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tropes-and-tales · 1 month

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Ten Months as Yours

Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

CW: Angst (reader is CIA and has feelings about it; failed first marriages; talk of Catholicism); smut (oral, m! and f! receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 10,951

AN: This was from an "Arranged Marriage" prompt list. An anon asked for it, and it was supposed to incorporate dates where the couple gets to know each other. I, an idiot, didn't remember that until nearly the end, but if you kind of squint, you can see it.

AN2: Not edited. Not even a little bit.

AN3: Sigh. I dunno, folks. It's whatever.

Horacio Carrillo’s first marriage was standard Catholic fare: the reading of the banns beforehand, then the long wedding Mass. Heavy on the incense, crowded church, a red-faced priest droning through the Gospel. Juliana, his blushing bride in a heavy lace veil, clutching a bouquet of lilies already wilted and brown at the edges in the Colombian heat.

Then, years later, the dissolution of that marriage. Papers signed separately in the presence of lawyers after an ice age formed between the couple. Then more years of Horacio being single again, but the time slipped by like water. He was so busy with work, he hardly registered the empty house he returned to every evening.

Horacio Carrillo’s second marriage is something else entirely.

It’s not, strictly or spiritually speaking, a real marriage. It’s a bit of maneuvering on the part of the U.S. government, logistical choreography as part of a larger plan. To the world at large, Horacio Carrillo is dead: murdered by Escobar’s men in a trap. Only a handful of people know the truth—the doctor and nurses at the American hospital who healed him under a temporary alias. And this man, Johnson, a U.S. Marshal and handler for the U.S. Witness Protection program

Johnson is the sole witness to this so-called marriage, if one could even call it that. It happens on the cargo plane from Bogota to Atlanta. Johnson sits in the jump seat across from his two charges: Horacio…and you.

Horacio doesn’t even learn your real name. There’s no exchange of vow and certainly no incense or bouquet of lilies. Instead of a blushing bride, there’s a silent one. Your mouth is set in a thin, straight line as you listen to Johnson’s rundown of your new life, and every time Horacio chances a look at you, he only sees the tension in you. Grim-set mouth, clenched jaw…and the white edge of a bandage on your temple, mostly hidden under the sweep of your hair.

Horacio wonders if you’re dead to the world too. You aren’t DEA or CIA, at least not in the Colombian theater, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t nearby. The U.S. agencies have their sticky fingers all over South America.

The broad strokes of the situation: you and Horacio are newlyweds. You met in Spain and are returning to the U.S. Horacio is dead, but he’s been replaced by Davide, and Johnson hands over a thick packet of official documents—Spanish birth certificate, Spanish passport, U.S. green card.

You are also dead, but you’ve been replaced by Gwen. Another thick packet of documents detailing your fake life as an ex-pat American in Spain.

Each packet also contains a simple gold band for each of you. Horacio turns it over and over in his hand, contemplates the little twist he gets in his gut to put a ring back on his finger after years of being divorced.

You slide yours on too, but you fuss with it the rest of the flight, twisting it around and around your finger.

“You’re going to Vermont, of all places,” Johnson tells you. “There’s a mid-sized college there with a lot of international folk coming and going, so you’ll blend in. The house is handled, and you’ll get a stipend every month, but we expect you to find jobs as quickly as you can.”

Johnson doesn’t even attempt to say how long it will be. Horacio knows he has to wait out Escobar before he can return to Colombia. You? Who can say?

The rest of the flight is silent except for the low roar of the engines and the creak of the netting holding the cargo in place. Once you land, you stand and follow Johnson and Horacio off of the plane to transfer to a smaller passenger plane that will take you to Vermont.

The final leg of the journey is silent too.

When you deplane in the small regional airport in Vermont, you stumble on the step down from the fuselage. Horacio catches your arm, keeps you upright.

“Watch your step,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” you reply.

It’s the first words you exchange, and his hand on your clothed arm—that’s the first time he touches you.

-----

Horacio has never been to the United States before, but when he thinks of it, he thinks of what he’s seen in the movies: New York City, perhaps, with the traffic and skyscrapers and Statue of Liberty. Or Miami with its white beaches and turquoise water and neon-tinged nightlife.

Vermont is something else.

It’s green. Everything is so green. The rounded mountains in the distance, the old trees with huge, spreading branches. The grass of the lawns in this college town. Even though it is near twilight, even the shadows are green-tinged as the sun sets.

“At least we arrived in the spring,” you say. You glance at him, explain that New England winters can be brutal.

The house is small, trim. It’s a simple ranch but well-built. There’s a fair amount of land, and the nearest neighbors are far enough away that there’s privacy.

Of course it’s awkward. You don’t know each other at all, and you’re both in hiding. Horacio is out of habit with living with another person, and he has to guess you are too.

That first night, the first moment of awkwardness: when you arrive at the house, there’s two bedrooms, and you both hesitate in the hallway that leads to both. You’re married on paper (kinda) but who would expect you to share a bed? But you’re also both exhausted, and Horacio takes in the dark circles under your eyes. The larger room has a full-sized bed, but the guest only has an uncomfortable-looking daybed.

“Take the master bedroom,” he says. “I’ll take the guest room.”

“You sure?” Your words, Horacio notices, are slightly accented, like you’ve been around people like him who speak English as a second language. He wonders about your past and what landed you here with him.

“Of course. Take the room. We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod, and he glances down at where you twist that gold band over and over around your slim finger. It’s here, he’ll realize later, that he starts to feel something for you, but at the moment, it’s only sympathy. You’re trapped in the same miserable situation as him, so sympathy is an easy emotion to access.

“I appreciate it…Davide,” you reply, and you give him a nod, then turn in for the night. He hears the quiet click of the bedroom door as you shut it, and he turns in too. The daybed is cramped, and he can’t stretch out completely, but he’s so bone-tired that he’s asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.

-----

The first month, April.

It’s awkward. It’s more awkward for Horacio; everything in the U.S. is familiar, but just different enough to make it seem like he’s dreaming. You’re already an American, and life in an idyllic New England college town is easier for you to settle into.

Living with another person is strange. Horacio finds that the two of you engage in a civil, stilted dance each day that first month. You each tiptoe around the other, defer to each other in a painfully polite way. When Horacio catches you singing along softly to the radio one night, you snap the music off and go quiet. When you walk in on him in the bathroom once—he was only brushing his teeth, so it is hardly salacious—you apologize and refuse to meet his eyes for the rest of the week.

The two of you don’t really talk, not that first month. You aren’t supposed to share details about your real lives with each other, so neither of you know how to converse in the weird liminal space you find yourselves. Your conversations are limited to menial topics. The weather, the house and yard, what you each want for dinner that night. You trade off chores, you drift around each other, and it’s like living in purgatory with another ghost.

Sometimes, Horacio swears he can hear you crying softly through the wall that separates your room from his, but you never offer any insight into your feelings and he doesn’t ask.

-----

The second month, May.

Johnson told each of you to find work, and you land a job first: you get a position at the college. You ask him, a bit shy, if you can take a certain portion of the monthly stipend to buy some new clothes for your office job, and Horacio’s gut does that twist again. Of course you need new clothes. You left wherever with nothing, the same way he left Colombia with nothing.

“Of course,” he says. “You don’t even need to ask.”

That makes you smile a little, and you make a weak joke about not wanting to be the sort of wife to spend frivolously. It makes Horacio chuckle. It breaks the uneasy tension in the house a bit, and he ends up going to the mall with you that weekend as you shop.

There’s nothing like a mall to encapsulate American culture, and Horacio tries to play it cool at the conspicuous consumption on display. The giant building, the icy air conditioning, the cacophony of sound echoing around the marble floors and walls. There’s so many people and only a handful of security guards. When Horacio studies them closer, he sees that they don’t even carry guns—they only have walkie-talkies as they saunter around at a lazy pace.

His life now is a far cry from his life as the leader of the Search Bloc. And when he glances over at the woman walking beside him, he realizes how far this second marriage is from his first.

But the thought leads to him ruminating about his first marriage and all the little ways he failed Juliana. This situation with you isn’t a marriage, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to be better.

So once you are done shopping, he pulls you into the Sam Goody and insists that you buy an album to celebrate. He catches you singing all the time in the house, listening to the radio, humming or singing along. When he imagines your mysterious life before now, he imagines an apartment filled with a big stereo and shelves of albums.

“Seriously?” It makes you smile again, and Horacio thinks you have a nice smile, though he wonders how often people ever get to see it.

“Well, it’s our stipend,” he clarifies. “It’s not like I’m treating you, really. I guess it’s not really a gift if it’s ours.”

Another smile, and he stands back and watches as you rifle through the stacks of vinyl records and CD’s, as you pull one out and read the list of songs, then replace it. You finally settle on one, and the two of you check out, and Horacio pulls out his wallet and pays.

And even if it’s your shared stipend, you thank him and smile again, and it feels like something that he can’t quite name.

-----

The third month, June.

You leave the house every weekday for work. Horacio finally has some firsthand knowledge of what Juliana must have felt when he left each day. He had always prided himself that he was able to provide for both of them, that she never had to work.

He had never considered how bored she must have been.

He wakes up early out of habit, but you do too. In the soft pre-dawn light, you go out for a run every day. Part of him remains Search Bloc; he stands at the living room window and watches for you until you return, panting, your t-shirt ringed with sweat. He finds he can breathe easier once you’re in sight.

While you shower and dress, Horacio makes you coffee. The two of you sip at your coffee in companionable silence, and then you’re off.

It leaves him with a full day with little to do.

He cleans the house, but that takes no time at all because both of you are fastidious and neat anyway. He maintains the lawn, trims back the unruly rhododendrons. He bought a weight bench and a set of free weights from a yard sale a few weeks after you moved, and he spends some time lifting in the garage.

That takes him to noon, if he’s lucky.

His afternoons are when he thinks of Juliana the most. Is this what her life with him was like? Back then, he used to scoff at the claim that women needed a life outside of the home. His mother had seemed happy to be a housewife and mother, and he had always assumed that Juliana was the same. Except the children never came, and Juliana had a degree in fashion design from the university—yet when she broached the idea of a job or even an internship, Horacio had dissuaded her.

He had thought he was being a good husband. Now, as he sits and drowses to “Days of Our Lives,” he wonders how he had missed the obvious.

But if he’s Juliana in this situation, you are no Horacio. For one thing, you return home in the late afternoon—he’s never left to eat dinner alone in a too-quiet house. For another, you immediately kick off your shoes and pad over to where he’s cooking dinner, and you fall into an easy rhythm of helping him finish it off.

Halfway through June, you get comfortable enough to start calling out, “honey, I’m home!” each time you return.

Which makes him smile, every time.

And he’s only a passable cook, but you praise every meal he puts in front of you. You joke once, say “I should have gotten a husband a long time ago,” and that makes him smile even wider, and it is easy to fall into the fantasy that this easy domesticity is real. The fantasy only falls apart at night, when you each retire to your separate rooms, as you do every night.

-----

The fourth month, July.

The easy domesticity cedes to something deeper and darker right at the start of the month.

Horacio has never been to the U.S. before, so he hasn’t experienced the usual Independence Day celebrations. When he asks, you grin and tell him that a good old-fashioned U.S.-style barbecue might be nice, and that’s what the two of you plan. You and Horacio as Davide and Gwen: patriotic Americans.

The day starts off great. The weather is hot and humid enough to feel like Colombia, and Horacio will admit that you look nice in your cut-off shorts and cotton tank top. He will admit that if you were really his wife, he might never even make it to lunchtime before taking advantage of a quiet house set apart from its neighbors.

The barbecue is nice. It’s all-American fare: hot dogs and hamburgers, corn on the cob steamed over hot coals. You buy an apple pie from a nearby farm stand, and you also make some trifle type dessert, and the two of you wash it all down with ice-cold beer. By the time dusk rolls around and lightning bugs start to flicker across the lawn, Horacio is pleasantly buzzed.

The town puts on a fireworks display, and as the sky turns a velvety black, the light show starts. Your house is in the perfect place to see it, slightly set on a ridge, and blossoms of red and white and blue sparks explode across the sky. Horacio, tipsy, watches the first few minutes, completely mesmerized…but when he turns to say something to you, he finds you missing.

He finds you in the house. More specifically, he finds you in the bathtub, hugging your knees to your chest, forehead pressed to knees.

“Gwen?” he says, and he feels stupid saying the obviously fake name, but he doesn’t know your real one.

You don’t answer anyway, and he steps into the bathroom. Studies you closer. Sees that you are shaking, and between the muffled booms of the fireworks, he can hear your panting breath.

He moves without any real thought. He knows—or can guess, at least—at what is happening to you. Horacio has led enough men through enough battles to recognize a panic attack when he sees one, but you aren’t one of his men and this is no battle, so he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to alert you that he’s there. Then he climbs into the bathtub with you.

“Scoot forward a little,” he orders softly, and you do. He maneuvers himself behind you, then pulls you closer to him. Your back pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, he holds you close despite the heat and humidity of the day.

“Just breathe with me.” He takes a deep, slow breath, feels his chest push against you. He does it again and again, and after a long while, you start to mimic him.

The fireworks end, and eventually you stop trembling. Tucked this close to him, Horacio can see the edge of a thick scar disappearing under your hair, and he remembers the bandage on the plane from Bogota.

He wonders if the moment that caused that scar is linked to this moment now.

After you calm, and after you sheepishly untangle yourself from him, he urges you to do whatever you need to. To take a cool shower or go to bed. That he’ll clean up. You gaze back at him a long moment, like you’re trying to decide something, and then you nod. You leave the bathroom and disappear into your bedroom, and he hears that quiet click of the door closing.

The rest of the month is uneasy. The panic attack seems to have dredged up the muck in your past, the trauma of a life that has resulted in you being in Witness Protection, injured enough at some point to have a thick scar on your head.

Something about this feels like an echo from his first marriage. Juliana went silent on him too, but for different reasons. Your silence is driven by an inner turmoil that he can only guess at, and he feels powerless to help.

So he only does what he can. He makes you coffee each morning before work. He makes you dinner each night. He asks gentle, tame questions about your work day, and when you don’t have much to say in that quarter, he tells you that day’s drama on “Days of Our Lives.”

“Stefano DiMera is back,” he tells you one night. “And Marlena is possessed by el Diablo.”

That’s the sole smile he is able to coax from you all month. You pick at the dinner he made, pushing it around with the tines of your fork, and repeat, “the Devil?”

Horacio nods.

“Like, Lucifer the Devil?”

“Yes.”

You smile. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He nods again, smiles back at you. “It really is.”

-----

The fifth month, August.

Horacio finds a job with a state nursery, and when he applies, he nearly despairs at the cliché of it: a South American immigrant becoming a landscaper.

But it’s not landscaping at all. It’s a quiet, peaceful job. The summer interns have already left for the year, so Horacio is hired on to help the old-timer, Lawrence. Lawrence has a thick Yankee accent, says little, but Horacio finds the job a revelation. He walks the rolling grounds and checks on the saplings that will one day be planted across the state. They’ll go into parks and line city streets, and it knocks something loose in him. A job where he’s nurturing life that will potentially live on long after him. The oak sapling he waters and feeds today could live hundreds of years when he’ll be long forgotten.

With him working now, you and Horacio switch off on meals. You teach him how to use the most American of small appliances, the slow cooker. You make him the most American of working class meals, the one-pot dish. He makes you the comfort food from his childhood, and together you find an egalitarian balance.

But something about July and your low mental health…it makes Horacio want to do better. Who knows how long the two of you will end up living like this? He wants to understand you better, and he wants you to know him, because the two of you exist as the sole inhabitants of this weird, unlikely life as Davide and Gwen.

“Let’s each say one true thing about ourselves,” he proposes over dinner one night. He’s bone-tired from work—he spent the day mulching rows and rows of tender little Eastern Hemlocks (and he knows the difference now between them and a balsam fir and a spruce). You look tired too, but at his suggestion, your eyes light up. Maybe you’ve been wanting some familiarity with him too and just were waiting on him to suggest it first.

So August is this: getting to know each other. Dumb stuff, usually. Favorite colors, favorite songs, favorite foods. Most embarrassing memory. Best memory. Age of first kiss.

-----

The sixth month, September.

The weather starts to turn. The nights grow cold, and the leaves transform from all that green to a riot of reds and yellows and oranges. Work at the nursery slows way down, and Horacio spends long hours following Lawrence’s lead, which means an hour or two of paperwork, then lunch, then quietly reading a book at his desk.

You’re busy with the new academic year, but the weekends are spent doing day trips. You’re six months into this, and you’re both braver, more willing to travel afield. You go into the mountains to look at the leaves from a different angle than what you see from your house. You go to pick apples, and you spend a weekend cooking them into pies, cobblers, and apple sauce.

The dinner-time “one true thing” game ends, and it turns into natural conversation. It’s so comfortable now. You chat and laugh and joke, and sometimes he teases you, and it makes you duck your head to hide your pleased smile. You like being teased, Horacio finds. You like being the butt of gentle jokes, so he obliges you as often as he dares.

It’s a revelation to find that he has a sense of humor after all.

Over one dinner, he mentions his first marriage, his first wife. You ask him questions, and he answers them honestly, and then he asks if you’ve ever been married.

“No.” You shake your head to emphasize the point.

“Ever engaged?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yes. A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

You shrug, lifting one shoulder up before dropping it back down. “Life. Expectations. It’s hard to say.” You take a sip of your water, then settle your gaze somewhere past Horacio, like you’re looking at the specter of your failed engagement.

“I was young and very career-driven,” you add. “And not many men want that in a wife.”

“I’m sorry.” He is, of course, and he’s doubly-sorry because he was arguably one of those men. He kept Juliana at home, stifled her own career aspirations. A flush of shame courses through him at the memory of his own failings.

Another shrug. “It was for the best.”

“And now here you are, married to me,” he teases, and yes—you duck your head, but he catches the shy little grin, the curve of your cheek as you smile at the joke.

-----

The seventh month, October.

It’s the first time you’ve actually ordered him to do anything, so Horacio finds himself busy each weekend, decorating the house for Halloween. There’s ghosts strung in the trees in the front yard. Fake gravestones jut from the lawn like rotting teeth. Purple and orange lights are strung around the windows and banisters of the porch, and the two of you set to carving more pumpkins than Horacio thought possible.

But it’s worth it, because your town goes all out for the holiday. You bought him a costume weeks ago, and when he dresses after dinner, he’s surprised to find you openly checking him out. Your gaze sweeps from the hair on the top of his head—longer than Search Bloc reg, curling at the nape of his neck—to his shoes, and you take in his vampire costume.

“You look handsome,” you tell him, and he tries not to ogle you in turn and utterly fails, because you’re dressed up like a witch but the black dress hugs your curves, and the ridiculous hat, complete with a floppy brim, does nothing to detract from how sexy you look.

Horacio finds himself sitting on the front porch with you, handing out candy to the children that come by. And it charms him, how much you get into it, how you guess at what each child is supposed to be. You read the kids perfectly—you’re sweet with the scared little ones, but you play up the witchiness with the older ones, crooking your fingers and cacking at them.

When there’s a lull in the crowd at one point, he catches you as you shiver, so he pulls you close to him and wraps his cloak around your shoulder. He never touches you much, but this is blatant, and the moment feels heavy with intent.

You lean into him. A moment later, he feels your arm wend its way around his waist, under his cloak, so he holds you closer.

The evening continues like that. The two of you play it up more and more, comfortable with pretending. Not you and Horacio, and not Davide and Gwen, but a vampire and a witch, and the more you cackle and scare the children, the more Horacio flashes his fake teeth and hisses at them.

Who ever knew handing out candy in a cheap drugstore costume could be so fun?

When another lull happens, he pulls you back to him, and the motion takes you off balance a little. You hold him back but lean away from him, searching for your equilibrium, and it bares the smooth column of your neck to him.

Horacio forgets himself. Davide forgets himself. The vampire he’s pretending to be dips his head, and he presses the plastic points of his fake teeth into your pulse point, and you give a squeal of surprise, but when Horacio lifts his head to study you, he sees you staring back at him, your eyes wide and dark with obvious desire.

“That’s a good way to get a hex on you,” you warn, but there’s a smile on your red lips, and you don’t release your own hold on him. You don’t shove him away.

“I enjoy a good hex,” he replies.

The stream of children eventually dies off. The bowl of candy has been replenished multiple times, but you fill it one last time and set it on the porch for any stragglers.

Inside the house, you go from room to room and check the locks on the doors, turn off the lights. Horacio lingers near the hallway, and when you turn to make your way to your room, he stills you. He puts his hand on your waist, lightly, and he doesn’t say anything. The moment hangs suspended as you both stand there, silent.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to take you to bed?

He has always tried to be a good Catholic (the killing of narcos aside). He’s never been with anyone other than Juliana, and he feels a tinge of doubt. Guilt, too. He’s always prided himself on his fidelity, and post-divorce, he took a perverse pride in the fact that he never took a lover. That he still honored his vows despite the legal fact that he was no longer married.

He doesn’t mourn Juliana anymore, and he knows that something is growing between the two of you now, but what does it mean? Would it be right to sleep with you, knowing that this is just circumstantial? That it may end at any moment? That if you both weren’t in WitSec, you’d have never met, and might have never liked each other if you had?

Is this thing growing between the two of you only the result of being flung together by circumstances out of your control?

All of those questions rapid-fire through his head, and you seem to see the doubt in his eyes because the moment deflates. The energy and anticipation sour, and he sees it on your face. Your soft smile falls, and then you nod to yourself, as if you knew it would happen like this.

Then you smile again, thank him softly for his help handing out candy. You stretch towards him and brush the lightest of kisses against his cheek, and you step around him to go to your room.

When Horacio goes to bed, it takes him a long time to fall asleep, and he swears you must be awake too, separated only by the wall between you.

-----

The eighth month, November.

Your department at the university puts on a wine and cheese social, and spouses are encouraged to attend.

“We never really practiced our cover story,” he says as he bends over to tie his dress shoes. “Do you remember all of it?”

“I have a eidetic memory.”

“Yeah?” He glances up at you. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Don’t sweat it. It’s a bunch of tenured professors. They love to talk about themselves and nothing else. They are all narcissists of the worse variety.”

But you aren’t entirely correct. The party is at the house of the department chair, and Horacio finds himself cornered by a pair of fellow lecturers. They are older women, charming and gregarious, and they sing your praises…and his own.

“I can see why she’s kept you hidden away,” says the taller of the two. “She said you were handsome but—”

“You make a gorgeous couple,” the shorter one cut in. “And she’s brilliant, you know, she planned out this—”

On and on they go, cutting each other off, redirecting each other, not letting Horacio get a word in edgewise. It’s not far off base from how you explained it would go, and when he catches your eye from across the room, you smile but mouth, “you okay?”

He nods, smiles back at you.

The evening is halfway over when he realizes with a start that he hasn’t cased the room once.

He hasn’t counted the exits and windows, hasn’t studied the egresses and any obstacles to them. He hasn’t scowled at each face to try and determine what dirty secret they held, if Escobar or one of his men had compromised them or their family. He hasn’t studied the lines of their clothing to see who might be hiding a piece.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to lose his edge?

It’s another question he ponders at night, since the minor disaster of Halloween. He knows he hurt you by hesitating in that moment in the hallway, but it’s a subtle hurt. He can see it in your eyes each morning, the way they study his face as if you could perhaps read his thoughts if you watch him closely enough.

More and more, these questions plague him because there’s no easy answers. Horacio is used to solving problems, but he’d be the first to admit that many of his solutions were just brute force. Displays of power. The Search Bloc has a problem? Send in men, armed men, men with guns and night-sticks, men with flint in their souls, men with hearts cased in granite. Send in Colonel Carrillo himself to a clandestine meeting place where a suspect is strung up. What’s a little light torture and murder when the fate of a country hangs in the balance?

That man is dead now. Horacio Carrillo received a state funeral, and his empty coffin lies in the mausoleum. Davide, his replacement, spent the week wrapping tender saplings in burlap in anticipation for the coming snows—all the while considering his place in the greater world and what his legacy may be.

At the end of the evening, Horacio finds you, brings you your coat, holds it out while you shrug your way into it. When the two of you leave, you pass the pair of lecturers who had cornered him, and their exchange is like a Greek chorus that follows him home.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” says one. “She’s a lucky woman.”

The other one scoffs lightly. “He’s the lucky one.”

You must not hear them because you don’t react. You only let him lead you to the car, and when he brushes away the light dusting of snow with the snow brush, his eyes find yours through the windshield—and you smile at him.

-----

The ninth month, December.

The university shuts down for most of the month, and Horacio is on an abbreviated schedule a the nursery.

The two of you have so much time together.

Horacio has seen snow before, but never like this. Vermont, so green when he arrived, is swaddled in thick layers of white like cotton batting. It absorbs and reflects sounds in weird ways, and a hush falls over your little home.

Being Colombian, he should hate it. He should curse the cold and the snow and the quiet, but it does something to his soul. It soothes him in a way he never would have guessed. True, the cold is difficult at first, but you take him to the mall one weekend and load him up with sweaters and thick woolen socks, and he’s better after that.

Everything is so calm. Peaceful. Horacio has never slept so well in his life, bundled under layers of blankets, even on the uncomfortable daybed. He sleeps, he doesn’t dream, and he wakes up naturally, in slow measure, to a soft light creeping across his bedroom floor.

Being on break, you still wake up early. Earlier than him, some days, and when Horacio wakes to the scent of brewing coffee and something delicious baking in the oven, he wishes sometimes that this was the afterlife. He wants to freeze the moment in time and never let it slip past him. He wants nothing more, in this moment.

He’s always half-asleep those mornings, but the smell of food draws him out. One morning, he pads out to the kitchen in his thick socks and startles you when he grumbles “good morning.” You shriek, then swear, then lightly try to swat him with the spatula in your hands, but he’s still half-asleep, still incredulous that this is his life at the moment, and he takes the spatula from you and pulls you into a big bear hug.

“What’s this for?” you ask. Your words are muffled against his chest, but after a beat, you wrap your arms around his midsection and hug him back.

“Just because,” he replies.

You spend your days doing puzzles, reading, listening to music. You watch “Days of Our Lives” with him and you both laugh at the bad cosmetics and even worse acting on the demonic possession storyline.

Your evenings are spent cooking dinner together. You make the trip into town every few days, and you rent movies and watch them too. You watch everything together—old Hollywood classics, campy horror, meandering romances. The two of you sit on the couch side by side, and it takes all of a day before you’re tucked in against his side, his arm firm around your shoulders.

Sometimes he glances down at you and sees your face in profile lit by the flickering light of the television. Sometimes he can make out the edge of your scar, but he doesn’t linger there. Instead he takes in the whole of your face—the curve of your cheek, the sweep of your lashes as you blink. When something funny happens on the screen, you smile, and it makes Horacio’s heart stutter in his chest to see it.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to fall in love?

Another question to ponder. Another riddle to solve. He’s losing sight of the man he was. Maybe that man is completely lost already. The thought doesn’t unnerve him; he thinks he likes the man he is here. He likes the man he is with you, the job that coaxes life into being instead of snuffing it out. He likes wearing cable-knit sweaters and thick socks and eating the banana bread you bake on mornings you don’t have to work.

He likes sitting on the couch with you and watching a rental VHS of “Beetlejuice.” He likes the feel of your body pressed against his, and he likes looking down to see you smile.

That’s the night he dares ask for more.

After the movie, you do your usual pre-bedtime sweep of the house—locks, lights—then brush your teeth and go to your room. The usual quiet click of your door closing. Horacio, as usual, goes to his room, peels back the layers of blankets, prepares to tuck himself into the cramped bed….then doesn’t.

Instead, he returns to the hallway. He taps a finger on your door, a soft staccato, and he hears you call out, “Davide?”

“Yes.”

You tell him to come in, and you’re sitting up in bed. Your eyebrows are furrowed together.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He shakes his head. How can he begin to explain it? He’s fluent in English, Spanish, and Portuguese, and his Italian is passable, yet not a single language he knows can capture the maelstrom of emotions roiling through him. He loves you, he wants you. He’s afraid you don’t feel the same for him. He’s afraid you do feel the same for him. Is this just situational or are you truly the woman he was meant for all along? Has he gone mad? Is this some tame mental breakdown, the result of coming close to death and then finding himself, improbably, in Vermont with a woman who also was near death?

From your “one true thing” game, he knows you’re a polyglot too—English and Spanish and Russian—but that shake of his head to your question seems to transcend the need for language. You seem to read it exactly, the turmoil in him, and you climb out of bed slowly, make your way over to where he stands by the door.

You reach down and take his hands in yours, and the touch bolsters him. Reassures him. He’s Horacio and Davide both, and you’re both Gwen and yourself, and he doesn’t need to parse the two. He can be both with you. You’re both complicated people with complicated pasts, but none of it matters right now because the world is swathed in layers of snow, and the two of you are the only two who exist in it.

Neither of you say much else for the rest of the night. When you turn your head to peer up at him, Horacio tilts his head to kiss you, and it’s like a bolt of lightning when he does. Maybe he fell in love with you by small moments, but this is the moment that seals it forever: this first kiss, his mouth on yours, writes your name—your real name, even if he doesn’t know it—on his heart like a line of fire.

You each lead the other back to bed; you tug him, he pushes you, and you fall gracelessly back on the rumpled covers, but each kiss, each searching touch peels back another layer of reserve. Horacio slides his hand under your shirt and cups the softness of your breasts, pinches lightly at your hardened buds. You slip your hand under the waistband of his flannel pajamas and grasp his growing erection, stroke it into full hardness as he groans into your mouth.

There’s no art to it. No seduction. You’re both starving for each other, ravenous, and you both kiss the other as you each strip out of your layers. He kisses down your neck, nips at your pulse point like he did on Halloween. He licks against the hollow at the base of your throat, draws the sweetest goddamned moans out of you, then returns to kiss you, to lick against the inside of your mouth so he can feel the sounds you’re making too.

If he’d known how vocal you were in bed, he would have summoned his courage months ago.

Your mouth is on him too. It’s another line of fire, each press of your lips on his bare skin. He finds himself on his back and you astride him. He reaches up to touch your bared breasts, but you don’t even notice because you lean down, focused only on him. Your mouth on his neck, along his stubbled jaw. You kiss his collarbones, his chest. You bite lightly against his nipples, your teeth making him huff at the sensation, and then your warm tongue laving him. Further down, a trail of kisses across his belly, which is less firm than it was in his Search Bloc days but you make a pleased noise as your mouth places wet, lingering kisses there.

Then even lower, and this is uncharted territory. Love-making with Juliana was only ever for the purpose of making children, and while Horacio had convinced her a time or two to go down on her in the interest of foreplay, he never has received head in his life. Juliana had called it dirty, and he had left it at that.

He doesn’t even register it until he feels your hand grasp him at the root of his cock, then feels the smallest, most kittenish little lick of your tongue against his leaking tip.

“Dios,” he groans out, and then he feels the rest: your tongue tracing a pattern along the length of him, then a teasing rhythm where you work him into your mouth. First just the tip. You lavish him with attention there, suckling against the most sensitive part of him, lapping up the pre-cum that leaks from him. Then more and more and more; you work him into your warm, wet mouth, and he feels your breath tickling against his groin, feels you breathing carefully through your nose as you take him as far as you can, and then you swallow against him, you hum against him, and it’s nothing like he’s ever felt before. You press your tongue against the underside of him and you hollow your cheeks, and when your warm palm reaches up to lightly fondle his balls, Horacio’s orgasm breaks around him like a tidal wave. His hips judder once, twice, and he thinks he warns you, but you don’t move. You only hold yourself there, and when he comes, you swallow every drop of him, and he wishes he could explain this feeling to Juliana: that it doesn’t feel dirty at all. It feels like a sacrament. That it feels like love.

It's only fair that he shows you his love for you in turn.

Once he recovers, he flips you onto your back and repays you in kind. He kisses his way down your naked body, makes a note of all the spots that you moan at. Make a note too of all the scars that speak to a life a lot like his was in Colombia. He kisses your scars, presses his lips to each raised ridge as if he can take away any lingering pain.

Then he settles between your legs. There’s no shyness he can detect; you spread your thighs eagerly for him. You allow him to put a pillow under your hips to tilt your pelvis into a more agreeable angle.

He’s not especially skilled at this. The handful of times with Juliana had been a race against the clock—a sprint to coax her to orgasm before she gripped his hair and made him stop. There’s no clock now, so he takes his time. He settles your legs on his shoulders and he bends his head to your gorgeous pussy, and he takes his time.

He licks against your folds, then reaches down to part them with his fingers. Licks a slow, tortuous route from the firm bud of your clit to your entrance. Over and over and over until you squirm underneath him—then he slides a finger into your clenching heat, then another, then a third, and he feels how your pussy twitches against the intrusion, how you grab against his fingers like you’re trying to pull him deeper into you.

He fingers you in a lazy rhythm, and he circles his tongue against your clit. That does something for you; you whine out a curse, and a moment later your hand is on his head, your fingers tugging against his hair, so he purses his lips, suckles against your clit, and that turns your whine into a wail.

He wishes he could tell Juliana this too, that this isn’t dirty either. When you come, he feels a flush of pride at drawing pleasure from your body—your thighs tight against his head, your pussy clamped down on his fingers, and the slick cum that pulses from you, that coats his tongue and lips in the taste of you.

He’s hard again, but he wouldn’t press his luck. This is more than he ever dared hope for. He’d be happy to curl up with you now, to fall asleep beside you, but when he lifts his head from where he’s perched between your thighs, he sees you gazing back at him.

“Please,” is all you say, and he knows what you’re asking for because he wants it to.

If there’s an argument about this being two people pushed together because of circumstances beyond their control, there’s also an argument about the two of you fitting together so well. Because you do. Your body seems like it was made for his; you fit together like two jagged puzzles pieces. Horacio settles over you, lowers his body onto yours, and it’s like magic: his cock bumps against your inner thigh, but he moves half an inch and he finds your wet heat, and then he’s pushing into you, feeling your feverish flesh part and mold to the shape of him, and then your legs are around his waist, holding him to you as he bottoms out inside you.

He stills for a long moment. He’s unable to move. It’s not because he’s afraid he’ll come too soon but because he’s afraid he might cry. Horacio Carrillo is not a man who cries (maybe Davide is), but gazing down at your face, seeing the stunned love written in your expression, he nearly cries at how lucky he feels. How blessed. That shootout in the Medellín alley should have killed him, yet here he is.

Eventually, you give him the faintest of nods, and he starts to move. He’s gentle at first. He warms you up to the feel of him, and him to you. You lay one hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek as he thrusts into you, but the other hand settles over his heart.

He could love you like this forever. He coaxes a second, then a third orgasm from you, and he watches your face during each one—the way your eyes go wide, then close tight, the way your mouth takes a hitching breath then goes slack as you breathe through it. The look on your face as it ebbs away, your eyes shiny with tears, and happy little smile curving your lips.

“I want you to come,” you whisper to him. You must feel the tension in him, and you bear down on his pistoning cock to urge him along.

“Where?” he pants out.

“Inside me. Please. Come inside me.”

He knows you’re safe. He’s lived with you for nine months now, and he’s run enough errands with you to know that you have that little plastic compact you pick up from the pharmacy once a month. He sees you swallow the same pill each morning with your vitamin. But still—he’s a man with his history, so he doesn’t register your contraceptive use in this moment. The thought comes to him that if he comes inside you, he may make you pregnant, and Horacio is surprised by how quickly the thought urges his orgasm forward.

“You sure?” At your words, he’s amped up his thrusting, driving forward in deep, strong strokes until he swears he can feel the crown of his cock nudging against the end of you, and the thought takes hold: you round with his child, the two of you in this bedroom with a child in the guest room converted into a nursery. At this moment, it’s the tamest of breeding kinks, but in the morning, he’ll realize it’s just more of this perfect life extrapolated. You not as his pretend-wife but as his real wife. A child as tangible proof that this isn’t just an incongruous moment in time.

“Yes. Please.” You lick your lips, blink up at him. “I-I want to feel you coming inside me.”

It’s only fair that he obliges you. You ask so nicely, so he does: he thrusts three, four times more, then feels his pleasure snap and spark up his spine as he fills you.

Then he collapses on top of you, and a moment later, he feels your fingers combing through his hair, lightly running over his back.

“You can sleep here, if you want.” You say it shyly, like you think this might just be a physical release for him, so he lifts his head to kiss you and reply that he wants that very much.

Horacio never sleeps in that cramped daybed again.

-----

The tenth month, January.

What does it mean to Horacio Carrillo for the lines between real and pretend to blur?

It means that through Christmas and into the new year, you live as husband and wife. You live as newlyweds. You make love in every room in the house, and you spent lazy days tangled up together. It means you draw straws to see who has to drive into town for provisions, and it’s all a joke anyway because you always go together. It means your world collapses down into the most basic of human needs: feeding and fucking.

It means that between love-making, the two of you share more about your real lives. Horacio learns about your family life. He learns that you’re CIA, and you’ve been stationed in Panama post-Noriega. He learns that it was an explosion, a car bomb outside of your headquarters, that left you with that scar on your head.

You learn about the Search Bloc and Escobar. You learn about his childhood as the son of a great military leader, and how that legacy shaped his own life and career.

But what does it mean when that line blurs?

It means that when Johnson returns to your lives, everything ends abruptly.

“Everything is all clear,” he tells you when he turns up one Saturday in the middle of January. He sips at the cup of coffee you made him, and if he notices the stunned silence of both of you, he doesn’t remark on it.

“Escobar was gunned down early today. It hasn’t hit the wire yet.” Johnson glances at you. “And the group that bombed your HQ has been cleared out too. You’ve been safe for a few months, but we didn’t want to upset the situation here.”

“So now what?” you ask, and Horacio feels sick to his stomach as Johnson explains that your old lives are waiting for you and that it’s time to go.

-----

The end comes that day, but not the way Horacio thought it would.

You gesture to Johnson after he gives the rundown on the logistics, and the two of you go outside. Horacio watches from the kitchen window as you cross your arms against the cold. You talk, Johnson listens. Then Johnson talks, you listen. Back and forth, and by the end Johnson shakes his head, shakes your hand, and returns inside.

“Okay, so change of plans,” he says, and he rubs his hands together briskly to bring the warmth back to them. “It’s just you and me now. Go pack and say your goodbyes, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

He leaves, and Horacio watches him pull out of the driveway, and when he turns back to the interior of the house, he sees you standing there. Crying openly, tears cutting tracks down your face.

“I can’t go back,” you explain, your voice thick with tears. “I won’t.”

Then you break down into sobs, and it’s second nature to stride over to you, to pull you into his arms. He tries to soothe you—rubs your back, holds you to him—as you choke out the words. That you have had a crisis of conscience. That you wonder if your work in the CIA did more harm than good. That you think it’s the former, and how you want to spend the balance of your life not doing more harm than good. That you want to live in a quiet town that is green in the summer and swaddled in white in the winter. You want to teach, you want to come home to a house with….and you catch yourself at the last minute. You don’t say it, but Horacio can guess it.

You want to come home to a house with him in it. You want to come home to him.

“I love my life here,” you amend hastily, but you push away from him, aware he’s leaving and that your life won’t be exactly the same either way. You mumble something about not wanting to say goodbye, about wishing him the best, and then you disappear down the hallway. He hears the click of the door and your crying, and it doesn’t abate while he packs.

When Johnson returns, Horacio taps on the bedroom door, but you don’t answer and he doesn’t push it. He’s sleepwalking through the moment, numb, so he leaves. He doesn’t say goodbye. He only climbs into Johnson’s rental car, and each mile that Johnson puts between you and Horacio only makes the numbness grow.

“Women, huh?” Johnson says as they near the airport. “That’s why I said they should never take field work. They don’t have the stomach for it, in the end.”

Horacio grunts a non-reply, but he thinks Johnson is off the mark. It’s not that you don’t have the stomach for it. It’s that you don’t have the heart.

-----

February.

He goes from Vermont to Miami, this time around.

Horacio is given a hotel room, and he’s given the orders to just chill for a bit. Johnson has extricated him from his fake life as Davide, but his old life as Colonel Horacio Carrillo isn’t quite ready for him yet.

There are mountains of paperwork to bring a man back from the dead. There’s talk of giving him a cushy role in Madrid. There’s talk of commendations, medals, a comfortable pension to retire on. He’s done a lot for his country of Colombia, and Colombia wants to reward him.

He sleepwalks through this liminal space. The not-Davide, not-Horacio time. He wanders the streets around the hotel and picks at the food he orders in restaurants, and each time he hears a woman speak, he looks up expecting to see you.

I don’t even know her real name, he thinks.

Gwen, his one-time pretend-wife. Gwen, who had a panic attack on her country’s birthday. Gwen, who questioned the harm she may have caused to another country, another people. Gwen, who only wants the chance to do a little good now, or at least to do no more bad. It wasn’t Gwen at all, but he has no other name to use, so he runs through all the lovely little moments he had with Gwen.

Watching for you to return from your daily jogs. Walking through the falling leaves of autumn with you. Making you coffee, pressing the steaming mug into your hands each morning. Handing out candy to the children at Halloween, tucking you under his cloak at the autumn chill. Watching movies with you as the snow fell outside, then curling up in bed with you, slotting his body against yours, giving you pleasure and taking pleasure from you in equal measure. Threading his fingers through yours as he arched over you, his eyes falling on the glinting light in the gold band in your ring finger, it’s twin on his own.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to finally make a choice?

Of course he’s made choices before. Every day, he made a million choices, large and small. But the big stuff, the giant stuff, the life-shaping stuff—did he have much choice? His father’s military career pretty much guaranteed his own career in the Search Bloc. His family’s status pretty much guaranteed he’d marry a Catholic girl from a family of similar standing. And when Juliana chose to leave him, he really had no choice then, either.

Same with his pretend life of ten months. He had no choice in being paired with you, no choice in ending up in New England, little choice in working as a man who tended trees.

He imagines you in your shared home, alone. Johnson explained on the plane that you’d be able to buy the place, that WitSec only rents homes across the U.S. He explained that this has happened more than once, and that it’s actually not too difficult to let a witness slide into their pretend-life permanently.

The choice comes down to the most mundane thought. Horacio stands in his hotel room in Miami and wonders, who will make her coffee in the morning if I’m not there?

*****

Winter always loses its charm by the time February rolls around. The fleecy white snow turns into grey slush, and everything is cold and soggy and depressing.

Davide leaving doesn’t help at all.

You knew it would end eventually. You didn’t have much insight into his situation, but you knew that the cartel targeting you would be easy enough to neutralize. They were only there because of the power vacuum left behind by Noriega, and they were poorly organized.

You just thought when it ended, you’d have more time. Which is one of your fatal flaws, always thinking you’ll have more time. Your father died from a heart attack when you were in high school, and your mother died from a car crash when you were in college. You, more than anyone, should realize that time was never a guarantee, yet you always think you have a surfeit of it.

It's not your proudest moment, those final minutes with Davide. Not falling apart in a wash of tears, and not fleeing to your room. You should have committed to one extreme or the other. You should have either calmly explained your decision and bade him farewell…or you should have given in to the emotion of the moment and spilled everything.

Why do you never learn your lesson? You never had a chance to tell your parents that you loved them before they died. Why didn’t you tell Davide you loved him before he left to return to whoever he was before?

You know you could find him. You’d caught his lightly accented English and guessed at South America. Colombia, if he was hiding from Escobar. He told you about the Search Bloc. You knew some people in that theater. You could find him and tell him that you loved him, but would it do more harm than good? Doesn’t he have the right to return to his previous life without any baggage from this one?

February, then: grey, cold. You go to work. You teach your classes and hold office hours. Political science can create real monsters, so you gently try to steer your students towards the path of diplomacy and not war. Maybe this is how you make amends, if such a thing is even possible.

You go home each evening and pull together a sandwich for dinner. Sometimes you get take-out, and you eat over the sink. Sometimes you watch T.V. and sometimes you read, but you always sleep alone with Davide’s pillow clutched to your chest, the lingering scent of him fading away within days.

-----

Then March. The snow starts to melt a bit, and under some of the trees in your backyard you start to see the little purple and white jewels of budding crocuses.

You resume your runs in the mornings. The campus shakes off its doldrums too and the students seem livelier.

You made the right choice to stay. You go to the bank with your real name and get a mortgage. You buy the house under your real name, and you go to the university human resources and hand over the paperwork Johnston gave you, and it’s weird at first, explaining why you’re not really Gwen, but it shocks you how quickly people adapt to using your real name.

-----

March is still fresh when there’s a knock at your door one Saturday morning.

Your first guess is that it’s a delivery. Johnson promised to ship all of your stuff from your apartment in Panama City. Not that you have anything valuable, but it would be nice to have your record collection back. You don’t want to have to rebuild that from scratch.

You’re already out of practice from your prior life. You don’t bother to check who it is, don’t look out the window before you open the door, and so it’s a shock to see Davide standing there, his fist lifted like he’s about to knock again.

He drops his hand and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. You are speechless too, but you don’t need words to because as he drops and unfurls his hand by his side, you see the way the gold ring on his finger catches the morning light.

He’s still wearing his wedding ring, you think, and your body moves towards his, you leap into his arms and he’s there to catch you. You breathe out his name, but he chuckles, pushes you gently away from him.

“No, cariño,” he replies, shakes his head. “Not Davide.”

“Well, no. I mean—”

“I’m Horacio,” he interrupts. You reply with your own name, and he repeats it, almost to himself.

“Everything else was me,” he adds. “Everything but the name. What we had…” He trails off, fixes you with that dark-eyed stare of his.

“Everything else was me too.” All of the bare facts of your fake life as Gwen hold little weight to that nebulous everything else: every joke and shared laugh, your Fourth of July panic attack. The feel of his hand on your waist when you went apple picking. The way his hair curled after a shower, and how you loved to run your fingers through it when he fell asleep beside you. All of it. Every stupid little moment that most other people would have already forgotten.

Horacio holds up his hand to show you the ring you’ve already noticed. “I never took it off. It didn’t even occur to me to.”

You hold up your own hand. “Me neither.”

He looks away, squints his eyes as he looks off into the distance, but you swear you can see tears there. He clears his throat, but his voice comes out rougher than usual.

“I’d like to see if I’m as good a man as Davide was,” he says. “I’d like that chance, but only if you…” Another cough as he clears he throat, then continues. “Only if you’ll have me.”

You reach out and take his hand in yours. You touch the warm metal on his finger, then the thought comes to you. You slide the ring off, and you feel Horacio watching you. On the plane, you each put your rings on yourselves, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it?

Now, nearly a year later, you take his wedding ring off. For a long beat, you study it—it’s a simple thing, nothing elaborate. WitSec wasn’t going to waste money on an expensive ring for a fake marriage, and it already has a shallow scratch in it, likely from his job at the nursery.

Then you lift your head and gaze at him, and without breaking eye contact, you slide the ring back on his finger. The smile that spreads across his face when you do is enough of a promise as any vows recited in a church, and he repeats the motion with your own ring—takes it off, then slides it back on with intention.

And then, because there’s no priest there to give the order, Horacio bends down and kisses you for the first time as himself, and the first time as yourself, and perhaps you learn your lesson about time after all because the moment you part, you whisper, “I love you” to him.

And perhaps he needed to learn the same lesson because he sighs, pulls you closer to him, and whispers “I love you too.”

#colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo x reader #narcos #tropes and tales

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chillypowder · 8 months

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Rescued Hearts: A Second Chance at Love

Pair: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: After 6 years of marriage, you've finally decided to end it half heartedly. So how did you end on the floor of your house that was once something you called home.

As I sat alone on the couch in our once-luxurious penthouse, the empty room seemed to echo with loneliness. The soft hum of the city outside was the only company I had, and it offered no solace. I had grown accustomed to these moments of solitude, moments when Bakugou Katsuki, my husband of six years, would once again prioritize his career as a pro hero over our relationship.

At first, his absences had stung, the broken promises a constant source of disappointment. But as time passed, I had learned to bury those feelings deep within me, like embers slowly fading into ashes. I had grown adept at putting on a brave face, hiding the hurt that gnawed at my heart each time he missed a date, a celebration, or simply a quiet evening together.

Unbeknownst to Bakugou, I had been carrying a secret that weighed heavier with each passing day. A secret that, in a cruel twist of fate, had driven a wedge between us even further. I had been diagnosed with leukemia, a merciless disease that had already claimed so much of my strength. After a grueling surgery, the doctors had delivered a grim prognosis - I had just a week left to live.

I couldn't bring myself to burden Bakugou with this devastating news. I understood the overwhelming stress and dedication he poured into his hero work. His days were filled with battles against villains, and his nights with endless paperwork and public appearances. How could I add to his burden with my own impending demise? Instead, I had decided on a different path, one that would ultimately make him resent me.

Tonight, as I waited for him once more, I contemplated divorce. It was a desperate attempt to push him away, to free him from the guilt and responsibility of a dying spouse. The courage to have this difficult conversation had taken time to gather, but I had resolved to go through with it.

Just as I steeled myself to face Bakugou and tell him that our marriage had become too painful to endure, a sharp, excruciating pain radiated through my chest. I gasped for breath, clutching at my heart, and then everything went dark.

Six long hours later, the weight of the door closing behind him alerted me to Bakugou's return. I wished I could see his face, explain everything to him, but I was trapped in this agonizing darkness, unable to move or speak.

Then, his voice, choked with panic and desperation, cut through the haze. "What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed, his footsteps racing toward me.

He found me, unconscious and unresponsive, lying on the couch where I had spent countless nights alone. Panic surged through him, and he fumbled for his phone, calling for an ambulance. But it was too late. I could feel my own consciousness slipping away, like grains of sand through my fingers.

As the paramedics rushed in, they tried to revive me, but I knew it was futile. My time had run out, and I had left this world with so much unsaid. I could hear Bakugou's voice, raw with anguish, begging me to hang on, but there was nothing I could do.

In those final moments, I wished I could have told him about my illness, about the love that had never waned despite the distance that had grown between us. I wished I could have told him how much I cherished the moments we had together, even if they were far too few.

And as the darkness closed in, I hoped that somehow, he would find a way to forgive himself, to understand that life had given us both a cruel hand, and that our love had endured through it all.

Note: I'm sorry I changed the original text from the idea to a more evolved version if you want to read the original idea I'll post it separately.

Once again. Sorry 😔

#bakugou angst #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader angst #angst #mha bakugou #bnha angst #my hero academia #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #Bakugou Katsuki x reader angst #my hero academia angst

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kai-anderson-whore · 8 months

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From the moment I took you in the station (part 2 Colin zable x fem reader smut)

Summary: you and Colin go on a date after it you invite Colin for a few drinks 😏

Warnings: smut, mentions of parents separating, oral (reader receiving), alcohol

Word count:2,4k

Part 1

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

Before you knew it Saturday rolled along, with that time you and Colin texted whenever you could knowing he was busy with work. At night you both would talk on the phone about anything and everything. You felt like a teenager again with the feeling of butterflies in the pit of your stomach and the constant blushing.

Amy helped you pick the perfect outfit not even a day after Colin asked you on a date, a black dress that fell just above your knees, showing a little cleavage it was casual yet elegantly formal. It was perfect one of your favourites but you never got around to wearing it yet. You paired the dress with black heels and your favourite pieces of jewellery. Your makeup was simple 'the French girl look' your sister said it was.

You finally got a text from Colin saying he was outside in his car waiting on you. Your sister was already at her friends house so you locked the door and made your way to Colin's car. "Hi" you smiled you were nervous but excited it had been a good while since you were on a date it felt new again. "Wow you look beautiful" Colin said in awe admiring you beauty.

"I feel overdressed my sister insisted I wear it" you giggled nervously. Colin shook his head dismissively "no you look perfect" he smiled beginning to drive to the restaurant. The drive was quite not in a awkward way it was nice.

Soon enough you both made it to the restaurant, Colin gave the name of the reservation the waiter guided you both to a table. "Can I get you both any drinks?" The waiter asked as you both scanned through the drinks menu. "I'll just have a coke with ice" you said with a polite smile. "Yeah I'll have the same" Colin nodded to the waiter handing them the menu. "This place is really nice" you said admirably sure you had been to fancy restaurants years ago but nothing like this.

"I'm glad you like it" Colin smiled he couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked under the bright lights, your eyes shining in admiration taking the decor in. Within a few minutes the waiter came back with your drinks and more menu's, you both thanked the waiter before they left you to your own devices. You opened the menu everything sounded delicious you couldn't make your mind up.

"So hard to choose something" Colin broke the silence between you both. "It really is to be fair though the maple glazed chicken is really screaming at me" you giggled lightly which Colin returned.

Eventually you both sat with your food talking about anything and everything really getting to know each other. "So how come your single?" Colin asked you shrugged your shoulders before replying. "I guess I never really bothered with relationships ever since taking my sister in wasn't really a priority to get out there, how come your still single?" You then asked.

"I was engaged a few years ago but last minute she backed out" Colin summed up, you could see the hint of hurt in his eyes you felt sad that someone would do that to such a nice person. "Oh Colin I'm sorry that's really terrible" you sympathised with him but he shrugged it off.

"So how come your sister lives with you if you don't mind me asking?" He then asked. You contemplated whether to tell him, but you were both getting to know each other. "We'll my mum and dad were going through a rough patch in their marriage and I didn't want amy to see it all so I took her in till they got their act together, but now their going through a really messy divorce" you explained.

"Wow I'm so sorry it must be really hard for you both". You nodded in agreement "but apart from all that it's been great Amy, my sister she's just amazing I don't really want to see her go anytime soon" you lightly chuckled.

The date went really well in your opinion, you and Colin talked about your family's and memories you had growing up. It was the most fun you had in a while before you knew it the night came to an end Colin's car parked outside your door. A slight awkward silence formed between you both neither of you wanted the night to end just yet.

"Do you maybe want to come in for a drink?" You asked hoping he would take you up on the offer. "Yeah sure" Colin accepted both of you getting out his car and into your home. Shrugging out your jacket placing it on the coat hanger by the door Colin followed you like a lost puppy. "Take a seat make yourself at home" you smiled hoping it would calm him down a bit which kind of worked he sat on your sofa While you went into the kitchen.

"Beer?" You offered holding two glass bottles. Colin nodded thanking you taking a swig of the bitter alcoholic beverage. "Nice place you got" Colin nodded his eyes scanning your home. "Thanks" you smiled at him. A few drink into the night you and Colin were laughing at a joke he said. Colin couldn't help but look into your eyes, they were mesmerising to him. Colin's eyes darted between your eyes and lips till he gave in and crashes his lips on your own.

You were taken aback trying to process what was happening. Your lips almost automatically responded to the movement of Colin's lips. You felt butterflies in the pit of your stomach, a warm feeling in the depth of your soul. Your hand cupped his cheek smiling into the kiss. Colin pulled away his cheeks flustered, the grin never left your lips.

"I'm sorry i was out of line I shouldn't have done that without asking first" Colin apologised. You shook your head dismissively "no it's okay Colin I liked it" you bit your lip Colin smiled in relief his shoulders relaxed hearing you say those words. "Another beer?" You asked getting on your feet. "Sure I'll have one more then I got to go" Colin agreed.

"You can't drive under the influence Colin" you giggled "no I'll get a cab if it's alright for me to leave my car here I can pick it up in the morning" Colin asked you nodded "sure I'll get you that beer".

It was same to say that single beer turned into something more stronger. A few glasses of whiskey between you both. Before you knew it you were stumbling into your bedroom - hungrily kissing Colin's lips he was showing just the same amount of lust and desire as you with his lips.

You didn't know what had happened one minute you were conversing in a conversation, next you were stumbling into your bedroom practically ripping each others clothes off- but neither of you cared how it happened you were just glad it did.

Colin kicked the door shut with his heel before turning your body so it was pressed against the door. Sending shivers down your spine. His lips moved from your lips to your neck peppering hungry kisses along the skin. Every kiss he decorated on your flushed skin made you grow hotter, weaker, your head went fuzzy for the detective.

His hands on your waist holding you close to him, your hips subconsciously grinding against Colin's feeling his growing erection. "Oh fuck" you sighed as Colin continued to pay more attention to that one stop that made you react the most too. You skin felt hot with each touch of Colin's lips. They were addicting to you, leaving you craving more.

Colin's hands moved to the back of your thighs, you took this as a sign to jump. Wrapping your legs around his waist Colin carried you to your bed laying you on the mattress. Your dress hiked up exposing your matching black lace underwear making Colin gulp in arousal.

You grinned provocatively propping yourself up on your elbows. Looking up at Colin through your eyelashes as he removed his shirt before crawling onto you. Your lips reconnecting eagerly he was like a drug and you were the addict. You sat back up removing your dress discarding the fabric somewhere in the room.

Colin watched you with lustful eyes, he couldn't believe you were in front of him only in your black pace underwear set. You bit your lip seductively your leg grazing over his growing erection, giving Colin the perfect amount of friction.

Colin's slim fingers hooked under the waistband of your underwear, dragging the lace painfully slow off your body. His hands roamed your thighs, his face inching closer to wear you needed him most. Your chest heaved at the sight of Colin between your legs looking up at you for consent, which you granted with a nod. Darting his tongue out Colin licked a strip between your slick folds. You let out a groan of pleasure propping yourself on your elbows to look at him.

His tongue made its way to your clit, giving you the perfect amount of pleasure. His tongue continues to do its work on your heat, your body reacts to each time his tongue would circulate around your clit then dart your entrance. It felt so good looking down at Colin who's eyes were already on you, looking up at you through his eyelashes 'what a fucking sight'. You thought.

Colin brought his attention back to your clit, one of his hands that was holding your thigh still now entering your entrance. Your walls greedily accepted his fingers clenching around them earning a smirk from Colin. "That feel good" he asked admirably. "Mhmm" you moaned out your hand reaching down tugging his hair. With each time you tugged on Colin's locks his hips would subconsciously grind into the mattress for friction.

You soon felt the urge of release forming in the depth of your stomach, your hips beginning to grind against Colin's face and fucking yourself on his fingers. He didn't mind continuing to get you closer to the edge. "I'm so close" you warned.

Colin didn't say anything but he fasted his movements of his tongue and fingers till you finally let go over his face and hand. Your orgasm hit you hard, your toes curling, your thighs threatening to close around Colin's head as he lapped up your slick wetness.

Your legs trembling with the overstimulation, Colin pulled away from your heat, his hands soothed your trembling legs till you calmed down. Colin crawled back up on the bed till he was face to face with you. Nothing was said you just stared at each other with lustrous eyes.

Colin smacked his lips back on yours allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into the kiss your hands roamed his bare chest snaking down to the belt buckle holding his trousers up. You managed to remove the belt without taking your lips off Colin's. Your hand cupped his clothed erection earning a low groan from Colin.

With a blink of an eye you flipped both of you over so you were on top of Colin. Straddling his thighs you removed the rest of the articles of clothing he had left letting his cock sprung free. You gasped at the sight, he was larger than you had anticipated. You took the base off his cock in your hand giving him a few tugs before a lining the tip with your sopping entrance sinking down on him slowly.

Your face scrunching up as he stretches you out. A mixture of pain and pleasure, you both moan in unison you took a few moments to adjust to his size. Your hips moves up and down bouncing along his length at a slow and steady pace. Colin let out a series of sighs and grunts, the moans leaving your lips turning him on more.

Colin watched the way your tits would bounce within your lace bra, his hands on your back pulling you down so he could unclasp the lacy fabric allowing your breasts to fall freely. Colin took your left nipple in his mouth swirling around the hardened bud, you moaned at the sensation. Your hips bouncing along his length feeling every inch of him stretching you out.

Your hands resting on Colin's chest for leverage and to keep you steady. Colin's lips gave attention to your other nipple giving caressing it with his warm mouth. You pulled away from Colin's lips, starting to bounce more faster on Colin's lap, moving your hips in slight circular motions earning a moan from Colin, it was probably the most hottest thing you could have ever heard in your life.

Colin's tight grip on your hips helping you bounce on him, "you look so beautiful" Colin slurred bucking his hips meeting yours. You let out a smile biting your lip, your legs feeling tired, Colin flipped you both over so you were now underneath him. His hand lifted your leg to his shoulder hitting a deeper angle. You cried out in pure pleasure at the new position.

"Fuck right there" you moaned your body jolting with each of his thrusts. You felt close to the edge once again, your walls clenching around Colin greedily taking all of him.

“I’m gonna-“ “let go baby” Colin cut you off you didn’t need to be told twice. Your orgasm ripped through you harder than the last one, your back arched practically screaming Colin’s name. Your orgasm triggered Colin’s own high releasing inside of you.

Colin rode out your blissful orgasms, both you breathless, bodies slick with sweat. Colin pulled out of you making you sigh at the loss of contact. He collapsed beside you on the bed his hand running down his face collecting himself.

“That was”- you paused for a moment trying to catch you breath, “bad?” Colin cringed thinking you absolutely hated what happened between you both. “The opposite it was amazing” you smiled placing a chaste kiss on his lips. you both still had a slight buzz from the alcohol you both consumed earlier.

A hum came from Colin as you kissed his lips, his eyes growing heavy. “You tired?” You asked setting yourself back down on your pillow. “You wore me out” Colin chuckled laying on his stomach, his head facing you. A yawn escaped your lips your eyes suddenly feeling heavy too. “I’m tired too” you giggled sleepily. Colin turned to lay on his side his arm around your bare waist, you nuzzled closer to him drifting off to sleep.

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autumntouched · 1 year

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Day 4 of Ode to Phoenix:

Summary: Part of the Hannix Football Rivalry Series where Phoenix is a 49ers fan and Hangman is a Cowboys fan. This is the sequel to Your Jersey or Mine?, which is NSFW and 18+ so you don't need to read it to follow this fic.

Jake is planning to propose to Natasha

Pairings: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Warnings: PG-13 with the innuendo. There's definitely a smuttier version but in case that's not for everyone, I'll post separately.

A/N: Apologies in advance to anyone who has a Christmas or holiday engagement! We're still in the universe where Natasha's parents got divorced when she was a kid so she has some things that she's working through.

The Proposal | Pt. I

Natasha lays back in the passenger seat scrolling through Instagram on their way home from a short snowboarding trip in between Christmas and New Year. Post after post announces people’s engagements to “their best friends.” She rolls her eyes and looks over at Jake.

Since their conversation about Super Bowl babies earlier this year, she’s had a growing, sneaking suspicion that he’s getting close to popping the question. Jake can be impressively discreet when he wants to be, so it’s her mom’s silence on the topic of their relationship that has tipped her off. And Gabby suddenly finding every reason under the sun to ask how she’s doing. So she sees this as the perfect opportunity to set some guidelines for his plans.

“I feel like Christmas engagements are so cliche,” she sighs. Natasha practically sees his ears perk up even though he strains to keep his eyes on the highway.

“Oh yeah?” he asks casually. He’s definitely on high alert because his shoulders are raised and tense.

“Yeah, everyone does it.”

He checks the lane to their left like he’s looking for an opening, but she knows he’s calculating his next step in this conversation and doesn’t want her to see his face while he’s doing the mental math. “Well, isn’t that when they’re most likely to be with their family?”

So he’s contemplated that scenario. Before they started dating–more like fell into dating and then stumbled into a relationship–neither she nor Jake had thought particularly long or hard about marriage. Getting married isn’t something even now that they feel personally inclined to rush into even though they both know this is it for them. Or at least she doesn’t. For all he likes to flaunt the rules, Jake can be surprisingly traditional. But if it weren’t for the Navy and the logistics of their careers, he would have had to do a lot more work to persuade her to marry him.

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas. What if they get divorced or one of them dies? Then that’s always going to hang over the holiday.”

It’s a real fear and reservation she has, so when he looks over at her there’s a softness in his face. People had laughed her off for saying that for so long that she’d stopped admitting it aloud and then even to herself. Which meant that it took several explosive fights for him to figure out why she wasn’t being her usual pragmatic self about his logical arguments for why they should get married.

The thing about Jake is he never makes her promises he knows aren’t in his control to keep. They’re both too honest for that. So he doesn’t promise to never leave her. What he does promise is, “You were doing just fine before I came along and even after, so the only thing I can know for sure is you’ll always be strong enough to go on without me.” She knows that doesn’t mean he’ll walk out on her because every day he does something to show her that she’s become the most important thing in his universe. Because Jake can also be surprisingly romantic, which is probably why Christmas floated through his mind. And he would want their families to be there.

He has to turn his eyes back to the road, but he reaches out and rests his steady, warm hand on her shoulder. His thumb runs soothingly along her collarbone. “Why don’t you tell me what other days are off limits to propose?”

“I’m not ruining anything?” And if there’s any sign that she’s fallen hook, line, and sinker for Jake “Hangman” Seresin, it’s that she would let him propose on Christmas if that’s what he truly wanted. How is she the same woman who used to block the number of any guy who had the audacity to send her a good morning text after a first date?

“Sweetheart.” He only uses “sweetheart” when he knows she’s at her most vulnerable. “The only thing I care about is making sure the day that I propose to you is one of your happiest memories.” Natasha’s gone from rolling her eyes at engagement posts to nearly crying at how much she loves him. She kisses his thumb on her shoulder. It’s the closest thing to his mouth that she can reach without causing an accident. And because he has to go and ruin every sweet, heart tugging moment, he adds, “I mean, until the day I fuck it up and then hopefully it’s not a day you mind letting live on in infamy.”

She laughs and tries to ignore the clench between her legs when the pad of his thumb strokes her bottom lip. He flashes his dimples at her, and the heat in the look they exchange promises they won’t be unpacking the car when they get home. “Don’t do it on my birthday, okay? Ideally not at all in October because that’s my favorite month. Or Christmas or New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s. Not Thanksgiving. Or Labor Day. God, please not Valentine’s Day. That would be the only circumstance under which I’d say ‘no’ without changing my mind.” She’s joking. She’d always say “yes,” but she’d be forever furious about it.

“Noted. So when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you’re not the girl who wants the rest of her life to start as soon as possible. Just at the next most convenient date?” And although When Harry Met Sally is one of her favorite movies, and she’ll make him watch it again for New Year’s Eve in a few days, she nods at his gentle teasing.

“That’s the only thing that’s wrong in an otherwise perfect movie,” she points out. “If Sally can never order what’s on the menu, wouldn’t she be just as picky about the day Harry proposed?”

Jake shakes his head at her but gives her a wry, loving smile. “It’s supposed to be romantic, babe.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and wriggles around so she’s facing him in her seat, propped up on her elbow. Natasha reaches out and rubs her hand over the top of his upper thigh. “Well, I think it’s very romantic that you asked me what I wanted.”

He groans because this conversation and her hand have very clearly started to strain the zipper of his jeans. “There are too many cops along here for me to pull over.”

“Better drive fast,” she grins.

“Now who’s reckless?” he grits out.

Ode to Phoenix Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Your Jersey or Mine? | The Proposal Pt. 2

#natasha trace fic #phoenix fic #phoenix headcanons #natasha trace headcanons #ode to phoenix #natasha phoenix trace #28 days of phoenix #hannix #hangman x phoenix #phoenix x hangman #natasha trace x jake seresin #jake seresin x natasha trace #hannix football rivalry

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hearthandheathenry · 2 months

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Hii✨ can I participate to the free reading? What makes me different from my future spouse exes? I'm GBDJF ♈ thank you🤍

Absolutely!

The card that popped out of my deck was the 4 of Swords!

Literal meaning: "The four of swords offers solace from a matter that has caused anguish. Something has been lost and a part of you feels as though it has died with it. You need some time alone to contemplate what has happened and where things might have gone wrong before you are ready to face the world again."

Swords represent air, autumn, and weeks. They also represent ideas, communication, conflict, struggle, separation, resolution, and change.

Personal interpretation: This seems like another instance of my cards wanting the inquirer to find the answer themselves, and perhaps dig deeper to find the real meaning behind their question. If you're inquiring about a future spouse and trying to be one that sticks, it must mean that you have struggled with relationships and want to make sure you find your forever person. With that in mind, the four of swords is telling you to slow down and self reflect, and don't try to jump back into a relationship right away. Perhaps your a serial monogamist and you need to take a break from dating for awhile to find yourself. You may have just gone through a traumatic breakup or big trauma, and its important to work through and face past traumas in order for us to be ready for the abundance of love the universe has in store for us, or we simply wound others with our own issues. It does ask you to contemplate where things have gone wrong in the past, and in that I think you will find the answer you seek. By contemplating the past, we can be better prepared for the future. Think of red flags in your ex you may have seen and ignored. Think of actions you may have taken that you regret. Think of the ways that you can show up and be a better spouse in the future and how you can ensure you find yourself with the best spouse for you. Personally, I don't think theres only one person for us out there, but different opportunities to grow and walk different paths. You may have 3 different spouses you could work well with, but different choices may lead you to one versus the other. So contemplating your own actions and your exs actions, the actions of the past, and the actions you want to make or see in the future, will bring you the greatest success in assuring you will end up happy with your future spouse. Swords also represent conflict, communication, etc, and from my years of marriage I can tell you that communication, with others and inwardly, will be so important in your journey. Give yourself grace with the past, use it as a learning experience and really feel those big feelings, then focus on who YOU want to be, and what type of spouse you would like for the future. You'll get there in the end! With all this, the answer is simply that you will have put the work in to work on yourself, and that is what will help your future spouse stick!

#answered asks #tarot reading #tarot cards #love #relationship #relationships #healing

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rileywritesnovellas · 4 months

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On top of my 50k word romance novella on Amazon, Sword Fighting in the Garden, I have several fan-fics published on AO3 as well. Almost all of these are Fantasy High fics written before the recent premiere of Junior Year, and the rest are Star Ocean the Divine Force fics. I figured a post to share all of them could be fun, though I will separate them into categories so you can browse more easily.

I have not watched any of FHJY yet, and anything in here that is a spoiler was not made with malice or the intent to spoil, but rather a blind coincidence

Category One: Slice of Life Fantasy High Fics

The Making of Adaine O'Shaughnessy: A slice of life fic showing Adaine contemplating a name change to better fit who her real guardian is!

What it's Like to Trance: An examination of Figs life growing up, my head cannon for how Trancing works in the FH universe, and some sweet moments between Fig & Gilear and Fig & Ayda

Random Encounters Volume 1: a collection of 300+ word short ficlets that I couldn't get over 1k. This one includes Fig Driving Safe, Riz learning to sword fight, a sisterly moment, and a look at Gorgug making things.

Spell Bound: a fic about Fig doodling after finding a page in Ayda's spell book set aside for doodles of Fig.

Random Encounters Volume 2: another collection of those short stories, this one includes Gorgug calming his gf down, an examination of Kristin's love for Tye Dye, the wizard girls sharing a moment, and Fabian spending quality time with his bike.

In Concert: Fig and Ayda steal a moment after The Cig Figs perform, and Fig recognizes the stability Ayda brings to her life

Random Encounters Volume 3: this one features A look at what makes Riz tick, a sequel to 'In Concert' following Gorgug and Zelda, Aelwyn getting some new clothes, and Jawbone having a long night

A Very Long Night (Extended): Jawbone spends some time pondering his two not-quite-daughters and how he came across them, an extension of the fourth story in REV3

Trio of Transitively Best Friends: Adaine finds herself as the go to girl for both of her two best friends in the world, Ayda & Fig, as they start dating.

Becoming Sisters Again: Adaine and Aelwyn share some vulnerable moments as they relive a brief and almost forgotten moment of bonding from their past.

Random Encounters Volume 4: this one includes Fig and Jawbone deciding he isn't dad number 3 for her, Boggy spotting an intruder, Riz telling his dad about the little things, and Ayda seeking immortality

Flying Away: Fig mentions marriage and Ayda has too many feelings about that, so she flies away only to get stuck in a rainstorm.

Pockets: Ayda decides to accessorize to make her flying dates with Fig a little easier.

The Smell of Fire in the Morning: Fig and Ayda are separated for a period of time, leaving Fig missing the small things about her

Overthinking It: Ayda is worried that Fig will get bored, so asks Adaine for some advice.

Movie Night: Fig has Ayda over for a sleep over

Category Two: The B.A.D. Kids, A Fantasy High Spy AU

Quick note for my convenience, this category will be in Chronological Order of events, because that's the order they are in the series on AO3.

The Abernant Sisters have a B.A.D. Time: After realizing her father is going to do something horrible to her little sister, the two run away together to Solace, where they join the Bureau of Advanced Detectives to hide from their powerful family.

Enter The B.A.D. Kids: Fig is recruited into the Bureau of Advanced Detectives, and is assigned to a team of spies, analysts, and soldiers who are all working on one goal, dismantling a covert criminal organization seemingly founded by Kalima, a former B.A.D. Agent.

Silent Strikes, Born of Shadows: A Kalina POV one shot following her setting a trap for the B.A.D. Agents on her tail.

The Analysts: Adaine and Ayda discuss their lives as they take a short break from work.

In B.A.D. Taste: With Fig sidelined, Fabian is put in the hot seat to track down notorious criminal mastermind Kalina as she flies the country and sets sail for Leviathan

B.A.D. Luck: a WIP follow up to 'In B.A.D. Taste' following Ragh as the battle against this shadowy criminal cabal becomes less about subtle machinations and more about open conflict.

Category Three: Star Ocean Fics

Another Author's note here, I understand most of you are here for Fantasy High stuff, but please check this fic out. If you like women who like women, you might like this!

I'll also only list one fic despite writing several. Why? Because the one fic is actually a remastering of the others, where each fic is a chapter, and each one was fixed up and edited for a better reading experience.

The Princess and Her Doctor (Remastered Collection): Follow the on going adventure of Princess Laeticia Aucerius and her doctor Nina Deforges after the events of Star Ocean: The Divine Force. The two developed a close relationship over the course of the game, and it only continues to grow more romantic as the two travel together to spread the cure for Helgar's Disease

#my writing #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #fantasy high #fantasy high freshman year #fantasy high sophomore year #star ocean #star ocean the divine force #fantasy #scifi #gay #lgbtq writing #Laeticia Aucerius #Nina Deforges #fig faeth #ayda aguefort

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winxngasks · 7 months

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Next up for the Main Universe next-gen redesigns/reworks, we have the children of Musa, Riven, and Darcy! This one took longer to get to mainly because I was having trouble at first sketching Maddy. If you recall, Madeline is the daughter of Musa/Riven, who split soon after her birth. After focusing on her career and raising her daughter as a single mother(as she took custody), Musa eventually meets up with Darcy again, them reconciling and dating for a few years before marrying. Darcy also had a daughter of her own from a previous relationship, Elodie, who becomes Musa's new step-daughter and Maddy's step-sister. Eventually after their marriage they had their own child together, a son named Edgar.

Elodie was originally a "what-if" character concept that I was contemplating for my Main Universe, that I eventually settled on adding in because I could see her having some interesting dynamics with her siblings.

I hope you enjoy! Here are more notes for all three of them!

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- Madeline "Maddy": 17 years old, daughter and only child of Musa and Riven, and step-daughter of Darcy. Citizen of Melody, and Fairy of Sound Waves. Tallish height, slim hourglass build that is leaning towards the pear-shaped side, long and straight navy bluish-black hair, bluish-purple eyes, fair skin, a mole on her left cheek, dark orchid make-up, ears double pierced. As her parents split soon after her birth with her mother taking custody, she feels no resentment to either of them for their separation, nor does she miss her father all that much as he never had a huge part in her life. For the first years of her life she naturally bonded more with her mother and loved following her to her shows when she could, but when Darcy came into her mother's life and they eventually married, she happily accepted her as her new Step-Momma as she saw just how happy Musa was with her. Along with their marriage she gained her step-sister Elodie, who she was a bit intimidated by at first and it took them a long time to adjust to each other. Maddy is a very chill and laidback kind of girl, who has some bad habits of being too lazy or stubborn at times and coming across as a huge help. Despite this, she is a huge sweetheart when you get to know her who loves helping out her friends and loved ones in any little ways she can, with a huge generous nature as she loves making gifts for others. She grew a fondness for fashion and particularly DIY fashion at a young age, having always loved experimenting with new styles from her thrift-clothes shopping ventures. One of her first DIY projects she was so proud of was her butterfly jeans back when she was a young teenager, which don’t fit her as much now that she’s older but she still loves them all the same. Like Musa, she too has an interested in music but is a little unsure at the moment of pursuing it in the future.

- Elodie: 21 years old, daughter and oldest child of Darcy, and step-daughter of Musa. Citizen of Melody, and Witch of Illusions. Tall height, willowy and slightly curvy figure, long and wavy reddish-brown hair, piercing gold eyes, light tanned skin, dark makeup, ears pierced. Born from a previous relationship of her mother's, she grew up not knowing her father as he left before she was born, nor does she care all that much to meet him either as he left his family. As her mother moved them around here-and-there for her work, Elodie grew up as a bit of sheltered and tense kid who found it hard to find and make friends with people who genuinely liked her instead of pick on her. She kept to herself most often, until her mother started dating Musa and eventually married her, with her now having a new step-mom and step-sister to get used to. She tried getting comfortable with Maddy, but the two were too different that it took them a long time to truly get along. It was not until she got accepted into Cloud Tower that she really got to thrive. A very sly, playful, and confident young woman, who has learned how to get what she wants in life and takes no crap from anyone, though she often lets her pride get in the way. Since graduating she has taken up a job as a magician-illusionist, primarily using her illusions to entertain young children, though she truthfully has bigger ambitions for her life.

- Edgar: 10 years old, son and youngest child of Musa and Darcy. Citizen of Melody, with some signs of possible magic but no specific source at the moment. Average height, skinny build, wavy dark brown hair that is just past the ears, gold eyes, pale skin, square-shaped glasses. Edgar is the only child born from Musa and Darcy's marriage, and the only son of the blended family. When he was a baby both his older sisters absolutely adored him and still like to gush over him nowadays, though he does get pretty annoyed with their coddling. Unlike most of his peers, he is a very serious and studious young man, more focused on studying magic, reading, or playing brain puzzles than making friends. A perfectionist and stickler for rules, he always makes sure other people pay attention to them, even if this gives him a bit of sour reputation with his classmates as they label him as a stick-in-the-mud. Though he could stand to relax and be less callous, he is a genuinely hard-working boy who has big dreams for the future, as he is inspired by his Mama Musa to one day protect the Magical Dimension.

#winx club #winx #next-gen #ocs #main universe #redesign #revamp #sketch #character concepts #madeline #elodie #edgar

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bengiyo · 1 year

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I posted 17,666 times in 2022

That's 14,011 more posts than 2021!

378 posts created (2%)

17,288 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@callipigio

@kandrakelsier

@benkaaoi

@negrowhat

@xagan

I tagged 7,657 of my posts in 2022

#bad buddy - 573 posts

#kinnporsche - 480 posts

#the eclipse series - 439 posts

#not me the series - 302 posts

#love in the air - 290 posts

#star trek - 251 posts

#sarge watches - 228 posts

#bl series - 177 posts

#our flag means death - 172 posts

#thai bl - 164 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#i just don't think you should be surprised when someone falls for you when you shove something into their mouth to show you care about them

My Top Posts in 2022:

Big Dragon Ep 3 Stray Thoughts

When we last left the Shitty Boys, they were at a pool party with heavy pours, and I questioned the decision to allow so much glass near a pool. For the first time in a while, we reflected on the potential physical realities of overaggressive anal intercourse, and I lamented that BL rarely explores m/m intimacy beyond penetrative sex.

Yes, give us the pool shot again.

For all that I'm struggling a bit with this show, I do want to praise the visual production values from Star Hunter. This show has been very visually pleasing and easy on the eyes. There was a period in 2020 where everything was way too bright and white.

I forgot Mangkorn looked like a lifeguard.

I feel like if he was serious about destroying the phone, he'd microwave it. Also, in the age of cloud storage, the video is definitely not stored on the phone.

Mangkorn: "You're pretty stupid for a villain. Let's fuck again."

Oh, a frank request for consent followed by role-play. It's time to tag @lutawolf in, because the show is going there.

I think I like that the show ended that scene on a joke. I'm also glad that we have more shows presenting fellatio as a quickly-accessible form of m/m pleasure.

These two are so weird about each other.

Can't believe we had a scene where we had a mic'd actor brush his mic repeatedly and then change shirts. Pain.

And now they're on a date??

Oh, hey elder gays. And now this show had joined the call for marriage equality with a sad piano backing track. Add it to the list!

Really loving Thai BL this year being very plain about support for queer issues.

So Mangkorn runs off to buy noodles from a place right near Yai's condo? I mean it's nice since Yai is dealing with discomfort, but it still reads a bit weird to me.

I get that this scene is meant to show them contemplating each other, but I really hope it didn't take Yai hours to eat noodles in the same spot while Mangkorn was working.

I enjoyed Da. Hopefully we see her again.

The communication between Yai and his guards leaves much to be desired.

Another show with ghosts? Well, she's using her powers for good. I wonder how many points that cost her.

Should we start a running tally of damaged phones in this show? Current count: 2

We go from yearning for marriage equality to an arranged marriage only the dads seem into. The whiplash.

88 notes - Posted October 22, 2022

It's been a while since I watched a MAME show. Everyone is very attractive, but I'm always slightly frowning about something.

90 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us Ep 3 Thoughts

I'm still not over the architectural bars in the middle of In's room.

Wang is attractive in a way that feels unusual for Thai dramas I'm used to.

The confidence in the ritualistic way In made that coffee was kinda hot.

The flirting over coffee and speaking between the lines brought me back to 1000 Stars for a moment. It's kinda interesting that Coffee Melody hasn't hit this level of sexual tension over coffee.

It's absolutely captivating watching a show from Thailand where the cinematography feels intentional the entire time. The conversation over breakfast is mostly just A-B cuts, but putting In and Sawimol in one frame highlights the choices they've made as adults that separates them from Wang. Going to the wide shot of the table highlights the gulf between both parties. Then, as soon as Sawimol exits, the two men are reaching across that Gulf over shared purpose. Finally, the overhead shot and pan indicates that they've reached a private accord. I'm gonna lose it.

I think I am glad that Wang apologized to his mom, even if the inherent codependency of their dynamic worries me. I think it's okay for Wang to disapprove of the dated nature of some of her work, but it was indeed incredibly rude for him to deride her the way he did.

In explaining that he doesn't cry by avoiding things that make him sad...while standing next to the cage...is just going to drive me insane. The way he walked away from Wang to the desk frames him such that he retreats behind the bars.

I'm not sure Wang even knows what he wants from In.

I liked the bridge-buiding montage. It seems like Wang did not get much of an experience he enjoyed at his boarding school, so there was probably something enjoyable masculine about the labor.

These two are unsubtle about the way they discuss risk taking. In is set in his reserve, and Wang is firmly opposed.

Oh lord here the Thai boys go again getting their whole pant legs wet around bathing.

In takes a glance, but always walks away from desire when it creeps up with Wang.

There were so many people hired for this surprise.

Oh my goodness I'm going to exit my corporeal form. If my family hired performers to do an almost interpretive dance as they sung happy birthday with a violinist before a guy with a globe-shaped cake exited a giant present box, I would probably just die right there.

This time, when describing the game, the A-B framing puts Wang on the bottom of the frame with his mom. Interesting that the last time we had this, In was presented as more equal. Wang may know what his mom is up to, but he's not really in control.

Man, the constant use of metaphor is something I've missed even in queer cinema. This show is a real treat for me.

Ah, we have a conceit to remove the mom from the story for a few days. Something LGBT is definitely going to happen.

Confirming that In and Siam we're intimate only brings up more questions, like why were they sorry it happened?

Man, this show is just so different from the usual fare. I enjoy BL immensely, but I am a sucker for this particular brand of queer melancholia tinged with hope and exploration.

107 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

I really am just so happy about the end of Minato’s Laundromat. Japan didn’t let us down on that one. We got a solid set of kisses, some great relief flirting, and a very tasteful double-confirmation about sating desires. I really couldn’t ask for more from this particular scenario.

Moreover, Shin never had to sublimate his feelings! He still gets to be a doctor, but he chose to do it near the person he values most.

Hell, even Asuka and Shuu get to work out their dynamic!

I’m in a good mood today.

121 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I am a gay man sitting on his porch in a robe with a hot cup of coffee observing the behaviors of the winds and birds. I give a small sniff and say, "The lesbians are on the move."

I adjust my radio and listen to the advertisement for Gap one more time and nod sagely before sitting in my rocking chair. "Guess we'll need more plates," I muse before taking a sip as the cries of joy begin to rise in the distance.

(Congratulations on the Gap trailer release!)

253 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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thecoachingdirectory · 4 months

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Are you contemplating dating, marriage, or even separation?

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#Are you contemplating dating #contemplating marriage #contemplating separation #relationships #relationship challenges #professional coaches #relationship problems #professional coaching #Relationship Coach #Life Coach #thecoachingdirectory #coaching #coaching solution #coaching services #coachingdirectory #matching services

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skzhocomments · 8 months

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Broken hearts can heal - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter XIV - Today marks one year

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad link

AO3 link

Chapter XIII / Chapter V

---

Chapter XIV - Today marks one year

word count: 2.5k words

~three months later~

"DA-EUN, COME HERE RIGHT NOW!!!" You heard Minho shouting from the living room as you were doing laundry and were separating Haru's white, blue and green bodysuits.

"Can you wait? I'm a bit busy!"

"NO, THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT!"

You sighed as you dropped the clothes basket and headed towards them, when you saw that HARU WAS STANDING ON HIS TWO LITTLE FEET.

"Oh my!!!!" You exclaimed, shocked.

"His first steps!" Minho exclaimed proudly as he filmed the baby, wanting to share this moment with all your friends and family.

"No way!!!" You almost teared up, and then Haru did another unexpected thing.

He pointed at you and mumbled a small "Mama", then sat down and pointed at Minho and said "Dada!" with a lot of resolve and determination in those little eyes of his.

Then, he nonchalantly started playing with his toys on the ground, all the while you and Minho couldn't believe what just happened.

First steps and first words – at once?!

"Is our baby a genius?" Minho contemplated as he ended the recording, looking at Haru with a tilt of the head.

"Of course he is, just like his mother." You boasted proudly and sat down in Minho's lap.

Ever since the honeymoon, you two have been growing very comfortable with each other. You spent all your nights together, Minho took you out on dates all the time, and you could say you've been genuinely happy with how your life turned out.

"That's right. You're truly the most amazing woman I've ever met." He complimented you, pressing a kiss on your neck and making you giggle.

"I love you."

"I love you too." He replied and pecked your lips.

"How much?" You grinned mischievously.

"The most."

"Hmmmm, you sure?" You tilted your head with a pout.

"Oh no." He shook his head. "You surely want something."

"Whaaat?!" You playfully pushed his shoulder. "How could you say something so hurtful?" You faked hurt in your tone and placed your right hand on your chest.

"Da-Eun, come on, we both know you." He chuckled. "What is it?"

"I'm just curious if you love me enough to do the laundry?" You continued grinning like a child.

"It's your turn though?! Woah!" He scoffed.

"So you don't love me." You pouted.

"That's blackmail, you little-"

"DADA!" Haru shouted cutely, making both of you turn your heads to watch him play with a stuffed animal. Both of you burst out laughing at that, and you got off Minho, watching him sit up and fondly take Haru in his arms, kissing his cheek.

"Haru, wanna do laundry with dada?"

"Nooooo!" You laughed. "Leave the baby be! He's too young for chores!!!"

"No way! He's gotta learn young! We don't wanna bring up a lazy boy!"

"That's true, what if he gets married and expects his partner to do all the chores? Ew." You shuddered.

"Okay, let's not think about marriage yet, he's barely 8 months old." Minho chuckled.

"MAMA!" Haru shouted again.

"You're soooo cuteeee!!!" You exclaimed and pinched his little cheeks., then pressed a kiss on Minho's cheek as well, so he wouldn't feel lonely. "Since you're gonna do all the chores today I'm gonna go watch a drama!" You grinned.

"Woah, leaving me to do everything-" Minho shook his head with a small smile and adoration in his eyes.

"I know you love me, so I'll be as spoiled as possible." You grinned again.

"There's ice cream in the freezer. I got it for you earlier."

"Nooooo wayyyy! You're the best ever!" You started walking towards the kitchen with hurried steps.

~1 month later~

"Da-Eun, you're as beautiful as always." He kissed your cheek and patted your hair. "And your skin looks great."

"Your skin is always better, come on!"

"Yea. It was." He spoke, and it felt like his words brought you back to reality.

It was.

"I missed you." You said and looked at the man next to you fondly. "I miss you, Key."

"I miss you too."

"I can't believe it's already been a year since you... left." Your words trailed off as you noticed him starting to smile softly.

"I'm so sorry, Da-Eun. But you're doing well, aren't you?"

"I am, but..."

"I'm sure Minho is treating you right. He did the ultimate power move, marrying his enemy's girlfriend."

"Shut up, you were never enemies." You laughed.

"Jokes aside, I'm happy if you're happy, Da-Eun. I want you to always be happy and live the best life you can."

"I'm glad you said that. Takes a weight off my heart. Even if you're just in my mind." You chuckled.

"Am I just in your head though?" He tilted his head in confusion, then shrugged. "Maybe. So how is Haru? You should bring him today as well. Only a few more months and he'll be a year old, right? Woah, time flies by!"

"Haru is doing great... He just said his first words like a month ago and he's been babbling ever since." You chuckled. "Oh, and he's a walker. I swear, he walks so confidently around the house, like he owns the place."

"As he should! He's my boy, after all." Kibum boasted proudly.

You smiled.

"Hey, Da-Eun, do you want to know a secret?" He gestured to you to come closer so he could whisper in your ear.

"What is it?" You chuckled softly and indulged him.

"You're going to be a mom."

"I am already, right?"

"That's not what I meant, silly." He patted your head gently. "You'll see."

"I will?"

"Mhm." He nodded. "Anyway, it's time for you to wake up now. Eat some Cacio e Pepe for me later, yea? And don't cry at my grave."

"Hey, that's not fair for you to say!" You exclaimed, making Kibum laugh.

"I love you so much, Da-Eun. Now go."

"I love you too."

A dream.

You jolted awake, looking at the time and seeing how late it was. Why didn't Minho wake you up earlier?

You lazily went out of bed and opened your closet, finding the dress you were looking for and trying to erase the dream from your mind. It felt so real, like Kibum was actually there with you. You swore you could still feel his touch on your head.

You put on a black dress sombrely and cried looking in the mirror.

Today marks one year since Kibum passed away, and although you're in love with Minho, and you are happy, you never forgot about him. Not that you wanted to, not that you even could, especially since Haru was such a carbon copy of him.

You and the people around you started speaking about him more, as the wound of his absence started healing a bit. It was no longer a topic that you avoided at all costs. Minho was right, his memory would become something pleasant to talk about, all the memories you've made would not always be painful to remember.

However, wearing this dress and going to his grave for the first time since his death brought back the feelings of that horrible time in your life. It was like you were picking at a large scab and reopening the wound all over again, and you couldn't help but sob.

Minho was handling it way better than you. He gave you time to grieve, while still being your rock and supporting you. You were extremely grateful to have him be your husband, as he was the most understanding person ever. You don't know what other men would let you so openly talk to them about your love for your late soon-to-be husband without them feeling inferior, attacked, or unsure in the relationship.

You sobbed while getting the dress out of your closet, you sobbed while you got undressed of your pyjamas, and you sobbed while putting the damn dress on and looking in the mirror again.

It was going to be a hard, long day.

It also didn't help that you've been feeling so emotional this past week. You were all over the place, you couldn't focus on anything.

And to add the cherry on top, you've just been feeling so nauseous. You've been throwing up for 2 days straight, the mere smell of food made you run to the bathroom and empty your bowels.

You haven't been this sick since-

No.

This can't be.

"You're going to be a mom." Kibum's words from your dream rang in your head.

No way.

"My love, are you ready?" Minho popped his head in the room and frowned, noticing your tear-stained cheeks.

Your mind was, however, somewhere else by now, as you kept thinking and thinking if you could be pregnant.

It made no sense.

You almost always used condoms when having sex with Minho, but there were some times when you've been careless. You always took Plan B afterwards to prevent any unwanted pregnancy, though, so how could it be...?

You weren't sure you were ready for another baby.

You watched Minho in slight panic as you basically ran out of the room and to the bathroom, brushing over him.

"Da-Eun, baby, are you sick again?" Minho opened the bathroom door you closed behind you with concern. "Maybe you have a stomach bug. You should go to the doctor-"

He was surprised to see that you weren't throwing up this time but were frantically searching the bathroom cabinets.

"Da-Eun...?"

After a few seconds, you finally found what you were looking for. A box you bought just in case when you came back from the honeymoon 3 months ago, because those 2 weeks were the only times you haven't used any protection and you were so scared of getting pregnant.

Minho watched you perplexed as you hopped on the toilet and pissed on the test.

"I think I'm pregnant." You watched him in horror, not daring to look at the result before the time indicated on the package – three minutes.

The longest three minutes of your life.

"Wh-what?"

You burst out crying and placed your head in your hands.

"It's okay, shhh!" Minho came in front of you and hugged your body.

"I- I don't know if I can do this again, Min. How could we even have a baby so soon after Haru?"

"Love, look at me." He spoke softly, and as soon as you raised your gaze, you instinctively glanced at the test. However, Minho grabbed your face and forced you to look in his eyes instead, not letting you see the result. "Please calm down a bit first. Breathe with me."

You nodded and took a few deep breaths, feeling your body relax a bit.

"Better?"

"... yea." You breathed out.

"What are you scared of, Da-Eun?" He asked you softly, caressing your face with his thumbs as he was still holding you.

"I... I'm not sure if I can do this... I never thought I could have two children, and... I really couldn't wait for Haru to turn 2 and go to kindergarten so I can finally..." You sobbed.

"Go to Uni?" Minho smiled.

"Yea." You nodded.

"Hmm. We could always get you enrolled, even if you are pregnant. You can do the first year, freeze your next one and continue later, or switch to a long-distance program. We will get help around the house, so you can attend classes and focus without worrying about chores or about the baby while you're studying."

"C-can we?"

"Of course. You wouldn't need to put your life on-hold. We can do anything, as long as it makes you happy."

"O-okay."

"Would it be selfish of me to tell you that I would be extremely happy to have our little family grow? Da-Eun, I'm so happy with you, I love Haru so much, and I would love having more children with you. You're the best partner, and the best mom."

Minho's words made you sniffle, and you felt yourself wanting to cry again. Instead, you just hugged him tightly.

"However, I would never hold it over your head if you truly felt you aren't ready, or if you don't want any more children whatsoever. We can look into more sustainable precautions and contraceptives measures, so you don't accidentally get pregnant again, if that test is positive. You can get an abortion if you don't want this. It's your choice, and I will respect it no matter what."

"N-no..." You spoke, holding Minho close. "I would never... I love you so much, Min. If... if I'm pregnant, just knowing that you're here is enough for me... I think... I could do it."

"Of course I'll be here with you!" He smiled, patting the back of your head gently. "Should we look at what the test says?"

"Yea... okay." You nodded slowly and moved away, grabbing the test into your hands.

Two strong red lines confirmed your suspicions, and you started crying again, but this time not from the imminent sense of doom that washed over you moments prior, but from pure happiness that your family will hopefully grow by one in a few months.

"We're going to have a baby." You smiled.

"Another baby." Minho chuckled. "I'm so happy, Da-Eun." He hugged you tightly again, then helped you stand up and arrange your dress.

"I can't believe we found out today, though..."

"This is certainly Kibum letting us know early so we can prepare better." He chuckled.

"Prepare better?! What do you mean? I say we've done a decent job with Haru!" You laughed.

"We did the best job, and now we're going to do even better." He smiled and kissed your cheek.

~two months later~

"So, are you ready to find out your baby's gender, or would you rather I write it on a note so you can have a surprise baby shower?" The doctor asked you excitedly.

"I think... I'd like to know." You replied truthfully, looking at Minho who agreed with you.

"Me too. I'm so excited, I can't wait anymore."

"Okay. Let's see." The doctor moved the transducer on your stomach and looked at the monitor. "Hmmm, before telling you, do you want a boy or a girl?" The doctor chuckled.

"We already have a baby boy." Minho smiled. "So I'd love it if it were a girl, but... we can't really control that. I'm happy either way. As long as he or she is healthy..."

"Yea." You nodded. "Me too."

"Well, dad, you're going to have to celebrate, then. Your daughter looks healthy!"

"Oh God!" You cried and felt Minho's arms engulf you in a hug.

"A girl! That's amazing!" He spoke and kissed your forehead.

"We have to tell everyone the gender and celebrate! Let's order some of those pink and blue cupcakes and do a gender reveal for the others! Oh, and some balloons. I saw some really cute ones on Instagram. Or maybe go out for drinks with everyone at lunch?!"

"Minho." You held his hand. You loved how excited he was, and you were, too. Getting pregnant scared you so much at first, but now you were so glad that it happened. It was the best blessing. "I have some classes later today, remember?" You chuckled.

"Oh, right. Hmmm. Then, in the evening?"

"No, let's stick to the cute cupcake-balloons idea. I loved it." You laughed.

"We could even get a custom suit for Haru that says 'I'm going to have a baby sister!' or something!" Minho smiled brightly.

"That would be great."

"I love you SO much!" He hugged your side and kissed your cheek. "I'll plan the best party while you focus on your studies!"

"I can't wait!" You grabbed his face and kissed him on the street, not caring about anyone's gaze on you. This was a happy day, and you were sure only such days were going to follow.

---

Chapter XIII / Chapter V

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