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royallyprincesslilly · 3 years

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

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As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

“Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

“Congratulations, your graces.”

The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

“Your grace?”

You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

“Are you all right, dear?”

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

“Jemilla?”

You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

You nodded.

“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that so?”

“Why yes. Look.”

He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

“Did you call me a coward?”

You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

“Quite fevered,” you whispered.

Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

“Already hiding from your husband?”

You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

“Tessa.”

You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

“Your grace,” she said.

Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

“Are we, your grace?”

Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

“Stare into my eyes.”

They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

“Stare into my eyes.”

You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

“After you, your grace.”

You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

“Welcome, your graces.”

You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

“Your room, your grace.”

“Thank you. what is your name?”

She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

“Hello there.”

The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

“No! No. Thank you.”

You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

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#pleasing the duke fic #rege jean page fanfiction #the duke of hastings fanfiction #regency fanfic #the duke of hastings x ofc #bridgerton fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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catxsnow · 3 years

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BROKEN ROSES - DAMIJON

Summary: Damian hated Valentine’s day more than anything. Jon thought it was romantic, he wanted Damian to be able to appreciate the holiday just as much as him.

Warning: fluff, angst, mentions of blood and Damian beating up a thug while Jon’s a cutie.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I, much like Damian here, don’t like it very much but me and my mututals decided to do a little secret santa for Valentine’s day and I got Ms. @screennamealreadyused and went with a little Damijon

I know it’s not my usual writing but I thought I would post it nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Valentines Day had to be one of the silliest days of the year.

It was simply an excuse for couples to get out for the night and go on a date or drop the kids off so parents could have a night to themselves. To put it lightly, it was just a day that forced pressure on boyfriends and girlfriends to waste money on chocolates and roses. Not to mention it left all those who were single feeling lonelier than ever.

It wasn't like Christmas where you got to spend time with family or Halloween where you could dress up and go party. Even St. Patricks day was better than Valentine's Day. The holiday was something that was easy to dread as it rolled around each new year. Holiday, if you could even call it that.

Maybe the reason that he hated it so much was because every couple he knew soaked up the twenty-four hours of pure romance. If they were truly in love, they'd spend every day of the year treating each other like they would on the fourteenth of February.

Single people everywhere found themselves alone in their room or making a desperate attempt at a bar to find someone for the night. It was pathetic, almost. Why should they feel the need to suffer just because they hadn't met their match yet? Why should those lucky enough to fall in love get to celebrate? Didn't they have enough already?

The other reason he hated it so much was because he never had a reason to understand it. Never in love, never feeling loved by that one person that was supposed to mean everything to him. Never being brought flowers or gifts because someone was so head over heels in love that they wanted to express it in every way possible.

Valentine's was just another day of crime-fighting and sore muscles. A night of saving couples from greedy thugs or saving young women who had the unfortunate of running into desperate men. A night of coming home with bruises and an empty room. A manor that was far larger for just three people.

Selina was meant to drag Bruce out on some extravagant night in the town on Valentine's day. Dick and Kori had their own plans in San Francisco. Tim and Steph even wanted to go out on a date even if their relationship had been anything but stable at that point. Jason himself probably had some sort of plans to lounge around a bar until a woman joined his side.

That left Damian home alone in a massive manor with no plans and a heart filled with hatred. He'd spend another night of saving lives just to feel like something was missing in his own. There was always something missing. Something that kept him up at night wondering what the big deal about love really was.

He dreaded the next day.

"It's ridiculous! Why would anyone want to come up with such a silly way to spend your day?" Damian's cape snapped in the harsh winds. The cold winds felt as if it was cutting through his skin as he ran across rooftops. Another night of Gotham's winter, another night of taking down worthless thugs.

His face burned with the cold. Joints sore as he jumped down the emergency stairs on the side of an old building when hearing screams. He could barely feel the hits on his knuckles when beating up the fool that tried to fight him instead of running. Only when he remained on the ground, blood pouring from his nose did Damian stop.

"I think it's cute," Jon finally spoke up. The drastic change of Jon’s words and the scene before them nearly made Damian snicker. "Mom and Dad always go out on dates, he buys her flowers, makes breakfast. They've been doing it forever. How could you hate a day that's supposed to be filled with love?"

"If true love really exists," Damian pulled his grappling gun from his belt and shot it up to the building ahead. He landed on top of the roof once more, waiting for his friend to join him. "Why does there need to be one day to express it? Why not every day?"

"It is every day, Robin," Jon tried to explain. Trying to explain something like this to Damian was like talking to a brick wall. He refused to see the joy in it and wouldn’t admit that someone could love a little extra on a designated day. "When someone's in love every single day is dedicated to make them happy - even when you don't even realize that you're doing it. You don't get to see what someone's like when they're in love. Your parents..."

Damian narrowed his eyes. There was love between Bruce and Talia, at one point in their loves. It was never true love - no, it was far from that. It was a love of power, strength. Nothing like how Clark and Lois were. If Bruce was lucky, he would finally have found that in Selina - or if he didn't fuck it up before he got the chance to find out.

"It's idiotic."

Damian would never admit that he was envious. There was no reason that he needed to waste time being in love, yet there were moments that he wondered what it would be like. The devotion that one had was something that wasn't forced or expected, it was gained over time willingly.

Being in love was something that he wasn't trained for. His mother never taught him that growing old didn't have to be lonely. He didn't know what it was like to fall asleep next to someone he trusted or waking up just the same way. No one told him what it was like to be in love, and at that point, he didn't care.

"It's romantic," Jon corrected. He should have known not to bring up the dya with Damian. If there was anyone in this world that was going to hate Valentine’s Day, it was him. "You just don't want to agree because you've never been in love before."

"And you have?" Damian scoffed. Jon might have been surrounded by love, but that didn't mean anything when it came to the real deal of it all. He hadn't experienced being in love just the same as Damian. Neither of them knew what it was like - so why did he feel the need to defend it so much? "What does a kid know about love?"

Jon's bottom lip curled into a pout. The cold air didn't seem to bite nearly as harshly as Damian's words. You didn't have to be old to experience love. Kids of all ages experience different kinds of love and all of them were just as valid. Damian, as badly as he didn't want to admit it, had experienced it too.

It wasn't the same as true love - not like his parents or Dick and Kori or anyone else that he knew. True love didn't come from family, it came from finding yourself in another person. Sometimes, Jon wondered if he found that in Damian.

The morning of the fourteenth, Damian woke up grumpy. He glared at the breakfast Alfred made for him and even more so at the red and pink scattered on every screen in Gotham city. The little sleep that he had gotten that night was poor, starting his day off bad enough as it was. It only got worse as it progressed.

Surely the kids at his school would be excited throughout the entire day. He heard his classmates speak of their crushes or who they wanted to hand out cards to all week and it was beyond disgusting to hear about. He wanted no part of it, but by the giggles and gazes of most the girls in his class, he was bound to be.

Damian scowled as he found yet another rose tucked away in his possessions. The entirety of the day he had found them. The first was in his locker at school. Just before the first period as he collected his books he had noticed it sitting on the top shelf. No note, no sign of breaking through the lock, just a singular rose.

He saw the girls that fawned over him giggle at the sight of the flower. His guess that it had been from one of them and that they had asked a teacher to open it up to place it in. Loose petals fell through his books and his whole locker smelled of perfume. Without a word, he shoved it back in, hearing the crack of the stem from his aggression.

The next had been in his desk at third-period class. He hadn't pulled it out, not wanting to give the satisfaction to whoever had put it there. They were going all in, he had to give them props for that. Nonetheless, he was still angered at the idea of someone falling into the scheme of Valentine's and putting its effects on him.

Damian wasn't interested. At all.

The third was one that had been tucked into his backpack. He wasn't sure how someone had gotten it there considering his bag had been with him for most of the day. It joined the rest of the broken flowers that were shoved in the back of his locker and not to be looked at again.

Whoever had the silly idea that he had to be a pawn in this ridiculous holiday was going to suffer, greatly. Damian was not about to participate in the day's events of someone trying to either profess their love or admit a crush. He wanted no part of any of it - especially on that specific day.

The ruined roses were scrunched up in his hand as he walked towards the car that Alfred was to drive him home in. Red petals trailed behind him. Alfred was standing just outside the car, waiting for Damian to arrive. His eyes were glued to the flowers, curious about where they had come from.

"A secret admirer, Master Damain?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow. Damian said nothing, though the scowl on his face grew - even more so when the back door was opened for him only to reveal yet another. It rested on the leather interior, this time a small note attached to it as well.

"What's this, Pennyworth? Who put that there?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, I've been standing here this whole time," Alfred had been just as confused as Damian. How had someone managed to sneak into the car while he was standing right there? The young boy hesitated before snatching the note off the seat - likely it was from the same person who had scattered them around all day to find.

However, the paranoid side of him was ready to believe that it was one of his enemies trying to forsake him. The note was typed, no clear sign of who could have left it. If Damian was weary enough, he could run it for fingerprints back at the cage, however, after reading it, he believed it to simply just be the same secret admirer he had all along.

Happy Valentine's Day, Damian! I hope your day was filled with love <3 xx

Damian cringed at the typed heart. If someone wanted to tell him of their feelings, they should say it to his face rather than these cryptid roses - and most importantly on any other day of the year. He wouldn't accept it.

Damian grumbled as he walked through his empty home. Just as expected, it had been cleared of all residents, leaving him by himself on the ever so blessed, Valentine's Day. His ribs were wrapped from his night of patrol, a bruise just under his eye, and his ankle was sore from a bad landing.

The entirety of his night out he had been saving unfortunate couples, finding a plethora of flowers shoved in trash cans, and many retched window views. He was fine without Bruce for the night, though he would admit that activity was higher than usual. Damian's body ached from the extra hits he had gotten, even after his hot shower.

A poorly made sandwich was held between his teeth as he scrolled through the tablet in his hands. Bruce's location was halfway across the city, just as it had been the whole night. Whatever he and Selina were up to that night, he wanted no part of knowing.

Besides, his mind had been preoccupied with the roses that he had received that day. They were scattered on his desk, only one of them remaining fully intact. It wasn't that he was curious as to why they were sent to him - it was obvious being the Wayne heir and all. However, he hadn't talked to anyone at his school for them to put in this much effort for him.

The whole night that he was out he was distracted by who had gotten him the roses. Damian had become even more annoyed at the secret admirer.

A tapping came from his window. Damian took another bite of his sandwich and tossed the tablet onto his bed. The dimly lit room made it hard to see who was knocking on his window this late at night, though there were only so many people that could get into the manor's grounds anyway.

Familiar blue eyes and a mop of black hair that didn't resemble his father's grinned at him. Damian rolled his eyes but opened the locked window for his friend to enter.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Kent?" Damian scoffed. It was already nearing dawn, whatever he showed up in Gotham for had to have been important. Usually, it was Damian making late-night trips to the Kent farm to drag Jon somewhere, this had been a strange turn of events that he had to admit he hadn't expected.

Jon pulled himself into the room. He rubbed his hands together, cold after waiting outside for longer than he would like to admit. His eyes immediately met the broken roses on Damian's desk. A frown grew on his face at the thought of Damian ruining the flowers the moment they were in his palm.

He picked up the broken roses as Damian threw on a sweater. The blast of air that had entered his room left him chilled. Besides, he didn’t need Jon to see the bruises that he had gotten that night. Whenever he saw Damian injured it always had him worried.

"You broke them," Jon's jaw trembled. A beautiful piece of nature that had been wilted with death. Damian was just the same. A beautiful soul that had been raised in horrendous ways leaving him tainted with darkness. He deserved better, just as the roses had.

"Some fool left them in my possessions," Damian rolled his eyes. He returned to the tablet, this time looking at the news that he had missed while he was out. Jon stared hopelessly at the roses. The once beautiful petals, now crushed and missing. Maybe broken flowers were a clear sign to a broken heart.

Jon felt his own fall with the weight of Damian's grudge. He should have known better than to leave mysterious flowers on the one day of the year that Damian hated the most. Why would he believe that he would actually care - or even more so believe that it was him. There was no love in him on that day.

Hell, it was hard to believe that there was any love in him on half the days.

"Fool," Jon scoffed to himself. Nothing but a fool to Damian, even without knowing that it was him that left the roses. His eyes sealed shut, tears brimming against his lids but refusing to let them fall. He could have easily walked away from this. Jon could have not told Damian that it was him that left the flowers, that he was the helpless fool that had fallen in love with his best friend.

Walk away and no one gets hurt. Walk away, and hide his feelings forever. Jon was tired of hiding everything about himself. He couldn't tell people that he was the son of Superman. He couldn't use his powers in front of people without them figuring out that he was Superboy. He couldn't even tell his best friend the nature of his true feelings.

Maybe he was a fool.

"Someone went through the time and effort to give you these and you couldn't even care less?" Jon set the roses back on the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Damian. He only shrugged. "How can your heart be so filled with hate when all people do is give you love?!"

Damian's eyes narrowed. Jon might have been vocal about his spontaneous plans when out in the field, but not like this when they were stuck in civvies. Whatever got him upset like this must have been important.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you never accept when people want to care for you!" Jon threw his arms up. "You always try to make it out like you don't need anyone, there's nothing wrong with needing someone! Even Batman needs his friends and family so why can't you just admit that you don't want to be alone all the time?"

"I'm perfectly capable of being on my own, clearly. Attachments are simply a way of holding me back," Damian got defensive. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Jon's chest. The last kind of lecture that he needed was one about love. Love was the last thing on his mind when he lived the life of Robin right alongside the Bat. "Attachments hold everyone back, it's a weakness."

"Attachments, love, it's what gives people strength, Damian" Jon thought just like his own father. Love was what kept him human, love was what reminded him to never cross that line no matter what. It should have been the same that kept Damian from crossing that line once again. Instead, he took after his own father thinking that he could do everything on his own.

"I'm tired of looking at you and only seeing a broken boy who's scared to love someone. I'm terrified that you're going to forget that there's people in this world that care for you and you're going to make a sacrifice that you can't come back from! You're more than just a mask Damian, you're a friend, a brother! You're a son.

"Stop thinking that you have to do it all on your own. You're not a grown-up, you don't need to grow up alone. You have Bruce, your brothers... you have me, Damian. You'll always have me, even if you don't want to admit it."

Damian was silent. His thoughts were like a maze trying to figure out just the right path that would lead to the meaning behind all of Jon's words. The outburst, the sadness at his roses, the fear in his eyes that he had when mention the thought of losing Damian forever.

Jon had left the roses.

Jon Kent. His best friend, partner against crime, the one person outside his family that he could trust. He had left the roses for Damian throughout the day and was forced to listen to him bash the idea of it all. Horror struck his face, not for the fact that he had left him, but that he had completely insulted the idea of the broken roses.

Why did Jon leave them to begin with? To try and prove a point about Valentine's day? Did he plan to do it before even knowing about Damian's opinions about the holiday? If he didn't, what was his motive?

Damian felt like a fool. He was the son of the world's greatest detective, how did he not know that it was the one person he was closest to? He should have paid more attention at Gotham Academy, maybe then he would have seen Jon sneaking around.

"Why did you leave them?" Damian asked in a quiet voice. The silence that had occurred between them was borderline painful. Jon had been anxious about what Damian was thinking about and he was right to. How could he expect that he wouldn't figure it out.

Jon trembled. His hands shook at his sides, breath shaky. Everything could be ruined. A spontaneous idea that was brought to life out of love could be ruined with hate. He couldn't lose Damian, not now, not ever. He meant to0 much to him.

"I wanted to give you a reason to feel loved on Valentine's Day." It was the partial truth. He did want Damian to see that the day wasn't a reason to hate, it was a reason to love, to feel love or to give it. Jon couldn't bring himself to say the words so desperate to escape his throat.

"I wanted you to see that you didn't have to hate on a day that was meant to be filled with so much love. You deserve love just as much as anyone else Damian, I hate seeing you think otherwise. You're not broken, you're human. It's okay to feel things. Do you know how hard it is to know that the person you love doesn't want to be loved?"

Jon's voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Damian's emotionless face set in stone. Weak fists hit his chest. Damian grabbed his fists before they could hit his chest again. His grip wasn't rough, though his eyes still held no feeling.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, head hung low. There was no reason for him to feel sorry, he had done nothing wrong. Yet, under the judging gaze of Robin, he felt the need to apologize for expressing himself. However, it wasn't just his own behavior. He felt the need to apologize that Damian had grown up without love, that he believed that he wasn't capable of such a primal emotion.

Damian dropped Jon's fists. There was a moment that he thought that he was going to pull away. Damian threw his arms around Jon, pulling him tight against his chest. Though he was more confused than ever, he knew one thing: he cared for Jon, always.

"Broken roses for a broken person." Damian had never seen himself as broken. He was born to be the best, to be undefeated. He was born to lead, to be the best warrior that the world had seen. Coming to Gotham, one of the worst cities in the county, he had found that maybe he was broken.

Jon was right, he had been raised to see love as a weakness. Love was nothing but a hostage and he wasn't about to fall in a trap. Damian loved his mother, his father. He reluctantly loved his brothers, but it wasn't the same kind of love that Jon was talking about.

One day he would understand what it was like to be in love. One day he would accept that love wasn't something to be scared of, it was something to embrace. Damian would know what it was like to be in love, just as his parents, his brothers, his friends.

"You're not broken," Jon repeated. His fists gripped into Damian's shirt as he accepted the hug. Warm breath fanned against the older boy's neck that sent a chill down his spine. His instinct told him to move, to get away and remain safe. His heart told him that he was safe.

He was broken. A hopeless boy that didn't know what love was. However, if there was one person that would show him the way, the right way, it was Jon. His roses that day were broken and missing petals. Thorns pricked anyone that decided to come near.

Broken roses could be just as beautiful when the right person found a way to avoid the thorns.

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hopetofantasy · 3 years

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All and all, whether or not you agree with people sharing certain things about the wtFOCK actors, a lot of misconceptions seem to float around about Belgian celebs. I just want to clarify them, no shade, no accusations, just a clear explanation.

First off, Belgium doesn't have a huge celeb culture. It's very hard to break through, to stay relevant or to get appreciation for your work by the Belgian people. Gossip magazines exist, but can't just publish whatever they want. There are limitations, boundaries, privacy laws. Perfect for people who like their private lives. Easy if you want to disappear from the media. Hard if you're building your career or getting too old. Heck, people even forgot Sandra Kim (our Eurosong winner 1985) sang that well, until she won 'The Masked Singer 2020'.

Second, because of this, not every celeb has a team of PR people or managers surrounding them. You have to be worth while to be even considered by a manager or maybe you hire someone you know (friends, family). More often than not, young celebs don't have anyone. They read the contracts by themselves, check their own socials and manage their own lives. If something goes haywire, they fix it themselves, hire a external PR manager or get help from the production they're currently working for.

Third, because we're small country, a lot of professions are a who-knows-who world. That's why you keep seeing the same people return for different shows and films in a certain time period. It's a small pond with a lot of fish. If you don't take the opportunity, you're easily forgotten. Being more active on socials might help you a little, but that's only for a short while. If you don't have the talent or drive to succeed, you can forget about being a known name.

Fourth, just because you're famous, doesn't mean you have buckets full of money. As mentioned above, if you're forgotten then you're forgotten and that's not easy to come back from. Actors get a set amount of money for a number of shooting days. These work conditions as well as paychecks have limitations, taxes - by law. Playing in one series or one film a year won't cut it, unless you're highly wanted and even then, it has its limits. Thus paying a team to work for you if you're not set as a household name? Very unlikely.

What I'm stating here, are just a couple of things people keep asking or not knowing how it works. Some statements or arguments can't be compared to other celeb cultures like Hollywood or other countries. You always need to know the culture, before you can adress certain things. And that's what I wanted to do.

#wtfock #wtfam #sorry for the length

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mariesdameron · 3 years

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Sophie & Sackler Chapter Nine: I won't give up on you.

CW: Mental Health (Anxiety, panic attacks, depression, self negative talk) Morning Sickness associated with pregnancy, pregnancy, infertility issues, doctor's office, blood, wound, stitches, prescription medication, mention of potential miscarriage, medical termination, arguing. (It's worth the read, I promise)

WC: 4 674

AN: It was so refreshing to visit these two again. I am sorry for anyone following the series for the very long delay in Chapter Nine. I appreciate your continued love and support for me and Sophie and Sackler.

Read on Ao3

Sophie & Sackler Masterlist

Two pink lines are all it takes to change your entire life--two pink lines. Sophie stared at the three discarded pregnancy tests still peeking out from the trash can. After the first one, she knew that she was pregnant, but anxiety spurred her to take two more.

She had been puking for the last week. Soul-sucking exhaustion had plagued her, and when her period didn't show, it was settled. Sophie curled herself into a ball. Getting pregnant was not something that could happen for her, or so the doctors had informed her for the last fifteen years of her life. It was destined to fail. It wasn't worth speaking about.

Sophie argued with herself, gazing at the bathroom tiles. She wouldn't need to do anything about it. She could go to the clinic herself instead of waiting around for the inevitable. Adam did not have to know. Teardrops spilled off her chin. They had spoken about it once, only once.

Sophie remembered when she dumped the bomb on Adam pretty early in the relationship. She tore it off like a band-aid. She couldn't have children. He needed to know; she couldn't have him imagining an impossible future together. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Adam marched to her, dropped to his knees, and professed how much he loved her before crushing her to him.

Sophie clambered around the floor, looking for her cellphone. Dialing Sam’s phone number. The voicemail picked up, provoking a guttural scream from Sophie's breast. She needed Adam. Adam would tell her it was okay that they would deal with it together. Sophie gazed down at her cell lock screen. Adam's toothy grin begged her to call.

Sophie closed her eyes; her thoughts jumbled. She envisioned the expression on his face when he eventually learned the news. Joy would radiate over him before Sophie would grind him up with the reality of it all. She would miscarry. Sophie abandoned her phone on the floor before turning to vomit.

- - - - - -

Sophie had tried to tell Adam since she discovered the news. She had dialed his cellphone at least a hundred times and hung up before it rang. She resolved to wait. Wait until he came home, and she could sit down and do it face to face. He merited to have the discussion in person.

Sophie picked at her Blueberry Muffin as Sam sat across from her, sipping her coffee. Sam had been spending an extra amount of time with her over the last couple of weeks, thankfully.

"Do you want to go over the plan again?" Sam questioned, biting down on her lip as she studied Sophie's face. Sophie shook her head, tasting the Blueberries starting to come back up her throat.

"No. It's fine. I got it." Sophie pushed away the muffin. Sam looked doubtful.

"Well, I think it's best to just do it like we planned. Like we talked about. It's best to just put it out there right away. Don't let it fester. I mean, I get why you wanted to wait until he got home but remember he may be pissed that you waited three weeks after the fact to say anything." Sophie bit her lip. She didn't need to rehash this again. She had already decided that she would tell him his first night home. No, turning back now.

"Look, I got it. I will let him unpack. I ordered our favorite Chinese take out and once he's done with his spring roll. I will tell him." Sam rolled her eyes.

"Well, at least you still are maintaining your sarcasm." Sam peered down at her cellphone and groaned. "Alright, well, I need to get going. I really hate that I am leaving this weekend. Couldn't he have come home last weekend? For fuck's sake." Sam was in her cousin's wedding and committed to going away for the weekend. It just so happened to perfectly align with Adam's return from Los Angeles. Sam stood, grabbing Sophie by the shoulders. She squeezed Sophie to her chest. "You are going to be okay. Adam loves you. He will understand." Sophie nodded, wetting Sam's blouse.

"I know. I know." Sophie cleared her throat as Sam kissed her forehead.

"Call, text, whatever. And worst-case scenario, I can jet back right after the ceremony. But it will be fine." Sam smoothed Sophie's hair back from her face. "I promise." Sophie smiled weakly at her friend.

"Everything is going to be fine."

- - - - - -

The Chinese food was splayed out over the coffee table. Sophie had ordered all of Adam's favorites. Pacing in front of the couch, she ran her hands down her sides. She should be happy. Adam had been away for a while, deterred to Los Angeles after his big Sundance premiere.

She depressingly had kept the conversations brief. She knew that if there were longer, he would know something was up. But, instead, Adam was nothing but attentive and attuned to her and her moods. She missed him horribly. Holding onto this news broke her; she tried to address things with her therapist but canceled at the last minute. Acknowledging the truth was too hard. The only person who knew was Sam, and it was out of pure necessity.

Sophie looked at her cellphone. He was already in the city and would be arriving at any minute. She had to get it together. She couldn't meltdown as soon as he walked through the door. Adam didn't deserve this, he didn't. He didn't need the extra stress, his entire life was changing and for the greater. Sophie was only going to be the anchor that held him back.

Shaking her head at her thoughts, she stared at the picture frame on the bookshelf. It was her favorite picture of them. Sophie had tried to get both of their faces in camera view while Adam licked her face like the puppy he was. Then, like magic, she detected him at the door. On command, she was emotional as Adam entered. His bag in hand, luggage hauling behind him, and a bouquet of wildflowers balancing under his chin.

"Kid!" He shouted and dumped everything to the floor, moving to her in giant strides. Adam scooped Sophie into a firm embrace. "I fucking missed you so much." Adam murmured into Sophie's hair. "I felt like a little kid on the way here. Like it was fucking Christmas morning or something." Adam let go of her long enough to caress her face before drawing her back into a kiss.

Everything dissolved--only Adam existed. They broke from their embrace, gasping. Adam's eyes dilated, cheeks crimsoned. "I am never leaving the apartment again." He said breathlessly with a smirk that pierced Sophie's heart. Sophie ran her hands through his black mane.

"You cut your hair?" She said, hushed, allowing the silky strands to slip effortlessly through her fingers. Adam beamed, grazing kisses on her temples and cheeks.

"Yeah, my agent thought it was time to change up my look for some upcoming potential projects." He touched his lips back to hers before pretending to sulk. "Do you not like it?" Sophie shook her head.

"I love it." She purred as she sank her face into his chest, breathing him in. She nearly could let go of the panic that was building inside of her. Finding comfort in her safe harbor. Adam caged Sophie to his breast, touching his lips to her brow.

"Fuck, I really really missed you. I feel like we've hardly spoken." Adam wandered over to the living room set up. Grinning, he let go of Sophie. "I see you have laid out a mighty banquet for my return. I couldn't have planned anything more satisfying than this." Putting up his hands, he dashed to the door, plucking up the flowers he had abandoned. "For you, my lady." He bowed slightly before presenting the colorful array of perennials. Sophie swallowed down the guilt welling in her throat. He was perfect. Honestly, he was. Sophie fixed a smile and shuffled to the kitchen to find a vase. Adam thrust off his shoes and plopped down onto the couch.

"Man, I've been craving --- Lo Mein. Los Angeles is nothing compared to New York." Shoving a crab Rangoon in his mouth, he fiddled with the containers. Sophie stood in front of the sink, watching the water run. Did she have to tell him tonight? She could wait. A few days would not make a difference, not in terms of biology anyways. Instinctively her hand went to her stomach, and she sensed the urgency to be sick. How was she going to explain the constant puking? Before she grasped what was transpiring, her blood was dripping onto the stainless steel. Gazing down at the glass pieces from the vase, she distinguished Adam's muted voice next to her before her senses returned.

"Kid! Kid! What did you do?" Adam cautiously drew her hands back, examining the deep gash on her hand. " That's gonna need stitches, baby." Then, clutching the roll of paper towels, Adam wrapped up her wound. Sophie stood confused at her own carelessness.

It would have been entertaining to watch Adam work a smartphone app, however, Sophie's mind remained unable to manifest words. Her mental dissociation was in full swing, the weight of her mind dragging her through mechanical motions. Attempting to make sense of the scene, Adam led her to the door as he typed into his phone.

- - - -

Sophie sat on the end of the hospital bed. The white starkness of the room was effectively raising Sophie's anxiety, along with following her boyfriend's pacing in front of her.

"Adam, please just sit down... PLEASE." Sophie sounded slightly more forceful than intended. Adam froze and stared at her, face drained of blood. Sophie recognized that he was panicked. This was definitely not the way she desired to spend his first night home. Before Adam could speak, the Doctor strolled into the examination room. “Sophie, I am Dr. Davis.” He observed Adam, who stood fidgeting in the corner. Finally, Adam cleared his throat and stepped forward, taking the Doctor's hand.

"Adam, Sackler. Boyfriend." Dr. Davis nodded in understanding as he lifted Sophie's bandaged hand.

"Well, it was a sizeable gash, and you will need stitches, which we will be applying soon.” Dr. Davis flipped through her chart. "Is there anything else we should know about before I get started on your stitches? For example, are you allergic to anything that may not be noted on your chart?"

Sophie shook her head no, glimpsing over at Adam, who remained in the corner. His face troubled as he regarded the Doctor removing the bandaging. Sophie's mind raced. Was pregnancy something she had to tell the Doctor? This is not the fucking way Adam needed to find out that she was pregnant. Sophie's heart began racing, and the Doctor certainly took notice.

"It's alright; it will be over sooner than you think." He said, patting Sophie gently. Adam exhaled before scooting closer to them.

"I am right here, kid." His voice shaky, but his jaw locked tightly. Her chest throbbed. He didn't justify this bullshit. How could she be so stupid? How could she be so careless? Ruining his first night, becoming pregnant. She had always been so careful. She was on birth control. They didn't always use a condom, but the frequency was low. Doctor Davis stood interrupting Sophie's thoughts. He was finished. He analyzed her face before speaking.

"How are you feeling, Sophie? I saw in your chart that you were on a couple of psychiatric medications. I can bring in the nurse for something to ease the panic?" Sophie's eyes flew to Adam.

She avoided talking about her mental illness around him. She knew he didn't judge her or care, but she wanted desperately to keep it away from him. Sophie shrugged her shoulders. Doctor Davis acknowledged. "I am going to send her in with something. Xanax, I saw marked for emergency usage. I will send her in with a low dose. Just to help take the edge off.” Sophie bit her lip and accepted.

Adam slid next to her, immediately rubbing her back in comfort when they were alone. Sophie closed her eyes. She had to tell him. Adam tugged her tight to him.

"Kid, it's okay. You are all sewed up. No big deal. We will be back to the apartment, devouring our spring rolls soon." Turning, she studied his sweet freckled face that never ceased to make her heart ache.

"Adam...I have to tell you something." Sophie stuttered, the keen stabbing dread seizing her chest. Adam sympathetically leaned in and swept a kiss to her face.

"Kid, you didn't ruin my night. I know you are worried about it. I promise all I wanted is to see you." He reflected. "I mean, I didn't want to watch you gash your fucking hand open, but it's fine." He relaxed his head on Sophie's shoulder. The nurse cleared her throat as she entered. Sophie's nails burrowed into her palms as she observed the nurse move around her supplies.

"I am Minda; the Doctor thinks a small dose of Xanax would be helpful after looking over your medical history. Don't worry." The oxygen seeped from the room. Sophie couldn't breathe. "Xanax is deemed safe throughout pregnancy."

Inhaling faster, the nurse interrupted what she was doing and examined Sophie. "Deep breaths. The Doctor also wanted me to ask if you were interested in an iron infusion. We can schedule one for you to come back. Being that you are anemic, it's a good idea with you being pregnant." Sophie refused to look at Adam. She couldn't. Her eyes begged the nurse.

"Could you maybe come back in a few minutes?" Sophie mumbled amidst small gasps. The nurse's eyes widened, discerning the situation. Pursing her lips, she handed the paper cup of Xanax to Sophie.

"I'll be back in ten minutes for your discharge paperwork." Sophie kept her eyes to the floor, listening for the door to close. She waited. She waited for him to speak, but the room remained silent despite the beeps and hums from nearby equipment.

Lifting her eyes, she wasn't sure what to think. Adam sat, his arms criss crossed over his chest. His frame was trembling, his nostrils flared. He was watching Sophie. Her sight clouded, and her throat constricted as Adam stood, his hands twitching at his side.

"How long?" He stammered, rubbing his hands over his face. "How long have you known? And why didn't you tell me?" His face, drawn with agitation. Sophie shook her head, swallowing down sobs.

"I didn't know how to tell you." She faltered. Adam began pacing back and forth.

"I don't know... something like, Adam, I am pregnant would have worked okay." Sophie looked at the pills on the side table. She could take them. It would make this easier. It would prevent the impending panic attack that was threatening with every word exchanged.

Adam followed Sophie's gaze and stepped towards her, taking the cup and forcing it in her free hand. "Take them; you don't need an attack right now." His tone softened as he spoke. Sophie gulped the pills down as Adam renewed pacing. "Please say something." Finally, he stopped, misty-eyed as he pleaded. Sophie wrung her hands.

"I've known since I got back from 'Sundance.'” She whispered, seeing his face sink further. "I wanted to tell you, but I knew how much it would hurt you." Her tears leaked from her nose.

"Why? Would it hurt me, Sophie?" Adam strode to her, gripping her face in his hands. "I fucking love you. Why would I ever be upset about this? Unless..." Back hutching forward, his eyes snapped shut. Gradually, he retreated. "Did you do it? Did you 'take care’ of it? " He challenged, his voice vibrating. Sophie furiously shook her head.

"No, no." Her heart pulsated in the vice grip constricting it. She knew the memories that were inundating his brain. Raising his head, shades of crimson grew up his neck. Adam wiped his reddening eyes and smoothed back his hair.

"We can talk about this more at home. But I don't want to do this here. I'm beat from the flight, and this isn't good for you." Adam tapped his forehead. "I am going to take a walk around the floor, and then hopefully, when I get back, we can go." Sophie sucked on her lower lip, agreeing.

Sophie sank her head in her hands as Adam disappeared. She hadn't 'taken care’ of it yet, but that was up next for discussion. She had explained that the Doctors had told her she cannot carry a baby to full term. He had said he understood and loved her nevertheless.

Was he about to go against his words? This was everything Sophie wanted to avoid. She told him she couldn't have kids. Just because this accidental pregnancy happened, it doesn't equal a child. It involves a miscarriage. Despite the nauseating pains in her stomach, the impulse to scream simmered. The nurse knocked before entering, clipboard in hand.

"Just a few signatures and you are good to go." Sophie gripped the pen, knowing full well the night was not close to being over.

- - - -

The ride back to the apartment was quiet. Sackler walked straight to the bathroom and closed the door. She heard the water running. She knew he was attempting to calm down. Unfortunately, there would be no deescalating at this moment. He would need to listen to her and understand what was necessary.

Seating herself on the edge of the couch, she waited until she heard the bathroom door open. Adam leaned against the wall, facing Sophie. Sliding his restless hands into his pockets, his face distorted with emotion. Sophie licked her dry lips. Then, steadying herself against the cushions, she let it all pour out.

"I am so sorry, Adam. I know I should have told you sooner. I just thought you deserved better to hear it all in person. I didn't want it to be like this. I definitely didn't expect your first night home to go this way. I wanted us to have a few happy moments together before I dropped the news. I just knew how much it was going to hurt you. Knowing that it would result in nothing." Adam abruptly held up his hands, muttering for her to stop.

"What are you saying to me, Sophie? Have you already decided then? To just go ahead and --." Adam cleared his throat. His adam's apple bobbed harshly as he drank down his evident disgust. Anger swelled in Sophie's gut, vibrating throughout her body.

"Don't, Adam Sackler. Do not look at me like this. You KNEW!" Sophie's voice bellowed through the living room. "I told you, I couldn't have children remember? That wasn't just a lifestyle choice. I explained it all very carefully to you." Adam leaped from his spot, frantically running his hands through his hair.

"You said you couldn't get pregnant. But here you are, pregnant. Pregnant with my child." His tone dipped in desperation.

"It's not a child. It's a pregnancy. Don't put this on me, Adam. Please. I told you that I wouldn't be able to carry a child to full term. I told you." The weight of her words split her mind. It was bad enough that these thoughts plagued her mind every occasion that she strolled past a school or a park crowded with kids.

Or all the intruding conversations of 'when are you going to have children?' 'You are getting up there in age, sweetheart. You should consider.' The societal expectation that she should and could bear children produced countless episodes of worthlessness and failure. She believed she had escaped this topic with Adam after their initial conversation.

Adam kneeled and lowered his gaze. Sophie caught his sigh as he rubbed at his jaw.

"I know what we discussed, but it's at least something that we can look into? See a doctor first? Before we make any hasty conclusions." He faltered as he spoke, his pitch mounting in sentiment. Sophie wordlessly watched Adam's hunched form. His sniffling and deep breathing were venom in her veins. Her beautiful Adam, she knew her troubles would eventually destroy him and her both. Clawing into her arms, she attempted to steady her speech.

"I don't think you understand...It was made pretty clear to me that I can't have children. I guess we could get a hopeful Doctor and have them tell us to hold out and see..." Adam lifted his head, eyes eager and bloodshot. The optimism on his face induced bile up her esophagus. "You aren't the one who is going to have to go through the physical loss. The emotional toll isn't the only thing I will suffer through, please... Understand." Sophie's bottom lip quivered at the notion of going through it all again. She couldn't. Adam wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve as he stood.

"And I have to suffer knowing that this is the second chance I lose at becoming a father." His statement pierced through her. She was going to hurl.Hurrying to her feet, Sophie bolted herself in the bathroom before bowing over the toilet. Her head was a pulsating jackhammer.

"Sophie, kid. Open the door, let me help you." Sophie wept amidst upheavals. "Jesus fucking Christ kid, just unlock the door, please." Finally, Sophie regained her composure as she located a towel.

"Adam, just go." Sophie pleaded weakly, relishing in the coldness of the cloth on her blazing skin.

"Sophie, don't. Please don't do this. Let me in." Adam's voice fractured as his hands pounded against the wood. "I love you so much. I need this all to be okay." He cried. Sophie held herself, the sting of his earlier statements still raw. He would blame her forever. There wasn't winning here.

Sure, he would be more understanding on the surface if she miscarried. Still, he set her up to be the villain, with her not wanting to follow through with the pregnancy. She couldn't look him in the eyes each day, knowing that he resented her for all of this. Sophie shook when Adam roared incoherently. She stilled in the abrupt silence of the apartment. A few brief moments passed before Adam was back at the door.

"I am going to a hotel.” Sophie heard Adam's hesitation. "Text me when you are ready to talk." Then, skipping a beat, he breathed 'I love you' and 'I am sorry' before his scuffling was gone. Sophie slumped to the tile, desperate for relief from the ache in her breast, pulsating mind, and hollowness in her stomach.

- - - -

Sophie opened her eyes, blinking at the harshness of the overhead light. She had cried herself to sleep. Standing up, Sophie searched for the ibuprofen. She felt hungover. Glancing at the bathroom mirror, she grimaced. Swollen eyes and puffy cheeks stared back at her. Sophie unlocked the door, as she did, a large object fell towards her, sending her into a fury, jumping backward and screaming. She heard Adam's voice through her yells.

"KID! It's me. It's me." Adam jumped up from the floor, his hands stretching out towards Sophie. "Shh... It's just me." Adam drew Sophie to him, enveloping her into his chest. Sophie's mind intuitively eased as his comforting scent overwhelmed her thoughts.

"I thought you went to a hotel." She murmured into his shirt, pressing her face further into his breast. Adam's grip tightened as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I couldn't. I got to the bottom of the stairs and turned back around. My entire fucking world is right here. Why would I go anywhere else?" Sophie's muscles tightened as the previous conversation rushed back to her. Adam immediately cupped her face in his hands. "Kid, let's go to bed. Let me hold you. We don't need to talk about this anymore tonight. Let's go to bed, please." Adam's wide amber eyes silently pleaded for her to listen. Sophie nodded. Her body was heavy, her mind pained and hazy.

Adam removed both his and Sophie's clothes before pulling back the sheets and comforter. Opening his arms, he dragged her to him. Wrapping his legs and arms around her, he caged her to him.

"Sleepy time." He teased quietly as he caressed kisses into her hair. Sophie sighed deeply before allowing the steady rise and fall of Adam's chest to lull her to sleep.

- - -

Sophie woke to Adam lying on top of her, his head peacefully nuzzled into her breasts. Shaking her head and smirking, she worked her fingers through his black mane. Adam let out a small grunt.

"I've missed you so much." He mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"Me, too," Sophie whispered, scratching her nails over his scalp. Adam nudged her breast with his nose before lifting his face to look at her. Sophie moved her hand to Adam's face, running her finger down his proud nose. He really was the most handsome man.

"Can we just try?" He blurted out. "I know you are scared. I am scared to, but kid, I want to try. I know it's not fair for me to ask this of you, and if you really say you can't, I will let it go..." Adam's voice trailed off as his lips trembled.

Sophie was surprised her brain didn't spiral at his words. She couldn't deny the fact that she had thought about trying to go through with it over the last few weeks. Sophie's eyes shifted to the freckles spattered across Adam's features.

Would their child have freckles like him? Would they come out rolly polly, all smiles, ears a little too big, and a mess of black hair? Adam dropped his face back to her sternum. Both of them laid in silence for a while before Sophie cleared her throat. Adam immediately was on alert.

"We will talk to the Doctor and see what they say... Then we make a decision." She whispered, swallowing down the knot that was forming. Adam nodded.

"Then we make a decision." He repeated before caressing a delicate kiss to her lips.

- - - - -

The Doctor shut the exam room's door softly, leaving Sophie and Sackler alone with their thoughts. The Doctor had explained that Sophie was officially two months along. Everything looked fine but informed of the complications with Sophie's medical history the Doctor had told them it would be a gamble but could be a viable pregnancy. Sophie sobbed.

Adam accompanied her in her weeping as the Doctor inquired if they wanted to hear the heartbeat. Despite the nagging pain in her chest, Sophie agreed. Sackler clasped her hand to his tear-soaked lips as the steady pulse sounded throughout the room.

Now, the two sat in silence, attempting to regain their composure. Sophie stared at the white tiles. She knew he was already wholeheartedly invested. She had watched him shake, snot dripping down his nose as the exam was done. Lifting her head, Adam was staring at her, his face flushed from his emotional outburst. His arms crossed protectively across his broad chest.

"Okay." She sputtered, her breathing intensifying as her mind accepted her decision. Adam jumped back, his hands immediately rubbing his jaw.

"Really?" His eyes grew as he kept his distance. Was he putting up an invisible wall? Sophie sucked on her bottom lip, nodding.

"Yeah, let's try." She whispered, her eyes stinging as the emotions resurfaced. Adam sprang towards her cupping her face in his hands.

"Kid, I love you. It's going to be okay." His speech raced. Afraid to welcome his enthusiasm, she forced a weak smile. Adam held her face to his, intently locking his gaze with hers. “Thank you for trying, that's enough for me. It’s more than enough.” Adam paused. "I am here no matter what happens. I am not going anywhere. I got you.” Sophie caressed her nose against Adam's.

"We got each other."

- - - - - - -

Lovelies: @daydreamsofren @cornmousequeen @sacklerscumrag @caillea @direnightshade @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @leatherboundbirate @theoncrayjoy @maybe-your-left @hopeamarsu @zimmermansbrat @historyandfandoms50 @sister-winter73 @relationshipwithmybed @themuseic @starskylo @millenialcatlady @tashastrange89 @theodorealastair @insufferablelust @iamasithprincess @tashastrange89 @butyoudidthis4what @xxcatrenxx @jynzandtonic @blowthatpieceofjunk @paper-n-ashes @roanniom

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#Sophie and Sackler #Adam Sackler x OC #Adam Sackler #ADCU Fanfic #adcu #marie sackler #CW: Mental Health #CW Pregnancy #CW Medical Eval #CW Arguments #CW Medication #Angst #Fluff #CW Injury/Blood #CW Infertility #I love and miss these two

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skullsandwineglasses · 3 years

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You Are My Hero (2021) Review

Overall impression: The drama started off really cute and promising in the first half, but was weak and underwhelming in the second half. In-depth review below (with spoilers).

A cute and fluffy romance premise

Right off the bat, the love story between the leads is tropey as hell, but manages to not be tacky and is actually really endearing. The ML, a SWAT officer, rescues the FL, an aspiring neurosurgery medical resident, from a bank robbery 2 years ago. They leave a lasting impression on each other, but don't keep in touch afterwards. The FL never sees his face because he's wearing a mask, but the ML remembers her name.

Fate brings them together again 2 years later when the FL enrolls in an emergency rescue training camp that’s supervised by the ML. He recognizes her and falls for her immediately, but she doesn’t know he’s the one who rescued her years ago.

Their relationship starts off rocky, similar to how a CEO romance would start: the ML first appears cold and distanced, strict and brooding, but actually has a huge soft spot for the FL. The FL is put off by his coldness, but is sometimes surprised as random moments of tenderness. When the training camp is complete, the ML becomes a cute and awkward lovesick puppy who tries to figure out how to woo the FL because this is his first time (and hers) falling in love. It’s fun seeing him become so flustered around her when he’s usually so calm, collected, and in control as the leader of a SWAT team.

On other hand, the FL slow falls for the ML when he reveals a more real and vulnerable side of himself. They banter a lot, but she slowly warms up to him.

And as a no-nonsense drama, the two leads acknowledge their feelings for each other quickly (although they haven't directly admitted it to each other yet). They're in the awkward phase of attraction and going on semi-dates, but they haven't defined the relationship yet. *Sigh* First love.

Things I enjoyed

I appreciate that although the FL is a Mary Sue, she does make mistakes. She's smart, but she isn't the top of her class. She’s kind and selfless, but she also isn’t overly tolerant of people. When people overstep their boundaries and are unjust to her, she’ll confront them. Ma Sichun is such a natural actress. She can do cute and flirty, she can be clueless and lost, she can be confident and in control, she can be angry and indignant. I especially loved her character’s adorable interactions with her best friend Xiao Xia.

The acting in this drama was all around great. It’s probably the best part of the drama. It was so comfortable and fun to watch. I think AvenueX described it best: the acting in the drama was so natural that sometimes it felt like the actors broke character but the director kept the take. Some of the laughing, giggling, and gestures felt so genuine that you wonder if it was improvised, scripted, or a blooper scene that became canon.

I like how the FL and ML are each experts in their respective fields. They have very separate careers that occasionally intersect. I'm tired of CEO dramas where the FL is working for the ML, or there are class differences between them. Instead in this drama, the FL faces problems everyday at work that the ML doesn't know about. Her problems do not relate to him at all. She has problems that he can't understand or help with. Likewise, he also goes on missions that she isn't aware of. They work in completely different fields with different skill sets. They even talk about how their philosophies differ. Her job is to save lives but not make moral judgments of character, while his job is to enforce the law, which is all about assessing character. Where their careers do intersect, is the goal of saving others and putting others first before themselves.

Another dynamic of the relationship that I really like is that the FL and ML are always occupied and on the move because of their professions, and yet, their loyalty and devotion to each other never change. They are each other's rock. Despite encountering so many different situations and people, despite all of the chaos and noise from their careers, nothing can really outweigh how important they are to each other. Despite being out in the field, far away from home, their hearts are anchored to each other. I just like this trope a lot, i.e., the trope of being away from home, but remaining true and loyal and unwavering. Despite having bigger and more important things in the world to deal with, their ultimate dream is wanting to just spend some time together. It's analogous to how in ancient period dramas, there are generals who command armies and and maintain a strictly professional demeanor and don't mention a word about their family to their soldiers, but when the general retires to his tent at night, he's writing a long and thoughtful letter home, because his loved one was on his mind all day.

The supporting characters are great, but I do like the older and mature supporting couple (Xing Ke Yao and Shao Yu Han) more than the younger supporting couple (Xiao Xia and Shu When Bo), despite the actors playing the younger couple being literally my age. I also appreciate how the FL has multiple close friends who are quite separate from each other, instead of just the single token sidekick best friend (although the second half of the drama does just focus on one of her main friends). It's relatable because we all have different groups of friends. We have friends from high school, we have friends from college, and we have friends from work. Most of these friends are kept separate, and sometimes they interact. But I like how this drama shows that the FL has a small network of friends from different walks of life.

Things I didn’t enjoy as much

The plot derailed and lost its charm after episode 30. There were fewer hospital cases, and the ML had to complete a mission that I had no interest in following. There was no other point to the superfluous mission besides to show that the ML has a busy and demanding job that prevents him from being at the FL’s side when she needs him the most.

I also really, really disliked the introduction of the random love rival in episode 31 just to try to stir some angst. The plot device was pointless because in the end, there was no angst because the leads have a strong and healthy relationship, and so the love rival’s attempt at sabotaging the relationship was just laughable and completely random. It just disrupted the mood and pacing of the drama because that plotline just came out of the blue. It was just so annoying seeing the love rival and her sister cause trouble and wreak havoc in the FL’s workplace.

The drama did a good job at showing how the leads put their careers first, which caused strain and tension in their relationship that they tend to ignore. But, the drama never explores this further, even though it’s a very real problem that many career-driven and ambitious couples face. The drama presents a very idealized vision of a relationship between a police officer and a doctor. Like when the FL leaves for a special research and training program in the States, the drama shows that the leads breezed through the two-year long distance relationship in a quick montage. They had no issue in communication. Yes, they miss each other, but they’re blissful. But what kind of long distance relationship has no bumps in it? The drama also implies that they never saw each other in person during two years (in the final episode, Xing Ke Lei squeezed her arms and said that since they haven’t seen each other in 2 years, he had to check if she was missing anything), which is highly unrealistic. Was she never able to go back home for the holidays? Did Xing Ke Lei, whose parents live and work overseas, never bother to visit his girlfriend? Overall, it seemed a little off to me that despite the budding tension and issues they’ve been having between them, they were able to overcome a long distance relationship so easily. You could argue that they’re used to long separations because of their work, and the drama has shown that they’re used to communicating over video calls, but I was just a little disappointed that they rushed this final plotline when so much more could have been done with it.

Speaking of parents, we never actually got to see their parents. I understand that the parents are not relevant to the focus of the story, but the parents are rarely even mentioned, which further makes the romance in the story seem too idealistic. Whether it’s a near-death situation, getting engaged, or studying abroad for 2 years, the FL never mentions talking to her parents about these decisions and life changes. The drama handwaves the parents’ absence and lack of influence by having the FL mention early in the drama that her parents are busy with their business back home, so they don’t have time to worry about her. She also no longer bothers to update them about her work because she’s afraid they’ll be worried about her. And then from there, we never hear the FL mention her parents again. It’s just so weird to see that the most important person in her life is the ML and she only ever talks about major life choices with her friends. I mean, if the plot had said that she didn’t have a family, it wouldn’t have mattered. But the fact that she does mention her parents, but they’re completely absent and non-existent just felt a little off, like something was missing. But in the grand scheme of things, this is not really an issue. I’m just nit-picking.

Lastly, I just want to comment on Bai Jingting as Xing Ke Lei. I admit that he sells the part well. At first I was skeptical about Bai Jingting as a SWAT officer because of how skinny and baby-faced he is, but he actually pulls it off surprisingly well and has some unexpectedly good chemistry with Ma Sichun too. Although during moments when he isn't talking and we're just left with his resting face, I'm suddenly hit by how young he looks, but then he speaks or is back in uniform and again, the gestalt shift goes back to Xing Ke Lei, the handsome SWAT officer. They made a point of showing how muscled his arms are, which was a little jarring to see in comparison to his youthful face, not gonna lie. So, while I liked him as Xing Ke Lei, it was a little distracting switching back and forth between seeing him as a really young, adolescent-looking actor, and him as the broad-chested character.

Should you watch?

All in all, a really cute and easy-to-watch drama with some thoughtful and sentimental moments. Very fluffy. Minimal to no misunderstandings. Charming characters. There are the storylines of three couples with medical/police subplots interweaved between the romance. On bilibili, some people even edited clips of the drama with theme songs from TVB medical and police dramas like The Hippocractic Crush and Tiger Cubs. So, as someone who grew up with TVB dramas, it was nostalgic to see those thematic parallels.

But, the drama does lose steam in the last 10 or so episodes, and has a lot of filler to stretch it out to 40 episodes. That’s the issue I have with modern dramas. The plot in modern dramas is usually quite basic, and I would argue that the modern romance is easier and less angsty. You either love each other or you don’t. You either are willing to commit or you’re not. There aren’t many external excuses for angst or misunderstandings. (Of course, I’m trivializing things; real life isn’t as easy).

Still, I would recommend this drama for anyone who’s between dramas. I watched this drama to help me get over the rut I was in because I was going through withdrawal after finishing The Rebel Princess, so I needed a light-hearted drama whose genre was completely different from TRP. And this drama was perfect for breaking that rut.

Rating: 8/10. Simple, fluffy, and not too much to complain about. I also forgot to talk about the great humour in the drama, but there were many moments when I laughed out loud or couldn’t stop grinning. This is also a drama you can take your time with because there aren’t constant cliff hangers to peg you on. It doesn’t consume your life, and you can pause (although, the first 18 or so episodes are definitely binge-worthy because the development of the leads’ relationship is just too cute, and so they suck you right in). However, while it is one of the better modern romance dramas I’ve watched (and the characters are very consistent), it’s not a very memorable drama. It doesn’t make me linger. I guess it’s because I’m more of a historical and xianxia drama kind of person. So take from that what you will.

#you are my hero #你是我的城池营垒 #cdrama #bai jingting #白敬亭 #ma sichun #sandra ma #马思纯 #cdrama review #cdramanet

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

Note

Do you have any opinion on the Wold Newton universe or more generally the attempts to create a coherent universe based on massive crossover of victorian and/or pulp fictions ?

Fair warning to any and all of you who follow my blog and might think to yourselves "Wow, I want a Pulp Hero Cinematic Universe!". You don't. What you want is for these characters to thrive again and maybe kick ass together after reestablishing themselves as cool and popular and interesting characters in the pop culture eye, and I want that too, I've been working on ideas for years to try and bring some of that to reality, it's part of the whole point of this blog in the first place, and I must stress: Nothing, and I repeat, nothing, is going to put these characters six feet under faster than a botched attempt to follow in the MCU's footsteps. You don't want to watch these characters suffocate under the strain of a cinematic universe. I didn't like watching it happen with Marvel to begin with, as much as that clearly worked out for them.

If DC could only just barely catch up to the MCU's shadow and only started to thrive when they took a diametrically opposite approach, if the Monsterverse, despite the fact that it's characters were already in a cinematic universe together, only just barely limps on due to the popularity of it's central players, the pulp heroes don't have a chance in hell if they try and play by those rules. The Shadow and Doc Savage and Green Hornet can survive failed reboots, but not every character's got that kind of safety net, not every author can afford to take the risks necessary to commit to these properties, and some characters take a lot longer to crawl out of graves than others.

So with that said, let's talk about the WNU.

When I first started doing research on pulp heroes in general I spent a very long time going through all of the Wold Newton pages I could find, and I have a lot of them saved in case the websites get taken down one way or another. I still consult them frequently and I still consider them a pretty invaluable resource for anyone who wants to get acquainted with pulp characters, even if it must be prefaced that the WNU is basically fanfiction.

The Wold Newton Universe was a massive shared fanfiction universe before we had a proper name for this kind of thing and I do find it a little disheartening that, despite it predating or influencing works like LOEG and Incognito and Planetary, and how several current authors either got started writing articles for it or even professed their love of it, it's a currently dead project. I guess it ultimately wasn't supposed to even last as long as it did anyway, and much like the characters it's based on, it ultimately doesn't really die so much as it just lives on differently.

The big problem I have with the mainline WNU is, besides not liking Phillip Jose Farmer's writing, that much of it is basically crack fanfiction built on very, very flimsy family connections as an excuse to tie characters together, and already I think the premise that somehow, all of these characters are related, all of them are part of a special family tree connected by meteor-irradiated blood, to be extremely weak. A lot of the writing in many of the WNU pages is just not good and not workable, and it's hard to fault it as such considering this is fanfic, it's written by enthusiastic fans and not professional writers (although some of these people are, the Lofficiers have no excuse). But the great thing about the WNU is that, because it's a shared project with no ownership, everyone gets to play around and rewrite canon at will and bring their own angle to it.

There's WNU pages that are very hardline against the inclusion of superheroes, others don't have that restriction at all. There's WNU fan pages focusing exclusively on monsters and horror. Jess Nevins wrote a ton of pages digging out the really obscure characters only he knows about. There's Cool French Comics which is focused heavily on the European side of things, which is also where I discovered The Grey Claw's existence, and Tales of the Shadowmen is based a lot on these. I know for a fact that there used to be at least a couple of pages focusing on anime although the Wayback Machine doesn't have most of them archived. It's not so much a single shared universe or timeline so much as it's several, outright dozens, of them depending on who's writing the pages, and they were all free to either incorporate theories made by other authors or purposefully rewrite them. It’s a freedom afforded by the fact that these are non-profit fanfics, and the fact that over half of the characters in these webpages are public domain or in copyright purgatory to begin with.

Unlike with DC, who's got a hodgepodge of concepts that logically shouldn't work together but are still held together by the consistent ideal of the superhero and the Justice League and whatnot, and Marvel, who was a continuous crossover soap opera right from the start, the Pulp Heroes don't live in the same worlds, don't live in the same time periods, many of them weren't designed to do so, don't have a sliding timescale or rebooting timeline to keep them perpetually on the same level, they don't exist under unified copyright, don't operate by the same rules, and are less built to sacrifice their individuality and settings for the sake of costumed punch-ups with a bunch of randos. Superheroes are able to exist together by operating under a very strongly defined notion of what a superhero is and does, and if the Pulp Heroes had anything of the sort, I wouldn't have to make a chart in the first place trying to create a coherent explanation as to what defines them.

Before the MCU could sell people on the Avengers, it first had to sell them on all of it's other team players first, it needed to do the groundwork and rework all of it's existing characters to make sure they could reasonably be crammed on screen together. From the start, their universe was dictated by the need to have these characters team up. Be honest: Do you think this is gonna work for the Pulp Heroes? Characters whose greatest selling point, whose most enduring and unique traits, are the ways in which they are not like other heroes? Characters that currently struggle for newfound popularity because of the common notion that they are just superheroes, except old and racist and outdated. Do you think these characters aren't better off instead dispelling these preconceptions to rebel against the superhero dominance and thrive in different areas? The secret of their success in the first place was the ways in which they weren't like the Victorian Heroes that preceded them, and guess what, now they are on the same boat.

The concept is not unworkable, it's not impossible, some good stories have resulted out of mashing the icons big and small together, hell I have several Pulp Hero universe concepts I'm working on. But I must stress the need of approaching this from a different perspective. And that perspective starts with doing the groundwork on what works and what doesn't for them.

The only genuinely successful pulp hero universes to an extent I've seen were those that were built from the ground up based on an idea that these characters were supposed to interact and work together, or at least share a history together. The strongest one I've seen would definitely be The Chimera Brigade, because it's not preoccupied with mashing icons together but instead telling a story informed by the history of these characters, informed by it's central point: Namely, what does a pulp/superhero history look like from a French perspective. It's biggest names are used only sparingly, it's got a ton of original characters to make the world feel more seamless and real, it takes the routes less traveled to make the story stand more on it's own feet and not just based on the characters it's intended to reference. And in doing so, it's also allowed several of it's characters to thrive individually as well as collectively.

In that regard, I think the greatest thing the WNU has is that it provides a skeleton to work with. It provides not just one but several ideas of what you can do with these characters past their respective stories, either in personal canons, crossovers with other properties or even existing in shared universes. The ideas are there either for existing characters or original creations. What you do with those ideas is up to you.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #pulp fiction #crossover #the chimera brigade #wold newton universe #phillip jose farmer

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crystxlclear · 3 years

Text

sudden desire

chapter ten: the endless darkness and mystery of the ocean is becoming a bit tempting to dive into right now

part eleven of sudden desire

masterlist

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, hospitals, illness? it’s a little but of a sad chapter tbf sorry

author’s note: this is where it gets sad and angsty i hope y’all didn’t think it would all go smoothly from here lmaoooo sorry

but coraline and marcus are soft af so i hope you enjoy them pining for each other ... again

Marcus is sure that he’s only really known love twice in his life.

The first time, it was with his first wife. His college girlfriend. The first girl he’d ever said ‘I love you’ to, and meant it.

They’d married straight out of college; young and, maybe, a little too dumb. Not prepared for the pressures of real life, of the real world. They were still figuring themselves out, who they were meant to be and who they were meant to become. They’d grown apart as they’d grown older. They were no longer who they were. They were different, and not the same people who’d fallen in love those years ago.

The second time, it was with Teresa. At least, he thinks he was in love with her. Hell, he’d even asked her to marry him, to move across the country to start a life with him, after so little time together, after all. They’d moved so fast, tumbled headfirst into things without a second thought. He’s sure that, in that short period of time, he’d fallen in love. The heartbreak that had struck him down when she’d left him was so palpable that, sometimes, when he lies awake at night, he still feels the remnants of it rooted within him.

There had been others, before and since. Those that didn’t work out, those that weren’t and never were meant to be. A handful of awkward dates or a couple of nights at the other’s apartment. Nothing significant like his ex-wife or Teresa.

At least, not until Coraline.

He often wonders, if things had been different, if they’d met some other time, in some other place - maybe even in some other life - without their heartbreak and their baggage, if things would have been different. Would they be together and happy, living in some picture-perfect suburbia together, in each other’s arms. He guesses that he’ll never know, now. It seems silly to dwell on such an unlikely and unattainable thought.

But he likes this, falling asleep in each other’s arms, even if it’s only as friends on her part and he’s destined to feel the sting of unrequited happiness for the rest of his days.

The next morning seems lighter. It shouldn’t - the weight of the night before, all that had happened, should still linger; and it does, just not in the way he’d expected - but his admission, into the silence and not to her, had lifted this insurmountable weight from his chest. He hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying it. Even whispered into the gauzy blanket of silence after Coraline had fallen asleep, Marcus’ profession of love had slipped out, just the right time to relieve him of his fears and maybe any more heartbreak that might latch onto him.

He wakes with her still in his arms. She’s clutching to his shirt, the dress shirt’s cotton material bunched into her first, twisted around his torso. She looks endlessly peaceful; her breathing is steady, soft and measured and even, and her face is free of the worried lines that had tugged at her eyebrows the night before. Her lips are parted, soft puffs of air brushing past, tickling against the underside of his jaw. She’s swimming in the bliss of sleep. He’s endlessly glad that at least sleep can give her a reprieve from the torment of the night before.

He knows he should leave her bed, like he does every morning. That he should make her coffee and whatever breakfast food he can find. That he should have normality ready for her when she wakes up, so things don’t seem so different when sleep slips away from her. But he just can’t bring himself to let her go.

Marcus watches her gentle expression and the rise and fall of her chest for a moment. The subtle shift of her feet and hips. He knows she’s waking up, her body rousing from her deep sleep. He brushes a hand through her hair; it’s dried as she slept, and her usually delicate waves are even more prominent thanks to the soft cotton of her pillowcase. His thumb brushes across her cheekbone.

Coraline hums and it almost startles him. “Good morning,” she whispers. She leans forward and presses her forehead against his chest. Her hand pulls around his torso and splays her fingers across the expanse of his back, pushing his chest closer into hers. “What time is it?”

Marcus’ hand flexes against Cora’s hips. “9 am.”

“Shit, Marcus, you have work,” she gasps and pulls back, though her movements are sluggish and laboured, tethered with sleep, still.

He smiles and drops a kiss to her forehead. His thumb taps against her hip bone. “I’ll call in sick. They’ll understand.”

He’s sure that she wants to protest, to tell him to leave, but she just doesn’t seem to have the energy. She just drops her forehead back against his sternum and sighs. She nuzzles herself closer into him and pulls at his scent, just as intoxicating as always. It weighs her limbs down. She feels her head swimming with everything - the worry and the pain and the fear - but the familiar scent of his cologne keeps her rooted to reality, and stops her from floating away. She’s glad that he’s here, holding her. She’s not sure she would want to wake up without him there. “I need coffee,” she murmurs, voice muffled by the duvet pulled snug over the pair of them, and Marcus’ shirt. She makes to move his embrace and leave the bed, but her efforts are half-hearted and she keeps herself pressed against Marcus, inside his comforting grip.

Marcus chuckles. “Just a couple more minutes,” he insists.

He can feel her grin through the material of his shirt. “You’re comfortable like this?” She runs her hand up his torso, from his stomach to his chest, and toys with the top button of his shirt, by his neck. Her thumb brushes over his collarbone; he’s pretty sure it’s unintentional, but it almost makes him shudder. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t used to the effect that she has on him.

He shouldn’t be. Not in what he’s wearing. But the warmth of her against his chest is too comforting for him to muster the strength to move. “Very comfortable.”

She tilts her head back. Large green eyes peer up at him, sparkling and still laced with sadness. She’s trying her best to hide it, he can tell. “Too bad,” she whispers, “I want coffee.” She still doesn’t move. She stays rooted to his chest.

“And you’re expecting me to make it?” Marcus chuckles.

Cora giggles against him. “No- give me a moment.”

Marcus brushes a hand through Coraline’s hair - and pushes away the curls that have flopped over her face and obscure her sleep-kissed smile against him - as her phone begins to ring on the bedside table behind her. Cora groans and tightens her grip on his shift. “Who is it?”

He peers over her to glance at the display on her phone, which lights up bright with the name ‘Daniel’. He tells her and she groans again, pressing her cheek against his chest. Every time something calls her to leave the bed, she can’t help but burrow deeper into him. “Let it ring. I’ll call him back later,” she insists. The phone falls silent against the wooden table and she relaxes, until the phone starts vibrating again, and her shoulders go rigid.

“You gonna get that one?”

She shakes her head. “He’ll give up after this call.”

But her phone carries on ringing.

After the fifth ring of the third call, Coraline uncurls herself from around Marcus.

“Hello,” she answers, unable to sound very enthusiastic.

“Cora, thank God!” Daniel sounds out of breath on the other end of the phone. “You need to get down to the hospital right away.”

“What?” She shoots upwards in worry. “What’s happened? Is everyone okay-”

“It’s dad. It’s his lungs again.”

Panic strikes in Coraline’s chest. It’s her fault. If she hadn’t told him about her and Marcus and their plans for a baby, he’d be okay.

“I’m-” She desperately tries to catch her breath as she stumbles from the bed. Marcus calls after her but she’s fumbling blindly through the room, grabbing clothes like it’s second nature. “I’m on my way.” She drops her phone rather than hanging up and tugs on a hoodie and joggers over her pyjamas.

“Coraline, what’s wrong?” She questions.

She shakes her head and twirls on her heels. “My dad’s in the hospital.”

...

Marcus hadn’t even bothered to get changed. He looks presentable enough in what he was wearing - despite the wrinkles in his shirt and pants - and it seemed far more important to get Coraline to the hospital than it did to make himself look as if he hadn’t just rolled out of bed.

Which he had.

He hadn’t let her drive. Coraline had been biting back tears; they were burning the back of her eyes, blurring her vision, and she was in no shape to drive. Instead, he’d just taken her keys and driven as fast as he, legally, could towards the hospital on the other side of town. She’d sat in the passenger seat, bouncing her leg, silently praying that her father would be okay.

He’d rushed in behind her, as she raced towards the desk and breathlessly asked for his room number. And, by the time they’d reached him, she’d practically crumbled back into Marcus’ arms at the sight of him. Her father had been laying in the sterile bed, asleep, a breathing tube down his throat to help with the rise and fall of his chest. There were so many machines around him, cutting through the room with a thousand shrill beeps and chimes, she thought that he seemed more like a robot than a human being at all.

Without Marcus holding her up, Coraline was sure that her legs would have given way, and she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up any longer.

Her mother is there, Daniel and Kimmy, too, all gathered around his bed, looking solemn and horribly pale. Celine Meyer rushes towards her daughter as her sobs begin to bubble up ugly inside her chest. “Is he going to be okay? Please tell me he’s going to be okay.” She can’t bring herself to look at him. It only makes her chest hollow to see her father like this. The bright man she adored seemed so far away. “This is my fault,” Coraline insists, “I-” Her face is in her mother’s hands, and she’s shushing her, shaking her head and brushing away her tears as they fall, with the pad of her thumb.

“No, no, no. My darling, Coraline, no. This is not your fault,” she tells her.

“He was upset with me. He-”

Her mother shakes her head again. “No, he is still sick. It was only a matter of time. But he is here now, and they are going to do their best for him, I promise.”

The room is impossibly bright and claustrophobic. She can smell the disinfectant; it seems to drip from every surface, scrubbed clean and sterile, and nauseating as she thinks of her dad having to spend hours in a bed, with his laboured, wheezing breathing and broken, empty gasps. She feels like the walls are about to close in on them all, and stifle the life out of them all.

Coraline’s eyes waver towards her father and Marcus hears a sob rip from her throat. She gasps and rushes towards her father, dropping into an empty chair beside his bed. She takes his hand and presses her forehead to the back of his hand, her shoulders shaking as she cries, muffled by the blankets and the mattress. Marcus wants to make it better - he wants to make it all better - but there’s nothing he can do to quiet her heart wrenching cries and fix the sadness of seeing her father like this.

She doesn’t deserve this. All this pain. She deserves nothing but the entire world and all the stars in the night sky. Hell, he’d give her the moon if he could.

“Thank you for being here, Marcus.” Celine presses a hand against Marcus’ shoulder and smiles through her watery eyes. “You have no idea what this means to her.”

It doesn’t feel right to answer. He just returns her smile. Now isn’t the time to take credit for being here. He’s just doing what he has to do. What’s right. To be here for Coraline, if she needs him.

“Dad, I’m so sorry,” he hears Coraline whisper, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. She sits up in her seat to look at her father’s sleeping face. “I’m so sorry for everything. Please don’t leave me, I- I need you.”

...

Coraline hadn’t wanted to leave. Marcus doesn’t blame her, especially when she’d spent most of the day blaming herself, and had only really settled her nerves about five minutes before visiting hours were over. She’d been worried they’d force her to leave, and, then, had been even more worried when the nurse had poked her head into their room, smiled and asked them if they wanted anything to drink as they sat by his bedside.

Marcus knew it wasn’t a good sign, that they were letting him stay. The same had happened when his grandfather had died; he’d been so ill that they’d supposed he wouldn’t make it through the night. They’d let his mother and aunt sit by his bedside the entire night, until he passed away, holding their hands, the next morning. He hopes that this won’t be the case, here. For Coraline. For Celine and Daniel, for Kimmy and the kids. He prays.

Daniel and Kimmy had finally left in the late evening; they’d left their kids with the babysitter that morning, and they were both starting to grow tired. Celine stayed beside her husband, falling asleep early in the evening as Coraline and Marcus sat in silence, watching some old sitcom rerun on the tiny hospital TV. At some point, they’d settled into the same chair. He isn’t even sure when, or how, or even why, just that Coraline was understandably exhausted and shuffling awkward and restless in her seat, trying to get comfortable. She’d established that Marcus’ lap and the warmth of his arms around her was the best place to be. Just the way she’d woken up that morning.

She’d fallen asleep a little while later, just as an early episode of Seinfeld began to play on the television.

Marcus had tried, resting his head back against the high back of the seat, but, no matter what he did or how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He’s tired - exhausted, even - but something keeps him away, a gentle urge to make sure that everything is okay.

Instead, he focuses his attention on the TV screen, too tired and far too distracted to follow the story.

The silence seems earth-shattering.

“Marcus.” He lifts his head at the call of his name. It’s quiet, even in the silence of the hospital room. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor is the only thing that shatters the emptiness of the sterile room. Marcus smiles at the sight of Coraline’s father awake. His breathing is still heavy; he can see the way his chest seems to rattle as he draws in his breath. “Is she good?” He questions, motioning to his daughter, who’s curled up, asleep, in Marcus’ lap, tucked against his chest. She sighs in her sleep.

Marcus lifts his chin from where it’s been resting against the top of her head. “About as good as she can be,” he answers, “She’s a fighter.”

Robert Meyer hums out a laugh of agreement. “That she is,” he agrees. He watches her as she sleeps peacefully. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

The question hangs in the air. He knows what it means, and he recognises the weight of it. Celine had spoken to the doctor earlier - one of those ‘can I talk to you in private?’ moments that she hadn’t found the strength to share with anyone, yet - and wandered back into the room with fresh tear stains on her cheeks. He knows what that means. He’d seen it in his own mother when he was younger.

“I think she can take care of herself,” he insists with a gentle and fond smile down at her. “But I’ll always be there for her if she needs me.”

Silence befalls the room again; monitors beeping, machines whirring, the soft clicking footsteps of people against the linoleum in the hallway, the gentle rustle of hospital-issue sheets. Marcus knows that the silence lingering between them is a result of the night before, and the tension that had stretched, brutal, across the apartment, between them like a taut rubber band.

“Do you love her?”

It’s another question that settles upon the thick air.

He’s not entirely sure how he’s meant to answer. He could admit to Robert that he’s fallen head over heels in love with his daughter, but he’s not sure he can bring himself to say it out loud. At least, not to another person. But Coraline doesn’t know. Coraline will probably never know. And, as far as she’s concerned, the extent of his love is that fondness shared between best friends, who live their lives circling around one another, keeping each other just close enough.

“I think that Coraline is a truly extraordinary woman,” he tells him, instead. He thinks it holds enough weight to answer his question. “I swear to you that I’m in this for the long-haul,” he adds, “I’m the one who suggested the whole baby thing.”

“You suggested this?”

“I did. Please don’t be mad at Cora, she only agreed to the idea.”

There’s another silence. Robert settles back against his pillows. He runs his hand over his jaw. “And this is what she wants?”

“Yes. I think so.” He looks down at her, where she’s settled against his chest. “I can tell that it bothers her, worrying about never being a mom.”

“And you promise you’ll take care of her?” He questions.

“Always, sir. Always.”

“Y’know, she’s still my little girl,.” he insists, “you have to understand that I just want what’s best for her.”

“I know.” Marcus smiles. “I want that, too.”

He sighs and leans back again. He gives his sleeping daughter the same easy smile he’d given her when he walked into the apartment the night before. “Then you have my blessing. I don’t necessarily… agree with this but, if you’re sure, I’m happy for you.”

It’s a brilliant relief to hear him say it. Marcus exhales happily and smiles. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear that. She cares about you more than anyone, you know?”

“Oh no-” Robert watches as Coraline shuffles against Marcus’ chest. Her hand splays across the front of his shirt and she pressed her cheek against him. “-I think I’ve been replaced.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @ah-callie @its--fandom--darling @alberta-sunrise @sara-alonso @madslorian @freeshavocadoooo

#sudden desire #marcus pike x coraline meyer #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x original female character #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader

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ofaprilflowers · 3 years

Photo

- part 2: home? -

warnings: descriptions of injuries, not too detailed.

tags: shout out to my first-ever requested tags, @sista7-7 @softieus and @marrambles yay! Thank you for reading and sorry for the late update TT. Hope you guys enjoy :)

disclaimers: I am not a medical professional, this is all part of my imagination and totally made-up therefore is in no way accurate. If you find any part I could improve on, do tell. I would appreciate the feedback. Other than that, enjoy! <3

previous/next

It took another week for me to finally be discharged. A week of rehabilitation and physiotherapy (which Dr. Hwang said would be continued after my discharge TT). I had lost strength in my extremities and also my sense of balance. This, I found out after almost falling down right on my face when I attempted to climb out of bed for the first time. Almost, well because thankfully, he was there.

My parents had arrived the night I woke up. My mother immediately cupping my face, tears brimming in her eyes while my father just took my hand in his and smiled every time I looked his way.

It felt surreal, honestly. My family and I were close. But we were not exactly the type to be crying and holding each other, or professing our love for each other. We were the laugh-at-each-other’s-life-problems-cuz-I-had-it-worse-than-you type of family. Then again, for me it felt like I was waking up from a long nap, while for them, they didn’t know whether I would make it or not so, fair enough.

Turns out, the accident was pretty bad. My head had to be stitched up and so now there was a nasty gash above my left eye (it was definitely gonna scar but let’s not think about that right now). My arms where full of cuts and scrapes from the broken windshield. My legs and chest, badly bruised. Dr. Hwang said they had healed fairly well in the past two weeks, but I still cringed at how ugly they looked every time I caught a glimpse. He also mentioned that I was lucky not to have sustained any other serious injuries other than my head trauma. I was grateful of course, but losing my memory was deleterious enough.

I woke up every morning feeling confused as to why the heck I was at a hospital and it took a few groggy minutes to remember. Sometimes it took seeing Jaehyun- either curled up asleep on the armchair or standing next to the window with a cup of coffee in hand- for me to come crashing back into reality.

I learnt through my mother- who had attempted to fit the past 2 weeks of my unconsciousness along with the last 6 years into a 2 day crash-course- that Jaehyun was the only one who stayed at the hospital every day and night. My mother had stayed the first week, as my condition stabilised however, she opted to visiting daily. That also depended on whether my father was available to drive her 45 minutes to the hospital from home. You see, my parents were rational people, but I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt. I mean I was laying unconscious on a hospital bed yet there were still other important stuff to be handled. Well, as they say, life goes on, right? Kind of made me think if I had just hallucinated the tears brimming in her eyes the other day.

While my mother would babble on about looking on the bright side and starting my life again, Jaehyun’s presence was like having a burden be lifted. I know I’ve lived most of our “acquaintence-ship” hating him, but I made a mental note to properly thank him for this in particular. On every occasion that my head felt like it was about to burst from the overwhelming information my mother was flooding me with, he’d interject, naturally bringing her focus to something other than trying to piece me back together. Often times he’d ask her to join him for a cup of coffee, or show her things he was currently working on. I’d close my eyes then and pretend to fall asleep.

“So, you’re saying, I should continue my life ‘as normal as possible’. Meaning?” We (the doctor and I) were currently in his office. By tomorrow morning I was finally leaving. Goodbye to the sanitary, boring hospital, hello to......well, life?

The doctor had explained all the procedures and follow-up appointments that were to come. Both to Jaehyun and I. Then, we talked about going home and that’s when I realised, home had changed. I don’t know how we had avoided addressing it, or maybe I was the only one in denial of it. I mean throughout the week after regaining consciousness, although Jaehyun was there, we barely talked. Mostly because I became a selective mute, and he, well I guess he was respecting my space?

Dr. Hwang had noticed the awkward silence that had passed after he mentioned about going home and quickly changed the subject, calling in a nurse to guide Jaehyun in signing my discharge papers or something. After he left, the doctor didn’t hesitate in putting on what I call his “uncle-face”.

“As normal as possible, meaning that it’s better if you return to your daily routines prior to the accident,” he explained for the nth time.

I fidgeted in my seat. “But, wouldn’t that cause me more distress? It’s a life a barely know.” “Astrid,” he began, straightening his back. “I understand how hard it my be for you to wrap you head around all this. 6 years is a lot. But it is your life. Your experiences and memories throughout that period were real, and you deserve to remember them. You need to give your life a chance.”

Well, damn. He had a point. He should’ve been a therapist instead.

“And, what if my memories don’t come back?” I prodded.

“Well then, at least maybe you’ll learn more about yourself.” Okay, then. Here we go, Astrid.

We live in a loft?!?!

Pretty sure my eyes were bulging out of my head but wow.

Eyes wandering around the space, I tried to take in everything at once. This was certainly NOT what I had expected. This can’t be real right? I must absolutely be dreaming.

“Welcome...home?” Jaehyun said.

My head snapped in his direction, mouth agape. He smiled sheepishly, his infamous dimples popping out, his hands tucked into his jean pockets, his shoulders lifted briefly. He looked like a child, shyly presenting to the world his greatest creation. I almost smiled. Almost.

“You like it?” he asked.

I scoffed. “For real?”

My eyes turned back to the space he had referred to as home. Well, it didn’t feel like home (yet. Remember Astrid we’re giving this a chance), but yes, I absolutely love it!

I took in my surroundings again and this time, couldn’t help the smile that crept up my cheeks.

The space was gorgeous. It was big, but not huge. It was small, but not tiny. It was spacious enough to have everything and more. There was an L-shaped sofa that could probably fit 5 or maybe even 7 people if squeezed in together. There were even 2 more smaller ones in front of it. Perfect for a small gathering. Opposite the living room was a kitchen, with a small kitchen island. God, I’ve always dreamed of having an island. There was another floor and at the stairs leading up to it were ceiling-high windows with a bumped-out seat, all set with pillows on one end and potted plants on the other. It looked like the perfect spot to read or stargaze at night. I walked into the living room, the brick walls were covered in framed movie posters and artwork, some smaller frames containing pictures which I guessed were probably a collection of memories.

I stepped closer and caught a glimpse of some familiar faces in unfamiliar settings. One photo caught my eye. It was a photo I remember, taken earlier this ye- I mean well, early 2017, right after graduation. I was sandwiched between Jungwoo and Ten, holding up a peace sign to the camera. Jaehyun on Jungwoo’s other side, hand around the latter’s shoulders. Others in the picture smiling widely, so many poses, so many expressions. Literally, it felt like yesterday.

“You remember that?” Jaehyun probed.

I smiled. “Yeah, just a couple weeks before Taeil’s birthday bash, right?”

Then, something flickered in my mind. Of Jaehyun, smirking at a table with his friends, of them exchanging words and laughter, of me hearing something I probably shouldn’t have. Jaehyun had many circles of friends, being the typical extroverted, super-friendly campus sweetheart. This circle was one I wasn’t quite familiar with, least to say I didn’t really like them. I felt my cheeks heat up as my blood boiled at the thought of that memory.

“You wanna see upstairs?” Jaehyun’s voice pulled me back into reality. I turned to look at him. He was standing right next to me, looking almost exactly the same as the Jaehyun I knew. The Jaehyun that I couldn’t stand being in the same room with. The Jaehyun that always had a competitive, mischievous glint in his eye. The Jaehyun that would take every chance he got to argue with everything I said. The Jaehyun that made me feel like I had to defend everything I had.

There was a slight difference, though. The competitive, mischievous glint was somehow...softer. It made me confused, because I was angry, but looking at him now, I don’t know who to be angrier at. Me, or him?

“Ummm, I think, I just- I just wanna lie down,” I tore my eyes away from him and took a step back, putting just a little more distance between him and I.

I saw his fists clench and unclench a bit at his sides. A moment passed until he said, “Yeah. Sure,” walking back towards the doors he picked up my hospital bag and gestured towards a room behind him.

“This is actually, um, our bedroom, but don’t worry, I’ve moved most of my stuff upstairs so this space is all yours,” dropping the bags on the bed, he stepped aside to allow me in. It was a beautiful room, with slanted windows, decorated with some more plants.

“So, feel free to look around, get used to the place and all. Oh yeah, um, this is the bathroom,” he opened a door on the left of the room, then gestured toward a closet in front of the bed, “Your pyjamas are in the top drawer and, uh, well, um, everything else is-”

“I’ll take a look,” I smiled at him briefly.

His eyes landed on mine for a moment, then quickly looked away.

“Yeah, okay, so um, I’ll be outside, if you need anything just, um,” his hands, one scratching at the back of his neck, the other gesturing undecidedly, “yeah.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied. He stood there for a second, then turned to leave the room.

“Jeahyun?”

“Hmm?” he snapped his head towards me, eyebrows lifted in question.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

I saw a bit of tension leave his body. “You don’t need to thank me, Astrid,” he replied softly. “This is- this is your home too.” With a tight-lipped smile, he closed the door behind him.

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airis-paris14 · 3 years

Text

Dress Up 8

Summary: She's not his fiancee, but no one else needs to know...

Warnings: None

Masterlist || Chapter 7

“I still do not understand why the wedding had to be moved up to this week!” Kamyra fussed as T’Challa opened the door and helped her back into the car. “Kamyra, let us not do this right now okay. I have enough of a headache already,” the king groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Oh and that’s my fault too? That the tramp went around pretending to like babies, so this lady thinks she can just hand me one and I’m gonna fawn all over him?!”

“Watch your tongue,” the king growled. “Why because you love her?” The princess instigated. “No, because you are the one who put her in the position so you could run away and live some fantasy without having to tell your father that you just want to go to school!”

“You don’t know shit about how I grew up and the hell I endured,” angry tears flooded her eyes.

“Only because you won’t tell me. If you want to go to school, that is all you have to say. I will make it happen! I am not your father. When we first met I wanted to get to know you. In hopes that we could have had a friendship of some sorts. But you came here with all your walls up and blamed me for all of the evil in your life because you couldn’t blame your father.”

Kamyra sank back in her seat,her heart stuck on one thing the king had said. “You would allow me to go to school?”

“Yes,” T’Challa sighed, “Anywhere your heart desires. Gender roles are not as conservative here in Wakanda as they are in your home country. You would know this if you would stop pushing all of us away.”

“I apologize,” Kamyra broke the silence minutes later as the vehicle pulled up to the palace. “I do as well, I should not have raised my voice. However, we need to talk about the wedding this week.” The couple walked in silence through the palace into T’Challa’s office. The king gestured for Kamyra to take a seat before he moved to sit in his window. “Am I correct in assuming that you do not actually want to be married still?”

“That is correct.”

T’Challa nodded, “Then I may have a solution for you. We have a way to annul the contract our forefathers signed. If you are willing to go along with the plan, we will allow you to seek asylum and full Wakandan citizenship if you do not wish to return home.”

“Where will I live?”

“Here, you will stay in a royal estate as a dignitary or we will help you find housing anywhere in the world you choose to live.”

“I do not have to stay here?”

“No you are not a prisoner, depending on how you react to the plan of course,” the king frowned. Kamyra tensed, “What exactly is the plan?”

“We have concrete evidence that your younger brother made an attempt on my life while you were gone. Because you were gone, we assumed your innocence,”

“I am!” Kamyra assures, she stood out of her seat and sighed, “My father would have killed me if I had known about it, had not given you a son, and not made sure you were actually gone. My father is strict about image and traditionally consolidating power. Ephram however is pure ambition. We have another brother, Aton, who is slated to take the throne, so it makes sense that Ephram would grab at any chance to take power for himself.”

“What your brother did not understand is that power is not handed down based on birth right or gender. Even if he had succeeded, Shuri would have just battled for the throne and ruled.”

“Trust me when I say, we are both very glad he did not succeed.”

T’Challa offered a weary smile in response, “An assassination attempt will be enough in the council’s eyes to void the contract at gathering this weekend. Afterwards, we will plan for you to make a transition to life here as a citizen.”

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No, not at this time. My priority is keeping you safe. No need for your father or brothers to take their anger out on you.”The king stood from his seat on the windowsill.

“Thank you T’Challa, for being a friend even when I do not deserve it.” the princess offered a slight smile.

“That is what a good and decent person does.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement before starting for the door. “Wait,” Kamyra called, “Will you use this break to pursue a relationship with Sirobie?”

The king paused and turned to the princess, “I have not decided,” he answered cautiously. He may have seen a new side of the princess, but he was not entirely sure he could trust the royal. “Just be careful. My family is a pot of vengeful, fragile, toxic masculinity waiting to boil over. You starting a new relationship after embarrassing them, could be more than enough of a spark to send them after Sirobie. From what I learned about her while I was away, she is a gem. She must be protected.”

“I will keep that in mind,” T’Challa promised before leaving Kamyra with her new found freedom.

“T’Challa Udaku!” Kamyra’s father beamed as he walked into the throne room to great his daughter’s future husband. His two sons trailed in after him looking bored and intrigued all at the same time. “We heard you could not wait to marry my daughter so you moved the wedding up three months!” The king bellowed laughing and going to clap the king on his back. Ramonda squeezed her son’s hand softly before he went to great the king. “Yes sir, you could say that. I must say I am most taken with her aura and her family aspirations,” surprising himself the king glanced at Kamyra to see if he was convincing her father. The princess shrugged and he sighed. “Well that I am very glad to hear. We did our best to raise her to be the perfect wife in spite of her mother’s premature death. I do have a question though. As a father, I must make sure that you are the right man for my daughter.”

“I will do my best to make her happy and treat her right.”

“I know, but I must ask, how do you know my daughter so well if she was missing for more than half of your engagement?”

“Sirobie-“ DaNiyah sat her cup down in disbelief. The college senior crumbled, “You think I’m lying don’t you?” Sirobie wiped the tears that gathered in her eyes. “No, Ro! I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

DaNiyah joined Sirobie on the other side of the table and pulled her in for a hug. “Girl, let me see the ring!”

Sirobie laughed and pulled the necklace out again. “Girl, it’s like a block of clear ice! And he just bought it for you just because?”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be a memory from our time together.” DaNiyah smiled, “Y’all are so cute!” Sirobie smiled and twirled the ring on its chain. “Yeah, but it’s over now.” The filmmaker tucked the chain back in her shirt. “For now,” DaNiyah corrected, “When you love something, you let it go. He loves you, you are clearly falling for him but you both have unfinished business to handle. He’s in a different stage of life. Ready to settle down and have kids. You need to graduate college and go out and live some more first. Work on film sets. Make movies. Win awards. Then who knows. Maybe in a few years you two can reconnect and see where life takes you.”

Sirobie nodded, “You’re right. Besides I know how he feels and no one can take that from me-“

“Sirobie! How do you feel about King T’Challa’s statement regarding your time in wakanda?”

“Sirobie, are you carrying the king's baby?”

“Sirobie! Picture please!”

“Over Here Sirobie!” Reporters poured into the university quad, banging on the windows of the student center jostling to get photos of Sirobie.

“What are they talking about?” DaNiyah helped Sirobie to pack up their things and hurry away from the front of the building. “I don’t know,” the artist fretted. “Ro! You’re back!” Angela Douglass hurried over to her friend. Pulling Sirobie then DaNiyah in for a hug. “I got back yesterday-“

“You’re all over the news!” Angie handed Sirobie and DaNiyah her phone. The foreign exchange student watched as her love walked into frame at what appeared to be a press conference Kamyra following right behind. Three men entered the frame along with Queen Ramonda. Sirobie’s heart sank. Those could only be Kamyra’s family, that meant this announcement was nothing good.

“My name is T’Challa Udaku, son of King T’Chaka, Sovereign ruler of Wakanda. I am joined today by the Habriedes, the ruling family of Zafa. We are here to make an announcement regarding a foreign exchange student from the United States.”

“Maybe he’s publicly professing his love. Maybe they aren’t getting married anymore?”

Dread filled Sirobie’s stomach, “He wouldn’t do that, without telling me first. It puts all of us in too much danger.”

“Wait so there was something going on between you?” Angie clarified as T’Challa broke Sirobie’s heart. “It has recently come to the attention of the Wakandan people that this student masqueraded as my fiancée, Miss Kamyra Habriedes, for three months. Miss Habriedes does not remember where she was during this period and is in a delicate mindset right now. As of today, the student in question has caused no harm to the people of Wakanda nor the nation of Zafa, therefore we are looking to press no charges. There will be no retribution or punishment brought against her. We simply wish to clear the air about the differences between the actions, mannerisms, and condition of my true fiancée. Myself and the people of Wakanda wish the young woman the best in her endeavors and I hope she finds the love she is searching the world for. Thank you.”

Sirobie’s hand flew to her ring as she stared at the phone in disbelief. It felt like ice was clawing its way through her veins. “Ro? Ro what happened?” Angie tried to catch her friend's attention. “Ro! Look at me,” Angie insisted. DaNiyah wrapped up her ranting just in time to notice the senior start shaking. “Hey, Ro, look at us, you know he’s lying. He proposed to you for god's sake. Just calm down.”

“No, if he gets to tell his side of the story I get to tell mine,” the director stormed off back towards the front of the building. “Ro, woah woah no!” DaNiyah was the first to catch up.

“What?”

“First off, don’t raise your voice at me sis. Sending, he didn’t explicitly accuse you of anything, it’s obvious that the reporters are grabbing threads to get a story. If you go out there you are confirming their suspicions.” DaNiyah argued.

“Wakanda publicized all of us because we were the first foreign exchange students, and I’m the only one who happens to look exactly like his missing fiancee.” Sirobie fumed and paced back and forth.

“Okay, fair point, but Ro, you just got accused of infiltrating the world's most private country and pretending to be their future queen for three months. If you go out there, it’s your word against the king of a fucking country. So let’s just take a moment to think.” Angie talked her down off the edge.

“Let’s just figure out how to get back to the apartment without being followed okay.” DaNiyah ran a hand over her hair as Angie handed her friend a hoodie.

“Cover your hair and that diamond ring. We’ve got a lot to figure out. I don’t see us getting you out of here un-photographed and the last thing we need is to throw fuel on the fire.”

Sirobie nodded and quietly slipped the hoodie over her head as her tears finally made an appearance. “Sirobie,” DaNiyah pulled her roommate into her chest as she broke down in tears. “He told me he loved me,” the painter sobbed as Angie felt her own heart breaking. She’d never seen her friend this broken before. On what should be one of the most exciting weeks of her life, a man she obviously cared for, had potentially ruined any chances she had of a career and possibly her freedom to celebrate the week quietly.

“Okay, no. We’re getting out of here then figuring out how to hit that bastard where it hurts the most. I don’t know what happened, but he does not get to just ruin your life like this. He could’ve dealt with this shit privately. Or at least called you first. We’re graduating and I’ll be damned if he gets to ruin the time we have left together.”

“Agreed,” DaNiyah backed up the third member of their group. “I don’t know, I just want it to go away,” Sirobie sniffled. “It will. I’ll make sure of it.” Angie assured her.

“Okay,” Angie came out of Sirobie's room and leaned against the wall next to the TV. Sirobie groaned as DaNiyah paused Coming to America. After somewhat successfully escaping with the help of campus security, the girls made it to their apartment safely praying that they hadn’t been followed. No one had shown up banging at the door yet, so they seemed to be in the clear. For now at least.

“I called in some classmates and a professor I trust. I know you wanted to keep it small, but I needed some help Ro.”

Sirobie nodded from under her cover, “I know Angie. I just want it to go away and if this is what will help make it happen, I’m all for it.” Angie breathed a sigh of relief and smiled softly, “Okay. I called an emergency meeting with them. I’ll let you know when we have a plan of action.” Angie hugged both Sirobie and DaNiyah before rushing out of their apartment.

“You want a pizza girlie?” DaNiyah pressed play and headed back to the kitchen to grab something to drink. “Noo,” Sirobie sighed.

“Gyros?” DaNiyah plopped back on the couch and handed Sirobie a glass of juice and a bottle of water.

“Ehh…”

“Sirobie, you’ve gotta eat something babe. All you’ve done is cry and mope. Not that you don’t have a good reason to, but you’ve gotta eat and drink something.”

Sirobie took a sip out of her glass and turned back to the TV. “Fine,” DaNiyah stood. “I’m gonna walk to the gyro place and I’ll get your usual order.”

“Your majesty, technically, there is no loophole for attempted assisination, considering you cannot definitively prove that Kamyra’s father was in on the attempt. This contract is between your father and hers, meaning he would have to be the one to break the bounds of morality.” The merchant tribe elder clarified.

“So he is just supposed to marry into a family that attempted to have him murdered?” Ramonda fumed. T’Challa placed his hand over his mother’s to calm her. “We understand that this is not ideal, however there is only one solution.” The Border Tribe elder glanced at Zuri’s protege, Fatima. “You and Lady Kamyra can get married- in a private miniature ceremony, like a Western Elopement. Then we will nullify the marriage at the end of the ceremony. Thereby fulfilling all of the requirements of the contract, while also preventing either you or Lady Kamyra from being legally bound together.”

T’Challa glanced at his mother and nodded, “How soon can we achieve this?”

“As soon as you and lady Kamyra are ready. I can prepare the ceremony at any time.”

“Great, Let’s prepare for tomorrow night then?” T’Challa glanced around the room, “How will we explain this to Kamyra’s family?”

“How will we explain it to the Wakandan people?” Another elder voiced.

“Simple-” T’Challa stood, “We will tell them the truth.”

“You sure you don’t wanna come babe, you’ve been in this apartment for two days. You’ve got security, and no one will recognize you in a dark club.”

“No, I’m not in a party mood, but y’all have a good time. I’ll be here to take care of your drunk asses when you come in later tonight.” Sirobie smiled as DaNiyah sucked her teeth. “Whatever,” Sirobie’s roommate grabbed her purse and began double checking she had everything.

“Seriously, though. I’m probably just gonna finish up my final portfolio project and binge-watch something.”

“As long as you’re good love. I just want you to enjoy this time.”

“I won’t be able to though. Until this is all over. I have more fun here. I’ll wait up and y’all can tell me everything that went down.”

“Fine, call if you need anything, I'm the designated driver so I won’t be having as much fun anyway.”

“I will, and you’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got my personal bodyguard outside anyway so we’ll be cool.”

“You ever figure out who sent him anyway?”

“He said he’s from the university,” Sirobie shrugged. “I find that hard to believe,” the pre-med student snorted. “I know, maybe they do care about more than our money,” Sirobie joked. DaNiyah’s phone chimed alerting her that her uber was there. “Okay, I’ll see you later. Remember to call if you need me.”

“I will,” Sirobie sighed once her door was shut and went into her room to grab her laptop.

“And it’s official, the shortest marriage I’ve ever officiated for,” Fatima joked as Kamyra finished signing her end of the nullifying contract. “I believe I speak for us both when I say that it was good, it was fast,” Kamyra smiled and placed the cap back on the pen.

“Very much so,” T’Challa nodded and joined his mother on the sidelines. “I am glad to see you this happy again,” Ramonda smiled. “Thank you, me too,” T’Challa grinned. “It was a good idea to use the assassination as leverage to keep Kamyra’s family from retaliating or coming back to Wakanda.” The king praised his mother. The queen smiled, “Your father married me for more than my looks,” she teased.

“I apologize for not asking for help with this whole situation at first. Shuri is your daughter and you should have had a hand in protecting her.”

“I am glad you have realized the error of your ways, but I am your mother as well. I want you protected and happy just as much as I want that for her. We could have saved everyone a lot of headache and heartbreak. Including the one person who you did not let in on this plan-“ Ramonda raised an eyebrow.

“You were the one who told me not to tell her!” The young king insisted. “T’Challa, do not raise your voice at me and do not play dumb. I told you not to tell her when the plan was just to leverage the assassination alone. Had I known you were going to give into Kamyra’s father and blast Sirobie’s character on international television, I would have insisted she be brought in on this. That she was protected and not just thrown to the wolves. She’s a college student for goodness sakes. I’m sure her university isn’t happy with her negative press either.” The mother scolded.

“I sent her a bodyguard once I realized how big everything had blown up.” He sighed. “I think you owe the woman you love more than that, don’t you?”

“Hello,” Sirobie yawned and sat up to look at the clock from the couch. The Nanny hummed in the background as the last voice she ever wanted to hear came through the line. “Sirobie-“

“Goodbye your majesty.” She ended the call and dropped her head into her hands. “Fuck man,” she hissed standing and pacing infront of her couch. Her phone began to vibrate again and she stared. “What your majesty,” she finally answered. “Sirobie please let me explain-“

“You have 30 seconds to explain why you decided to lie and blow up my life.”

“Sirobie-“

“25.” She interrupted. “Sirobie I don’t have enough words to explain how sorry I am, but believe me I am so sorry. I obviously didn’t think ahead in the plan but, I needed Kamyra’s family to have no reason to suspect you for what I was about to do.”

Sirobie’s heart stopped, “What did you do,” she whispered out. “We broke the contract and we knew that if they found out I was gonna use it to get to you-“

“I’m happy for you T’Challa. But this doesn’t change the magnitude of what you did.”

“I know and I’m gonna fix it-“

“How T’Challa. You can’t come back out to the world and say hey I was lying I’m actually in love with this girl can you? No matter what actually happened, you’ll never be able to clear the air. I’ll always be the home wrecker. Some crazy American who pretended to be a foreign princess. I’ll be the one who ruined a Union for the country’s good. It won’t matter that your family loves me. Or that it was your fiancée’s idea to switch places. All that will matter is what you said. And you lied T’Challa.” Sirobie ended the call as she felt tears flood her eyes. She grabbed the nearest pillow and tried to chuckle through her sniffles as Fran Fine continued her pursuit of Maxwell Sheffield.

“Hello,” it seemed like no one wanted to just let Sirobie grieve in peace tonight. “Ohh my baby,” Sirobie’s mother cooed through the phone and the student felt tears flooding her eyes. “Mama,” Sirobie let her tears fall. “Aww baby I know, I know.”

“I wish you were here,” Sirobie sniffled. “We’ll get up and open the door.” Sirobie felt her mother’s smile through her phone. “What,” she popped up slowly and slipped on her house shoes. “Well hurry up, you just gonna leave your mama out here with all these bags?”

For the first time in weeks the filmmaker felt a genuine smile grace her features. She yanked open her apartment door and pulled her mom in for a hug. “When did you get here?”

Sirobie grabbed her mother’s suitcase and led her into the apartment. “About an hour ago. Mother to Mother, the queen thought you might need some additional loving for the next few weeks.”

“What about work?” Sirobie led her mother to her bedroom with suitcases in tow. “Aht Aht, you let me worry about that. Just know that I’m here for you okay baby.” Naomi Johnson sat on her daughter's bed and opened her arms letting her daughter fall into her embrace. The mother hummed softly as the 21 year old sniffled. “I just feel so stupid for believing him.”

“Believing what?”

“That he loved me,” Sirobie sighed and unclasped the engagement necklace from around her neck. Her mother took the ring in shock, “Sirobie Naia Johnson please tell me you did not.”

The Howard student rolled over in her mother’s lap. “No, we didn’t get married. He just proposed and told me he loved me.”

“Even though he was engaged?” Mrs. Johnson raised an eyebrow. “It’s complicated mama.”

“Seems pretty simple to me.”

“Wakanda is a monarchy. It was a marriage of two countries. Not really two people. His fiancée is the one whose idea it was to trade places. She ran off and left me to pick up the pieces.”

“So you were pretending to be a foreign princess?”

“Yes,but the queen asked me to. As a cover up till they could figure out where the real princess had gone.”

“Okay,” Sirobie’s mother nodded, “Considering I was chauffeured to your side by the queen of said country, I believe you. However I don’t understand why the boy lied about you. I mean it was obvious in the first call we had with him how much he adored you.”

“He said it was to keep me safe from the real princess’s family. I can speak from personal experience, not the most friendly family in the world. “

“That sounds reasonable.”

Sirobie sighed, “I know, I just wished he would have come to me first. At Least let me know ahead of time.”

“Well maybe it was a part of the act. If these people are truly dangerous, you couldn’t know the plan. First off, you’re a horrible actor dear, they would’ve seen through you in half a second,” Naomi Johnson teased as her daughter scoffed. “I am a great actress,” Sirobie insisted, letting laughter escape her lips.

“Mhmm,” her mother hummed. “You’re right though, all of it was reasonable, but I just don’t ever see how we could have a relationship. He basically told the whole world I’m a snobby American who got the chance of a lifetime and wasted it pretending to be someone she wasn’t. If we get together I’ll be nothing but a home wrecker.” Sirobie sighed as her mother’s fingers massaged her scalp.

“I see what you mean. Unfortunately it is one of those times that only time will tell what the future holds. You’ve just gotta be patient babycakes. Focus on yourself and your future outside of this king T’Challa. He’s a great catch but you’ve wanted so much for your life and your career. You all are in two different stages in life and that’s okay. While he figures out his, you should figure out yours.”

“Come in,”T’Challa turned from his position at the window of his private office. Eshe held open the door as Lesedi and Kasigo carried in a wrapped package. The women saluted before Eshe shut the door and spoke, “Lady Sirobie asked us to make sure this made it to you once it was delivered from the framers.” Eshe explained the brown paper wrapped package now sitting against the king's wall. “Ah, thank you.” He bowed his head as the women curtsied before turning to leave. “Kumkani wam,” Lesedi turned back to the monarch before shutting the door. She pulled an envelope out of her pocket. “Please do not be upset, but Lady Sirobie, she sent us some graduation tickets. I won’t be able to make it, but you should go in my place.”

T’Challa stared at the envelope as Lesedi set it on his desk. “Thank you,” he nodded as the woman curtsied once more and disappeared. Once he heard the footsteps recede, the king took a deep breath and walked over to what he was sure was the portrait his love painted for him.

He began in wrapping the painting and felt his stomach drop at the image Sirobie had crafted in her mind of him. She’d remembered him as only she’d seen him. Wrapped up in her being, relaxed and at peace. The couple was laying on the couch in what was Sirobie’s room while she was in the palace. Though Sirobie’s face was hidden, her arms were wrapped around T’Challa, her face buried in his neck as the king stared down at her adoringly. The painting was stunning and T’Challa knew a phone call was not enough. He loved this woman and she deserved the world and more.

He needed to see Sirobie, and right his wrongs.

Taglist: @almostpurelysmut @blackbypurpose @tchoking @sisterwifeudaku @wikiwakanda @royallyprincesslilly @90sinspiredgirl @thedelightfulone @autumn242 @purple-apricots @kumkaniudaku @queertrex @kaciidubs @halfrican-heat @skysynclair19 @dramaqueenamby @leahnicole1219 @kreolemami @mzbritt @derangedcupcake @chaneajoyyy @lalapalooza718 @ororowrites @leahnicole1219 @sarcastic-sunshines @sarahboseman @faatassbitch @lady-love-and-glitter-roses @cxnismajcr @tchallasbabymama

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13 notes · View notes

bizlawgal · 3 years

Note

I wanted to share a prompt! Hope is ok ❤️: Emma is norman's bodyguard. And he's so cute 😳. But she has to focus because she's a professional 😎. But he's so sweet and treats her like she was a princess! But he's also super important and she needs to give the 100% to protect him. But the way he calls her, it's just... Would be people surprised if she falls for him? What would people think if she tries to take him for her 🤭😏.

This took a while.

Here’s Lyn’s first contribution to the N/E tag for 2021 on Tumblr.

I personally enjoyed writing this because it’s so angsty, but it’s a dessert with a cherry on top for an ending.

I. There was no fitting person for the job other than her.

With a slender built, an agile reflex, and a taste for anything below the surface of safety, she was more than willing to accept the terms and conditions that came with the job.

"Oliver tells me you're experienced in this line of work," said Ray, the person-in-charge with most of the personal bodyguards assigned to the Minerva Family. "You do know that individuals who prefer this line of work are the ones who have —"

"— nothing left to lose, I know," she continued. This line was something she had memorized long ago. "No one will be looking for me if I do lose my life somewhere along the line. I have no more family to go back to."

Her father had died a couple of years back. Incarcerated for a murder she knew he did not commit, and died a sorrowful death behind bars because of an undetected disease.

Since then, she had taken a liking to the profession of looking after people; being a bodyguard gave her a purpose to live, and another way to make amends with her helplessness.

Ray's face echoed skepticism. "As long as you won't die before the person you're in charge of, then there won't be any problems. At least during this coming election period. Your service is of utmost importance."

Emma released a deep sigh upon learning that she had finally landed this job. "Who am I in-charge of protecting?"

"The heir of the Minerva Family," he answered as he flipped through her folder full of credentials one last time. "Consider this as your first day on the job. Here's the itinerary for today. He's a very busy person but make sure you leave a good impression."

He? She had never worked as a bodyguard for any man before, but being ever-so devoted to what she did for a living, she shoved the underlying curiosity in her mind.

Emma nodded submissively as she extended her hand to claim the supposed itinerary and immediately implanted the details inside her head. The idea to process everything in an instant was something she was good at.

"Memorized it?" Ray quipped, a challenging smirk making its way to his lips.

"Yes," she beamed, "I’ve memorized it by heart."

"Do you still have any inquiries about what your job will be? About the person you're in charge of?"

She shook her head in an absolute stance. "I think I'm well-informed."

"Good, because here comes the Minerva you're in-charge of."

She heard the simultaneous clicking of heels against the marbled floors, and when the door to the room opened, she swang her head to officially meet him with a smile.

Instead of a smile on her lips, she only registered an expression of awe; lips parted in wordless wonder and eyes widened with a different kind of expectation.

He was the first to move on, reflecting the same enchantment on his face, and spoke, "You must be —"

"Emma," she supplied. "I'm Emma Mikhaylov, and starting today, I'll be your personal bodyguard, Sir Minerva."

He smiled, and she was sure that it might've made her heart twitch a bit. "It's nice to meet you, Emma. Are you aware of our itinerary for today?"

She looked over at Ray, and back at the heir. Her breath hitched upon answering. "Yes, sir."

There was one thing that Ray failed to mention.

Norman Minerva, the heir to the family of politicians, was a damn well-proportioned, good-looking man.

II.

"How are you supposed to protect me if you're the one behind the wheels?"

It was another one of his comments that initially swayed her to think that he wasn't just one of those old money brats from a political dynasty.

It had been three months of being his bodyguard, and she couldn't deny that he was suspiciously treating her better than how he did with others.

Without taking her eyes off the road, she answered, "It's my job to chaperone you, too."

He subtly scratched his head. "Do I have to spell it out for you that I want you next to me? We could've asked Ray to chaperone us, could we not?"

"Ah, but Ray is out doing his own chaperoning for your sister."

He snorted. "There is no winning that. He fancies my sister, after all."

Emma chuckled lightly. "Miss Anna is really lovely. I doubt anyone would second-guess their attraction towards her, sir."

"Emma." There was a sternness to the way he said her name that made her slightly jolt in her seat. "I've told you a thousand times to simply call me by my name."

"It's inappro—"

"It is not," Norman sighed heavily, thinking how many times they've had this conversation. "I already told you that I do not think of you merely as my bodyguard. I simply enjoy your company and I think you know by now that I fancy you. We should try to be more casual."

This brought out another laughter from her, yet it was laced with awe and disbelief. She hoped that he couldn't see how hard she was trying to gulp down her nerves.

"That isn't part of my job description, si— Norman. What you're suggesting is highly inappropriate."

Norman raised a skeptical brow from the rearview mirror, and she tensed in her seat when his eyes bore into hers. "But you find Anna and Ray's illicit affair romantic? What makes my attraction for you different from theirs?"

Emma took a deep breath and internally reminded herself that she was a professional. This was not something she should be entangled in, especially since her sole purpose was to keep him safe until the elections were over.

She was simply thankful that they had arrived at the first one on his itinerary. "Would you look at that? We're here! Wait for me to open your door, okay?"

"Emma, you don't have to —"

She whipped her head and raised a finger. "No buts. This is my job."

It was when she got out of the car and paused for a second did she let the facade fade from her face.

Just being in the same space with him was getting harder and harder each day.

III.

It was rare for her to curse, but given the scenario they were in, it was hard not to.

"Damn election period," Emma hissed at the side, aiming the gun towards the door.

The Minerva Estate was breached and unidentified men were detected rummaging within the massive palazzo. Ruckus could be heard from the outside of the walls, and the more it came, the more fear resonated between her fingertips.

"Emma!" Norman cried out from within the confines of his walk-in closet, drenched in his own fear and misgivings. "Let me out this instant!"

It was rare of him to question his lack of strength or physical means to pry a door open; this was one of those rare occurrences.

"No can do, Norman," she vocalized it with depth, making it known to him that there was no way she was letting him out for the sake of his safety. "Stay right there. It's for your own good."

In a hysterical voice, he rebutted, "And what about you? Why can you not hide here with me?"

She found the whole thing utterly ridiculous. "Are you insane? I'm your bodyguard, remember? It's my job to keep you safe!"

"And what will I do if you die trying to protect me?" His words were more of a plea than a question, knotting within the hollows of his stomach.

"I cannot lose you, Emma."

She hissed at the words, and begrudgingly closed her eyes before snapping her view at the walk-in closet.

"And I cannot lose you!" She almost screeched it — everything that she had been bottling inside for the sake of her sanity, eating away every bit of suppressed emotions that she carefully placed at the back of her heart. "I will not allow anything or anyone to bring you harm. I can’t let another person I care for die! This is my job —"

"Who cares about this job —"

"— and this is what I feel for you! Do I have to make it more obvious?" She gritted her teeth and sucked in what was left of her confidence and her time.

He couldn't see her face, but as she spoke, he could imagine her smiling, the one that was ever-so bright in his eyes and never wavered.

"I'm keeping you safe not only because it's my job, but also because... I love you."

The sounds of constricted breathing inside the closet kept crushing her from the inside.

"Emma, I —!"

It left him no room to speak when he heard the door to his room opened, and the succession of gunshots took place.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours.

Silence consumed him, yet successions of calling out her name proved no merit.

She never answered.

IV.

"You are an idiot! An idiot, I tell you!"

Emma winced, not only for the pain inflicted on her by the graze of a bullet but also for the commotion caused by the man that had just barged through the door.

One look at him was enough of sedation for her; he was unscathed and safe.

She was about to lift herself up, gradually moving to position herself to sit on the bed, when his pair of arms reached out and enclasped her in an embrace.

His smelt of honeydew mixed with smoke, and she could feel the debris of wherever he had gotten himself into while she was asleep, against her cheek. Hearing his raspy shivered breathing against her ear struck every nerve on her body and the amount of tension on the tips of his fingers indicated that he was beyond worried for her dear life instead of his.

If they weren't surrounded by a mountain of eyes that would dare scrutinize this shared moment between then, she would've tackled him to the ground herself.

"I'm glad you're ok—"

"You idiot! Don't ever do that again!" His voice was demanding — pleading even, and seething through her skin. "I thought... I thought I lost you!"

His arms remained tightened around her, and she could only eye Ray with green eyes full of hesitancy. He only shrugged, but the way he cradled the smirk on his lips wasn't enough to deceive her.

She was merely her bodyguard.

She had no rights to him.

"Earlier," he voiced out, trembling, "You told me what you felt. What was I supposed to do inside that closet you locked me in, Emma?!"

The way he held her instigated that he no longer held any plans of letting her go.

"I wanted to keep you safe, si—"

"Do not call me 'sir'. I am simply Norman to you, and you're simply Emma to me."

His eyes are stained with unshed tears; only remorse for moments that he thought he'd never have with her again. "Will you let me hear it again?"

Emma seemed lost. "Hear what?"

His face softened with the memory. "What you told me earlier. Let me hear it once again. Let me know that it wasn't just a hallucination on my end."

That unexpected confession of hers from earlier earned her a bright, rosy blush all over her face.

"I-I have feelings for you."

Norman gave a low chuckle. "I guess that's another way of saying it. But I'm in love with you, Emma. From now on, stop being my bodyguard and simply be with me instead. Please, consider it." His smile came off sheepish. "I can't handle your constant disregard for your own safety for the sake of mine."

"B-but who's going to guard you?"

"I'll take over," Ray interjected, arms crossed over his chest. "It’s not as if I haven’t noticed the way you two have been acting for the last couple of months. Also, it's high time you stop being so reckless, Emma! You shouldn't have handled that situation all on your own. You could've called for back-up in his room!”

Emma nearly winced at Ray's reprimanding; he was right on the dot. She placed her sights on Norman and said, "But I'd still like to look after you. I've... grown to like it."

"Emma," he said her name a soft and gentle as he always had, and she knew that what would come next after her name were words meant to last a lifetime.

"I might not be as strong as you are with a gun, or as fast as you are when you run, but I'll look after you all my life, just as you'll look after mine. I’ll be your family. We’ll be a family."

Emma tried to suppress the grin on her face, but it failed spectacularly, and now she was facing him with immense joy, intertwining her fingers within his. His touch his warm and inviting, and it allowed her to further lament why she never allowed the idea of ever becoming his and him ever becoming hers.

"And we'll be equals?"

She searched his sights and he responded with the same amount of affection in his eyes; in his hold, she’d always be home.

"We were always equals."

#noremma #noremma prompt #the promised neverland #tpn emma #tpn norman #a bit angsty but it's a happy ending i swear

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