missive to her. Arwen was a delight. She offered advice and empathy, bonding with you through that shared experience. It was enlightening to understand this situation to be one of many and not only yours, especially considering the envy surrounding the new Queen. She had been somewhat like you, losing her people and embracing a new one she had to learn the ways of. Gracefully some would say. With force and determination, you had come to know. Throughout these exchanges, you formed a deep-rooted friendship akin to the one you had with Eowyn, despite the distance.

Days passed, weeks even bringing the warm air of spring with each passing moment, but something was still missing from your life. Your husband. He was there. Always there for you. You had talked about the grief and sorrow this loss had given you. He had been honest and gentle, always listenning to you.

Never had you mentioned the idea of trying for a child again. Yet, the idea was growing in you, each day, watered by the tales of your friends about their children. The subject was a difficult one, and you were still frightened at the thought that you could lose it again. Yet, even without the idea of having heirs, you were missing Eomer’s touch more than anything. It got lonely, the nights he would spend with you without so much as an attempt to be intimate with you. You dreamed of it, waking up at odds hours of the night, not even entertaining the idea of relieving yourself from this agony.

The desire in you was restless and you could not seem to be able to bear it any longer.

A knock on the door startled Eomer awake. Engrossed in his letters, he had not seen you standing there, nor heard you calling out his name.

“Good morning.”

The soft kiss you placed on his cheek made him warm and yearning for more. Even the faintest touch would light that fire in him. It had been so long since you had shared intimacy, he feared he would not remember how to please you.

“Good morning.”

Your hands were fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, eyes cast away from him. You wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him how much you desired him to be with you again. All those words were neat and in order in your mind. To pull them out of there was a whole other story.

When his eyes were met by your avoidance, his eyebrows furrowed, jaws tightening resisting the urgent feeling of worry deep within his chest.

“What is it, my love?”

The sweet nothings. The sweet nothings were always the things that made you want him the most. Need him the most. He excelled in the art of body language but those words were the only triggers you needed for your body to want him.

He rose to his feet, taking your hands in his. The warmth spread in your cheeks, while his eyes were racking your face in search of what had happened. You gripped his hands tighter in yours, not looking at his face. You would have to face him at some point. You were a Queen after all. Queens did not hide, nor shamed from what they wanted.

Keeping that thought in mind, your grip tightened even more on his hands, before traveling up his chest, where your fingers weaved themselves on the linen of his shirt.

Your tone was so soft, lips red from nervous biting, eyes looking at him from under your lashes. Eomer’s train of thoughts entirely stopped when you pushed yourself up, your lips to his ear. The urgency in your words did not help.

“I want you, now, husband. Or I am going to lose my mind.”

In an instant, he had you over his shoulder his arms secured around your waist, while you were laughing at the audacity. Not one person you stumbled upon while you regained your shared room said a thing about the uncanny position you were in. Once arrived, he let you down, only to dive into your neck, nipping your skin there, while his hands were undoing your corset’s bonds.

“How much I missed you… How I missed your touch…”

There was a hunger in his words that made you ache for him deep in your heart. You grabbed onto his face, meeting his lustful eyes. Despite the presence of desire there, the ever-present adoration had made an appearance too. How much you wanted this man, or how much you cared for him could not be carried into any language known to mankind. Against his lips, you whispered “I love you” in a weak attempt to pour all those feelings somewhere, anyway. He kissed you ferociously, biting lightly on your lower lip. Eomer’s hands grabbed your dress, all but tearing it down from your body. His fingertips found their way up and down your spine, shivers following in their paths. On the other hand, you could not get him to take off any of his clothing which was infuriating you more than anything.

“Eomer…

-Yes, my love?”

Another breathless kiss made you dizzy, as he was expertly walking you back against your bed. You managed to stop him somehow.

“Eomer, get naked, now.”

He smiled against your collarbone, ever so smug in his ways, knowing perfectly the effect he had on you. Nonetheless, he obeyed you in a heartbeat, before pulling you down with him on the undone mattress.

His skin was littered with kisses, leaving behind traces of your passage in the form of bruises he would be unable to hide after the facts. He heaved a sigh at the feeling of your hands on him, the wet sounds of your mouth making him harder than he already was. Before he could stop you, your wicked and sinful tongue languidly wrapped itself around the tip of his cock and he jerked involuntarily against you. He was about to speak, when you pulled him inside your mouth, your hands wandering down his shaft in leisured and measured caresses. He was speechless, mouth dry, running only on the sound of your ministrations and the pleasure it elicited in him.

The whimpers he let out could have made you come in an instant. As much as you liked pleasuring him, you could not wait any longer to have him inside you, rocking his hips violently against yours. You were more than ready for it.

He knew what you wanted the moment you stopped to hover above him, teasing his tip with your wet mound. He cursed under his breath, making you giggle. He loved that sound almost as much as the ones you made in pleasure.

Now, under him, his hair was tickling your breasts in an ever-languishingly slow dance as he positioned himself before you. One movement of his hips and he was inside you. After that, it was impossible to keep yourself from meeting him in rhythm with his thrusts, tearing your name out of him as many times as you could. Your hands were clawing at his back, earning grunts and moans from him. You could feel him hit that spot every time he dragged himself in and out, completely seethed into you, filling you up until you could not tell what day it was.

The rapidly growing coil inside of you finally snapped, your back arching against him, and your mouth opened in a cry. As he felt you clenching around him, his hips stopped and the warmth of his semen sept inside you.

Eomer stayed there, not moving. He met your eyes, a deep frown there and a smile on your face. How he had missed that smile in that light, in that bed, with the feeling of you all over him. He pulled out soon after, tucking you under his chin, the beddings spread around you, modesty long forgotten. The pad of his fingers was a little rough against your skin, leaving trails of shivers behind.

You warmed yourself up in his embrace, pulling a sheet up for good measure. No words were needed when he looked down at you, content and happy, sharing a tender kiss with him.

After that occurrence, you resumed your intercourses almost daily. If a meeting was boring him, he would sneak out and find you. It came to the point, when you were certain every person living within these walls had seen or heard you at some point. Including, to your greatest dismay, your parents.

Upon entering the second year of your marriage, you found yourself pregnant again. Not so unlike the first time, you knew that you were with child but somehow you knew you would bear the child into this world against all odds. Still, the sickness overcoming you, the first months were spent on bedrest, to your greatest regret.

Hilde kept you company while Sofia was talking your ear off about the gossip she’d heard. Your mother and Gera were more silent, always looking at your stomach as if in fear fate would repeat itself. Even when you told them it would not. Specifically, then.

When you finally managed to get up and eat food without rejecting everything afterwards, your routine came back. Cooking in the kitchens, seeing the orphanages and their occupants during their recess at school, eating with Eomer at dinner always, having him eat you out afterwards…

The first months of this pregnancy felt normal and safe. Your belly was growing more and more, your skin stretching, soft scars littering your otherwise unmarred skin. Eomer loved those scars. He said that they were proof of the proper growth inside of you and could not be more proud you wore them. You liked to think of them as traces of your upcoming motherhood and it made you so emotional, you cried a few times at unfortunate moments. Eomer had also learned that your appetite had multiplied as well as your tastes. Spicy food was all you wanted to eat and he had to find a way to get those for you, even in the middle of the night. Poor husband of yours did not know what to do with himself when you were looking at him with those pleading eyes.

A few days into your sixth month, while partaking in a new card game with your friends, you felt a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You had felt movement before but never like this. Somewhat akin to a cramp but not quite like it either. Worry started to grow, but your mother reassured you quickly.

“The baby is kicking my dear.”

The women around the table cooed, trying to get a feel of your stomach. Gera thwarted them all away, in her understanding that it had made her want to kick people when she was pregnant herself. Your mother wholeheartedly agreed.

When you told Eomer that very same day, he paled in an instant.

“May I?”

You nodded, smiling until it hurt. You could not be happier. He kneeled in front of your seat, before pressing his right hand against your swollen stomach. Nothing happened until they kicked again, where his hand was resting. He looked up, bewildered and amazed by the small action, left without words. He had the habit of talking to them before, but now, his instincts were completely going awry, scared to death for both your safeties.

“In the beginning, I felt as if it could still be ripped away from us so easily… But, when she started kicking I knew it was there. Happening. I knew I had to meet her and let her know that I would always be there for her… -How do you know it’s a girl?”

He had kissed your brow, eyes shining with something you did not know. “A hunch. She reaches for me as you do.”

“What do you mean?”

His gaze on you softened, a hand coming to rest on your ever-growing stomach.

“In your sleep, you reach out to me. She does the same thing.”

He kissed the palm of your hand, resting against his cheek, watching as you found yourself crying again, an occurrence he had come to know was harmless even if frequent during this pregnancy. Things were finally looking up. His eyes trailed down to your stomach again, placing a kiss there as a blessing. She was going to be just fine. He was sure of it.

Giving birth, as all the women around you had told you, was the worst part.

Specifically the part when you were begging for relief, Eomer holding one of your hands while your mother held the other the midwife telling you to push and push again as if you had not done it all already. And the worst part was that when your son was born, with light hair and soft eyes, perfect as he was, the pain was not over.

That moment led you to know that you had been pregnant with not one child but with two.

Eomer had been right. Your daughter reached for him the moment she laid eyes on him, and almost instantly stopped crying when carried into his arms.

Such a daddy’s girl, she was.

They would be growing up so fast. So soon.

You could not wait.

“Idis, Alaric, come back here!”

Eomer’s words were lost in the wind as his children ran down the hill, laughing at your slower pace.

“Let them. You know they always come back.

-I know.”

He kissed your brow gently, before changing his mind and whisking you up in his arms claiming your lips in a fiery embrace.

“Yet, they know how to get themselves into trouble quicker than even Eowyn’s son and that is saying something.

-I believe they inherited that from you.”

You smirked as he let you down. His eyes were still focused on the two silhouettes running in the grass, tackling on another to the ground.

“Idis, aim for the legs!”

You smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Don’t encourage them. Besides, I thought women had no place on the battlefield.”

Eowyn had told you about his words for her, years before. Neither of you, ever since he had a daughter, had let him live it down.

“Am I not allowed to change my mind?

-Or, Idis asked, and you yielded.”

He did not say anything, smiling against himself, but you could see the faint embarrassment in his eyes before he hid his face in the crook of your neck, quickly distracting you with feverish kisses.

“Eomer!”

The fact that the children were not far was a problem he did not seem very concerned with. Nor that you were already 5 months pregnant with the third one.

“It is entirely your fault I cannot keep up with the children we already have. Do you really want to aggravate your case?

-How is it my fault?”

In a gentle gesture, you put your hands around your belly. You came closer to him, whispering only for his ears to hear.

“I am pretty sure that you were the one who insisted on having another go with this. If I remember properly, you did everything you could to keep me in bed.

-As if you were resisting it in the first place.”

Faking exasperation, you shook your head at him. Before you could add to your aggravation with the man, your father appeared on the horizon, trotting to him on his horse. Once he reached you, he kissed your cheek tenderly and saluted his king.

“I am sorry to interrupt the family time but the emissaries have arrived.

-Eowyn and Faramir have arrived? I thought they were not due before tomorrow.

-Well yes and no. They arrived with company, and I am afraid that we’ll need more rooms.”

You exchanged a look with Eomer before you called back the children once more, this time bribing them with horses time. And grandpa. They adored their grandpa and it was adorable to see them run circles around the man.

“Well, I assume two Hobbits are in the midst?

-Yes, my lord.

-As well as a family of Gondor’s royalty?

-Yes, indeed my lord.” Eomer met your eyes, as you tried to keep the children from climbing the horse all on their own. You laughed at his bewildered face.

“That is all?

-Well, not exactly. You see, the Hobbits seem to have brought with them their families and Hobbits have very extended families. As well as numerous friends, such as a famous fellowship, they organized to reunite here.”

Before he could implode under the implications it would have, you stopped your husband’s train of thoughts.

“Eomer, I have organized for this. We were warned by your sister so I prepared the castle accordingly. She mentioned not telling you about it, but I fear you might faint if the surprise lasts any longer.

-You knew?”

His eyes grew serious. The children knew it all too well. It was these eyes they saw when they misbehaved.

“Ohoh, Mum’s in trouble.” Idis laughed behind her grandpa’s legs. He picked her up with some difficulty, holding her on his side. Elfhelm smirked at her reaction. “Yes, Mum is indeed in trouble. Come on little beasts, let’s get on grandpa’s horse and go back to the castle alright?”

Cries of glee erupted from the twins as he settled Idis in front and Alaric behind her. The three of them seemed rather amused by the situation, laughing as they trotted back towards the castle’s entrance.

You were now face to face with Eomer’s stern looks.

“You are in so much trouble.”

Your King was a lot of things but a skilled liar was not one of them. Soon, his face broke out in a mischievous smile, and you bolted knowing all too well what it meant.

He caught up with incredibly fast, tumbling you both down in the wild flowers, although he made sure he would be taking the most of the fall. Your wrists ended up loosely pinned to the ground, your husband looking down at you, an arched brow and that air about him that made you doubt you’d ever fall out of love with him. Pure adoration was not too much of a word to use when it came down to that face. It looked like your own, of that you were sure.

“What can I do to get out of this trouble, my lord.

-You know I hate it when you call me that and for that you shall pay.”

He smothered you kisses, tickling your sides until you were both breathless besides one another. Eomer’s fingertips traced down the shape of your face softly, before you cupped his hand with your own.

“We should be going.

-No.

-Eomer…

-No, I want to keep looking at you like this for as long as I can.”

He shushed you with a kiss you would not forget soon, cradling your face and neck with his hands, warm and flush against your skin.

This was a moment you would never forget, for all the moments with him were memorable. Everything you had lived through, the heartbreak and the harshness of parenthood sometimes, the loss of your mother a year after giving birth. Now you knew. Of all the marriages you could have had, only wishing for contentment for this one was a mistake, for you were happy and no one could take it away from your family. Not now, not ever.

For as long as you had each other, the story would continue and you would be alright.

Always.

#lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine #eomer x reader #eomer x f!reader #tw: sex #tw: miscarriage #tw: pregnancy #tw: birth #tw: blood #tw: mental health issues

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snowe-zolynn-rogers · 1 year

Text

Eclipse, who is pregnant because of the star: Am I fat?

Moon, stunned: Sun, how do I respond to that?

Sun: How should I know!?

Earth: Of course not, Eclipse. You look fine. It’s not fat, it’s the baby growing! It’s healthy for the baby to get bigger!

Eclipse: But I look so big...

Earth: And that’s fine, you’re heavily pregnant. Obviously it’s a bit troubling for you, but you look perfectly fine and it’s completely healthy.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #sun and moon show #sams #fnaf eclipse #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf earth #incorrect sun and moon show quotes #incorrect sams quotes #incorrect fnaf quotes #incorrect quotes #source: my brain #extra post #tw self image issue mention #tw body insecurity mention #tw pregnancy mention #tw insecurity mention

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compassionatereminders · 5 months

Note

Tw weight loss tw pregnancy tw eating disorder mention

Ugh Kat I need some you-brand positivity. I've struggled with eating disorders for years (not eating enough, binging and eating too much, eating things that aren't food) I've lost 25lbs in 10wks from being so sick while pregnant (and I'm doing better now!) keeping food down etc, but God I need some positive reinforcement today

Aww, I'm so sorry you've been struggling to eat! I am sending you lots of love and I really hope this eases up soon so that you can enjoy this journey! You're making a whole new person and it's not like that automatically cancels your existing mental health issues out, so please try to go easy on yourself! And can I just say congratulations?? Like wow. A baby on the way?! That's really big and I wish you all the best! You'll make it through this pregnancy and it'll be SO worth it! I'm sure of it. And I'll be sending all my love ❤️

#chat with kat #pregnancy tw #eating disorders tw #weight tw #food issues tw

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criminalmindsgonewrong · 1 year

Text

nature vs nurture

a hotchner's future au fic. wordcount: 5.7k

emily is trying to be a good mother, but she never had a good example to learn from.

elizabeth comes to visit after ava is born

tw: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of trouble conceiving

Read on AO3, fanfiction.net or under the cut

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"There, there," Emily soothed, running her hand gently up and down her newborn daughter's back. Bouncing on the pregnancy ball, the only thing that had brought her any relief as she had neared fullterm, she had hoped that the familiar sensation would soothe Ava, as it used to when she was in-utero, but, so far, no dice. Emily persisted, though, switching up the position she held Ava in. She moved her daughter from her shoulder, unstrapping her maternity bra and holding Ava nestled against her chest, hoping the skin-to-skin contact, and the scent of her mother, might calm the crying child. Still, Ava went on screeching. Emily closed her eyes, breathing steadily out through her nose and tilting her face up towards the ceiling, determined not to cry. No, she had done enough of that in the past few days.

Getting pregnant had been a chore; she and Aaron, it felt like, were having sex at every opportunity and still, nothing happened for the longest time. Emily had been convinced she was infertile, and wouldn't even have been surprised, after all of the explosions, gun-shots, chairlegs and beatings she'd been through. After eleven long months of negative pregnancy tests, unwanted periods and disappointed tears, though, finally, those two little lines had shown up and a relief the likes of which she had never known flooded Emily's being.

She hadn't stopped crying since.

The littlest things could set her off, from Aaron accidentally ordering her the wrong takeout order to Jack winning one of his football matches. Towards the end of her pregnancy, he had actually banned her from attending games - by that point she was so big that she couldn't do much more than waddle, anyway, and standing for too long made her ache all over, so she didn't really mind all that much, but she still cried when Aaron told her.

That was a month ago, and, three weeks later, Ava made her squawking, mewling way into the world and it seemed that the phrase like mother, like daughter was all too true for them because she hadn't stopped crying since either, and everytime Ava cried, one of two things happened. Emily started leaking, either from her eyes or from her boobs.

As she bounced on the birthing ball and tried to breathe her way through the tears that threatened, she felt the hot trail of milk that slowly leaked out of her, and then she couldn't hold back tears anymore.

"Hey," Aaron said, rushing into the room armed with the diaper and wipes she'd sent him out for, "I was just checking on Jack, I'm sorry." He said, misinterpreting her tears, but Emily shook her head.

"Can you-you get me a t-towel?" She stutered her way through her sentence, the sympathy on her husband's face only making her cry harder, and, feeling useless, Aaron did the only thing he could, which was what she had asked for. He hurried into their en-suite, grabbing one of the microfibre towels, the good, soft ones, from the cupboard and came back to kneel in front of his wife and daughter. Lovingly, he mopped up the milk and then fastened her maternity bra back up for her, careful not to disturb Ava, who was still crying.

"Did you try her…?" Aaron asked, and then trailed off at the expression on Emily's face, the one that said she might rip his head off if he finished that sentence. "Of course you did. Sorry, sweetheart."

Emily, though, shook her head, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you," She said, and supported Ava with one arm, making sure she was secure before reaching for Aaron. He understood and took her hand, helping her stand off of the ball and leading her to the bed, where Emily painfully lowered herself onto it, still tender from the birth, "Oh, please, close the door before she wakes Jack up."

Aaron had the same thought at the same moment, and was already turning as she made the request. "This won't last forever," he reassured her, making his way back to the bed and rubbing Emily's back in much the same way as Emily had done to Ava, trying to soothe her.

"Do you remember Jack crying this much?" Emily dug around in Ava's blankets, finding her pacifier and once again gently tapping it against her infant's lips, but Ava wiggled her head back and forth as best as she could, and only mewled louder, rejecting the pacifier, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry." Emily said, feeling tears threaten once more, and swallowing down the lump that had risen in her throat. She felt, not for the first time, at a complete loss, unable to determine what her daughter needed at any given moment. This learning curve was the steepest she had ever encountered, and Emily felt like she was faltering with every step she took..

She looked at Aaron with eyes that sparkled like glass, "She hates me," she said, with a sadness so profound that it made him gape at her.

"No, sweetheart, no," He wrapped his arms around them both, pulling his wife and daughter into his chest, "Don't ever think that."

"What's wrong with me," Emily sobbed, her words muffled by Aaron's chest, "that I can't even comfort my own baby?"

Between them, Ava was still crying, and Emily pulled out of Aaron's arms, making to stand up, meaning to pace back and forth in the hopes that a different motion might soothe her, but Aaron stopped her.

"Let me?" He asked, searching his wife's eyes.

Emily had been reluctant to let go of Ava, even to him, since she was born and she appreciated that he asked, even if he was her father. Of course she trusted him, but Ava was the most precious thing she'd ever seen, ever held, and to let her go for even a moment, even to her father, was like physical torment. Right now, though, after Ava had been screaming for almost two hours, the relief of being slightly further away from her noise overcame that pain easily, and she let Aaron gently lift the baby from her arms.

She watched as he nestled Ava into the crook of his elbow, holding her tight to his chest. She was a tiny baby, but she looked even smaller in Aaron's muscular arms, truly like a little doll. It made something inside of Emily ache.

"That's nature's trick," she commented, narrowing her eyes as she wiped her nose on back of her hand, frowning at him.

Aaron looked at her, halted his attempts at soothing their daughter to raise his eyebrows at her, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips, "What?"

"How good men look with babies." Even though Emily couldn't even think about having sex with him without wincing right now, something inside of her tugged at the sight of him holding the tiny bundle, comforting their child with soft words and looking down at her with such adoration, "Tricks you into having more."

Aaron smiled at her, showing his perfect teeth, then turned that smile down onto their daughter. Emily marvelled, not for the first time, at his patience. She loved Ava with everything she had, but she was ready to jam a screwdriver into her eardrum right about now, just for the bliss of the silence.

"She's brand new," Aaron was saying, "Being born is traumatic. Everything is new and big and scary," he rocked, side to side, creating a rhythm, "I know you don't like it right now," he wasn't talking to her anymore, but to Ava, "but you will. I promise you will."

Ava paused for a moment to look at her father, blinking bleary eyes at him, still unable, Emily knew, to see clearly. That, she thought, must be scary enough in itself.

"You know what used to work for Jack?" Hotch said, looking up at her. Tiredly, Emily raised her eyebrows at him. "A bath."

"See? Works everytime."

His fingertips stroked over their daughter's tiny, dark head, her hair wet from the water and plastered flat. She rested on Emily's chest, her tiny fist furling and unfurling against her mother's skin. The water was just the right temperature, a little cold for Emily, perhaps, but perfect for the baby, and her mother's heart beat steadily and surely beneath her ear, as comforting as it had been when she lived inside Emily's body.

"You're a genius," Emily whispered, smiling at her husband, the silence making her ears buzz. Ava's eyes had fluttered closed, along with her fist, and she didn't open them or unfurl them, but instead began a slow and steady breathing that told her parents she had, finally, fallen asleep.

There was a long beat of silence. Then Emily looked at him and said, "What now?"

Kneeling beside the bath, Aaron's shoulders started to shake as he tried to laugh silently, and Emily held Ava's head gently as she did the same, trying to keep as still as she could while giggling, so as not to disturb her daughter.

The next morning, Ava woke them with a cry, as had become the custom, as was normal for a baby her age. It was 5:30am. All in all, her parents had four hours of sleep between them. They tried to nap alternately, but realistically when one was awake, so was the other, and the morning was the same story, so when Ava's cries woke Emily, Aaron was up a few seconds later.

By lunch time, they were both yawning.

"Kids are hard," Emily whined, resting her chin on Aaron's shoulder as she curled her fingers around the mug of coffee she had been reheating and trying to drink since 7am. Ava, blissfully, was taking a nap in her swing, a song that Emily already knew would be haunting her dreams playing for the seventh time in a row. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only one that Ava found appealing and so, like all new parents, they were putting up with it until further notice. Or until the batteries ran out.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed, just as sleepily, as Jack came bounding into the room with an energy his parents couldn't possibly hope to match.

"Grandma's here," he announced, and they both stared at him in confusion. Impatient, he repeated, "Grandma's here! In the car!"

"My mom?" Emily said, frowning in confusion.

"Has to be. Highly doubt it's mine, or he'd be screaming in terror since she's been dead for twenty years." Aaron replied, standing up from the barstool. There were milkstains on his t-shirt, Emily noticed, and, looking down at her own, she saw that she, too, was covered in them. She also noticed a stain that looked suspiciously like milk-sick, but didn't inspect it too much. Instead, she grabbed a hoodie from the pile of laundry she had been meaning to get to for four days, and tugged it over her head, trying to make herself look at least half presentable.

"Can't we send her away?" Aaron suggested, half-heartedly, already aware of how much of a losing battle that would be.

"It's better if we just let her in, let her see the baby, and then, once she's had her fill, we won't have to see her for about five years. Hopefully." Emily asserted, attempting to fluff her hair in the microwave's reflection before giving up and tugging it up into a bumpy ponytail, fastening it with the hairtie that had been around her wrist.

The doorbell went and they both turned as though it were the cock of a gun.

"I'll get it," Aaron groaned, and Emily shot him a grateful smile, heading straight into the living room to where Ava was in her swing and Jack was sitting at the dining room table, drawing.

"Jack," she said, walking over to him and putting a gentle hand on his hair, stroking it, lovingly, "Don't take too much notice of anything Grandma says, okay?"

Jack looked up at her with curious blue eyes, but she just smiled at him, a smile that fell from her face as soon as she heard the tell tale click-clack on her hardwood floors, the soundtrack of her childhood, the noise that ominously announced the approach of her mother.

"Emily, my darling," Elizabeth swanned into the room, arms open wide, like the loving and affectionate mother she never had been, and enveloped Emily in a hug that felt all wrong and unfamiliar. Over her shoulder, she caught Aaron's eye, and he just shrugged as she furrowed her brows at him, "How are you?"

Shoving her away, Elizabeth held her at arms length, "You look tired."

"I just had a baby, mom," Emily said, deadpan, not at all shocked that the first words out of Elizabeth's mouth could be classified as an insult.

"Oh, yes, my first grandchild," Elizabeth clapped her hands together and Emily ground her teeth together.

"Second," she corrected, wrapping her arm securely around Jack's shoulders.

"Oh, of course, of course," Elizabeth waved a hand, as though to waft away her earlier words, "Jack, how are you?"

Her tone was as it had always been with children; formal and awkward. Jack looked from Elizabeth up to Emily, who gave him a small smile, a reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze into her side.

"I'm okay, grandma," he said, politely, "How are you?"

"Dying to meet my granddaughter," as tone deaf as ever, Elizabeth beamed at Emily, who felt something like possession curl in her chest as she saw the hungry look on Elizabeth's face, and she knew, she had known, the strange ownership Elizabeth already felt for Ava, a child she hadn't even met yet. She wanted, then, to send Eliazabeth away, to keep Ava for herself. She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what was about to come out of it, but Aaron beat her to it.

"She's over here," he said, from behind her mother, and Elizabeth turned on her heels. Emily followed, right behind her.

The granddaughter in question was stirring, her lullaby having finished, and Emily, supporting herself on the arm of the sofa, knelt slowly down beside the swing and fiddled with the buttons until the song began again.

"Oh," Elizabeth looked down at the tiny bundle, as Emily put gentle fingers on Ava's tiny hand, lowering the arm that had been raised to cover her little face. "She's beautiful," Elizabeth whispered, "Emily, she looks just like you."

And Emily thought that might be the nicest thing her mother had ever said to her. She beamed with pride, staring at the tiny girl in the swing.

Before Ava, Emily was the type of person to say that all newborns looked the same. If somebody had shown her a photograph of Jack at one week old, and Henry at one week old, she was certain she wouldn't be able to tell them apart, regardless of how much she loved them both. Ava, however, was a different story entirely. Ava was the most beautiful newborn she had ever seen, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that were already the same deep brown as both of her parents and therefore, Emily assumed, likely to stay that way. Her pale little eyebrows arched angelically over her eyes, and, already, her eyelashes were shockingly long - the abundance of hair her daughter already had accounted for the heartburn Emily had suffered with throughout the second and third trimester.

She gently pulled back her finger and Ava once again lifted her arm to cover her face, fussing a little in the chair, unhappy about being disturbed.

"She won't stay settled for much longer," Aaron said, knowingly, "Elizabeth, can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, tea." There was no please, and Aaron raised an eyebrow at Emily, who just tilted her head, apologetically, and widened her eyes. He understood her even without words.

Let's just get through this.

"Mom, I wish you'd told us you were going to drop by," Emily said, as Aaron lef the room. The scolding was barely disguised, but Elizabeth either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. She sat herself down on the sofa, but Emily stayed on the carpet beside Ava, wanting to be the closest one to her when she inevitably started crying, wanting, if she was honest with herself, to pick her up before Elizabeth tried to reach for her.

"I'm your mother, Emily, I don't need an announcement," Elizabeth waved away her words, and then added, "Or an invite." She pursed her lips with disapproval, clearly telling her daughter off in not as many words. Emily immediately felt the need to make excuses, a reminder that even as a grown woman, she hadn't escaped the effect her mother always seemed to have on her, of making her feel like a misbehaving child.

"We're just, we weren't having guests during these first two weeks," Emily said, tiredly, folding her own hands in her lap, "The house is a mess, we're all so exhausted. We've just been settling in with the baby-"

"Nonesense," Elizabeth let out a sharp laugh as Aaron entered the room with her tea, and Ava jumped, her grandmother's laugh effectively ending her nap. Startled, she began to cry as Elizabeth continued, seemingly oblivious, "I was on a plane to Munich two days after giving birth to you."

"Yes, mother, I know," Emily said, tersely, as she reached her hands into the swing, unbuckling the baby and fastening them securely around Ava. She lifted her out of the chair, immediately pulling Ava to her chest. Emily made soothing noises, picking up the pacifier Ava had spat out and putting it into her own mouth as she adjusted her daughter in her arms.

"You shouldn't do that, you know," And here it was, Emily thought, as she met Aaron's eyes over Elizabeth's head, the real reason they hadn't invited her; the unsolicited advice she was about to give that would make Emily's blood boil, because, really, who was Elizabeth to give anybody parenting advice, let alone the daughter she hadn't raised?

Neither Emily nor Aaron prompted her to continue, as he passed Elizabeth her tea and Emily stared, intently, at the babe in her arms, pretending she hadn't heard her mother at all, but Elizabeth went on, anyway.

"Pick her up as soon as she cries, I mean-thank you, Aaron, dear," She took the tea from him and immediately set it down onto the coffee table. Aaron frowned, picked it up again, set a coaster beneath it, and set the mug on top of the coaster. He wiped at the ringmark with his hand, aware of how crazy it would drive his wife, "You're teaching her bad habits."

"Bad habits?" Emily frowned, casting Elizabeth a glance, swaying her hips on the spot, a state that had become second nature to her already, "Mom, she's a week old."

"Nonetheless, if you let her manipulate you like that, you'll regret it," Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, with an air of superiority, as she brought her tea to her lips and Emily found herself wishing she would scald herself, but instead she just blew on her tea, "Give into her now and you'll be doing it for the rest of her life."

Emily bit her tongue, exhaling, hard, through her nose. She found Aaron's eyes, and, seeing the upset there, he turned to Jack.

"Hey, buddy, why don't you take your colours upstairs for a bit and let the grownups talk, huh?" Jack, who liked to spend most of his time in his room anyway, shrugged and gathered up his crayons and paper, obeying his father almost immediately. As soon as he was out of earshot, Emily raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth, feeling triumphant.

"See that?" She said, "Does it look like we let Jack walk all over us?"

Elizabeth, though, shrugged, "Perhaps his mother knew, as I do, the best way to raise a child. Sometimes you have to let them cry it out, Emily, look I'll show you. Here, here," Elizabeth advanced and before Emily could protest, she was lifting Ava's tiny body out of her arms. Something inside of Emily wanted to snap, as Ava wriggled in midair, and a maternal instinct so primal and violent rose to the surface with a velocity so shocking that it scared her. Emily only just managed to restrain herself, clenching her fists and her jaw, in time to hold herself back from physically attacking her mother, reminding herself over and over that Ava wasn't in any danger.

She caught Aaron's eyes over her mother's shoulder, and knew her own were panicked, even as she tried to maintain her calm.

"Let's just put you down here. Your mother is going to spoil you, isn't she?" Elizabeth spoke to her granddaughter in the same tone she used with Jack; a matter-of-fact, business-like tone that one might use with employees or colleagues, but certainly not grandchildren. As always, it grated on Emily. It was the tone of her childhood, and she didn't like it any better now than she had back then. "I mean, really, Emily, who knows more about raising children, you or I?"

"Emily has been raising Jack since-"

"Oh, pish, children are different to babies, Aaron, you know that," Elizabeth cut across him, curtly. Emily squeezed her fists at her side, eyes on Ava, who was wriggling in the swing, crying openly now. Elizabeth, though, folded her arms pertly across her chest and fixed Emily with a stare. "See? It's not hurting her to have a little cry, is it, Em? And it's not hurting you, either."

Emily, though, begged to differ as she felt the familiar ache in her breasts that always accompanied her daughter's cries. She sighed, heavily, and stepped forwards, unable to listen to Ava cry without at least trying to comfort her.

"Mother," Emily said, trying her hardest, and surprisingly succeeding, to keep her voice level as she reached back into the swing and lifted her crying daughter out of it, "My daughter is a week old-"

"Well, regardless-" Elizabeth began, but Emily spoke over her, still keeping her voice level. All too aware of how her own moods could affect the child in her arms, she tried to maintain what little sense of calm that she had right now, but felt on the edge of an eruption.

"No, mother," she said, levelly, "Ava is one. Week. Old. She is a baby." She emphasised the word, as though to remind her "She does not understand what it meant to 'manipulate'," Emily added a little extra venom to the word, even as she stroked a gentle hand down her infant's back, "She didn't ask to be born. We made that choice, Aaron and I, we brought her here. She didn't know hunger or pain or anything uncomfortable until I decided to have her, because I selfishly desired a baby. And we are her only source of comfort in a world she doesn't understand yet. Why the fuck would we deny her that?"

Elizabeth flinched at the curse, but Emily didn't back down, her eyes blazing, a stark contrast to the care with which she held her child. From where he stood, a few paces behind Elizabeth, Hotch looked on, approvingly. He had been about to step in when Emily proved that he didn't need to; she had been dealing with Elizabeth her whole life. Even now, emotional and full of post-partum hormones, she didn't need him to fight her battles.

"She cannot, does not know how to, 'manipulate' me." She said, with a finality. Elizabeth looked on with disapproval, her lips pursed, "And if she wants me to hold her every goddamn minute of the twenty-four hours in a day, then I'll bloody well do so, mother. Even if that does mean 'spoiling' her."

Ava was squawling now, truly screeching, and Emily sighed, heavily, her eyes blazing when she looked at her mother, "And thank you, for this."

She stalked from the room, Ava's cries growing more faint as she stomped up the stairs. Aaron watched his wife go, and then turned his gaze on Elizabeth, who looked at him, her finely stencilled eyebrows raised.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Shortly after that, Elizabeth made her leave. She looked pretty put out as she stalked down the garden path, Aaron waving to her from the door. He really wanted to slam it on her, but knew that Emily would appreciate him trying to keep the peace. She had been arguing with her mother her whole life, it was an integral part of their dynamic. It would be a whole different story if he started to argue with Elizabeth, too, and he knew Emily wouldn't appreciate it, so he bit his tongue and made nice on her behalf.

But he did breathe a sigh of relief when he closed the door and she was gone. It was like a dark cloud was lifted from the house.

He looked up the stairs, and softly called out, "Emily?" As he began to climb them.

Ducking his head into Jack's room, his son looked up at him from the carpet with a smile. He lay on his stomach, kicking his legs back and forth as he drew pictures.

"Hey, buddy," Aaron said, "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Jack nodded, "Did grandma leave?"

"She did," Aaron nodded, stepping into the room, "Yeah, I don't think we'll see her for a while."

"Good," Jack said, then looked thoughtfully down at the paper in front of him. When he met Aaron's eyes again, it was with the sort of startling clarity that a seven year old shouldn't have, "She makes Emmy sad."

Sad, nod mad. Not even after he'd heard Emily's raised voice towards her mother did Jack think badly of her. Perhaps, Aaron thought, not for the first time, profiling skills could be inherited, afterall.

"Emmy is okay," Aaron said, reassuring him, "She's just tired."

As if on cue, Jack yawned, and then Aaron did, too.

"Ava doesn't sleep good." Jack pointed out, matter-of-factly, and Aaron smiled.

"Not yet, but she will," as he said it, he hoped it was true, and then turned, "I'm going to check on Emmy, okay?"

"Okay." Jack said, turning back to the drawing. Aaron looked at it, and saw that it was a bassinet, holding a tiny little person with a pink bow. He smiled, love for his son sharp in his chest, and pulled the door as he stepped out into the hallway and made his way to the master bedroom.

"Em?" He said, softly, as he pushed the door open, half expecting to find both of his girls asleep, since he couldn't hear Ava's cries. The bedroom, though, was empty. He frowned, and called to her again, "Em?"

"In here." The soft call came from the bathroom, was barely audible, and Hotch followed her voice, stopping in the doorway at what he saw.

Emily, fully clothed, laying in the bath with Ava on her chest.

"I didn't think it would work without the water," she whispered, eyes downcast on her daughter's head as she stroked a gentle finger over Ava's crown, "But I got in anyway, just to try it. I was going to turn on the water, but she stopped crying almost instantly."

With a smile, Aaron settled himself down onto the toilet lid, clasping his hands in front of himself as he looked at his two girls. Emily didn't look particularly comfortable, but he knew better than to ask to take Ava right now, knew that she was bringing Emily as much comfort as Emily was bringing her.

Instead, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Emily waited a moment before answering, and Hotch saw the tension in her brow as she tried to find the right words. Eventually, she inhaled, slowly, and let all of the air go before answering him, "She just infuriates me."

"I know," he nodded, completely understanding, "I know. She always manages to say the wrong thing."

"It's not even that," Emily began, "I mean, yes, you're right, she does that, too, but it's more than that." She shook her head, started to say, "It's stupid-" but Aaron cut her off.

"It's not stupid," he said, earnestly, "It's not stupid, Em. Talk to me."

She fixed him with a stare, then, and he knew he was the person she trusted most in the world, knew she would lay down her life for him, that she would trust him to do the same for her, but there were still aspects of her life she hadn't completely shared with him yet, and her childhood was one of them. He knew the basics, knew the bones of the sore relationship she had with her mother, but the rest of it, the intricate details that patterned together to illustrate her tapestry of hurt, she kept closer to her heart than she should, close enough that it still huirt.

"She rushed to see Ava," she started, slowly, "She tried to tell me how to parent, tried to tell me what's best for my baby, because she has Ava's best interests at heart," Aaron scoffed and Emily rolled her eyes, "Or, she thinks she does." Again, she shrugged, "I don't know. I suppose I'm… jealous."

"Of Ava?" Aaron kept his face impassive, working hard to understand where she was coming from.

"Yeah," Emily touched her nose to her daughter's head, breathing in the evolutionarily enticing scent of baby that made her head rush and her heart swell, "Seems my mom cares more about her than she ever did about me." She looked up at Aaron, desperation in her eyes as she realised what she'd admitted out loud, "And, of course, I want people to-I want you to love her more than you love me, but-my own mother?" Her brows sloped down, confusion mingling with all of her other emotions, and he saw a twinge of guilt there, too, "Why couldn't she have loved me as much as she loves Ava?"

Aaron knew how much it took for her to say that; everything. Even before Ava, Emily couldn't admit how much she had craved her mother's love, as a child and into her adult years. She never spoke of how it hurt, Elizabeth's indifference, but he knew. He'd seen it in the way she still searched for her mother's approval, even as she simultaneously pushed away from her. He'd seen it in the way she always sent Elizabeth birthday and Christmas cards, even though she never got those in return. He'd seen it when Emily was in labour, when she cried out for her mother, and then made no mention of it afterwards.

He nodded. Even if nobody else would have understood, he did. He understood everything about her, everything she let him in on. He made it his mission to understand her, to help her.

"It's not crazy," Aaron said, shaking his head, "And it's not selfish. And it doesn't make you a bad mother, or mean you love her any less," At this, he exhaled, a short laugh of air, "God, no one could accuse you of not loving her, Em. I saw you when your mom took her from you. I thought we were going to be cleaning up a murder scene."

Emily raised one eyebrow, thinking back on the primal instinct that had grasped hold of her, "We almost were," she muttered, darkly, and Aaron laughed, again.

"See," he said, "You love her. You love her like a mother should. You're not the one who's wrong here, Em." His tone turned serious, as did his eyes, as he implored her to understand, "Your mom is. Every child deserves a mother who loves them as much as you love Ava, as much as you love Jack."

At this, she looked up at him, craning her neck, which was growing sore against the porcelain of the bath. There was an innocence, a sadness, in her eyes that he knew was much more to do with her exhaustion than it was to do with her interaction with Elizabeth. Her lack of sleep and her influx of hormones were catching up with her, and her bottom lip wobbled, adorably, when she spoke.

"I love them so much," she said, her voice cracking, "I just…I don't want to be like her."

"You're not," Aaron replied, instantly, shaking his head and, standing up off of the toilet seat, he reached down to take Ava from her chest. Emily didn't protest, and Ava didn't stir. Aaron leaned back, balancing her, instead, on his own chest. Supporting her with one hand, he offered Emily the other and she hauled herself out of the tub.

"Come on," he told her, "You should sleep while she sleeps."

"I won't be able to sleep," Emily said, sadly, even as she yawned, as widely as Jack had.

"Sure you will," Aaron pressed a kiss to her temple as they walked towards the bed, "Sleep now. We'll continue the fight against generational trauma tomorrow."

Emily punched him, lightly in the ribs, "Shut up," she said, but she was smiling, and she lay down as he pulled back the comforter for her. "I love you."

"We love you, too, mommy."

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#emily prentiss has mommy issues #and not the sexy kind #nature vs nurture #one shot #hotchners future au #hotchniss future au #ava hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #hotchniss #fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #ao3 #ff.net #elizabeth prentiss #tw mentions of pregnancy #tw mentions of trouble conceiving

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