#tathan

~🐰~

Turning the ignition off, Tatum looks at her watch. Shit. 9:22PM. She's missed bedtime. Again.

She grabs her shopping bags along with her hospital duffle bag and computer briefcase, and hurries through the garage and to the elevators.

Tatum sneaks into the darkened apartment, padding softly into the kitchen where she begins unpacking her groceries. She pulls out her pie crusts as she places a pot of water to boil on the stove. She sets the temperature to the oven as she pulls out a carton of eggs as well as several packages of fresh cut meats and cheeses for tomorrow's brunch.

As she waits for everything to warm, she retreats to a special walk-in closet under the stairs that stores holiday decorations. She pulls out Cord's Easter basket along with leftover plastic eggs and fake grass from last year's festivities. Spreading out all of her basket and egg hunt supplies on the counter, she notices that her husband did exactly what she had asked: set carrots out with Cord for the Easter Bunny. God, he's the better parent. She would've given anything to have been home, but she couldn't exactly leave in the middle of surgery.

She checks on the stove and oven once more, ensuring that everything is continuing to preheat. She digs in a grocery bag, and grabs a stencil of a bunny paw print, glitter and a bottle of baby powder before heading back to the front door. Climbing on her knees, she presses the shape to the hardwood floor before sprinkling the white particles and glitter across the cutout.

"I don't know if I want to know the answer, but what are you doing?"

Tatum startles, dropping the bottle of powder as dust billows around her in the air. "Ethan," she coughs into a chuckle, waving the clouds out of the way. "You scared me."

He squats down, a smirk on his face. "What is this mess?"

"I am making Easter Bunny footprints," she states as she returns to the project.

"O…kay," Ethan furrows his eyebrows, "why?"

"It's part of the Easter magic, Ethan," she retorts, "apparently, it's not enough that Cord wakes up to a basket full of goodies. We have to make it look like the Easter Bunny actually broke into our home–by the way, can you take a bite out of the carrot you set out?"

Ethan stares out the powdery prints on the ground before glaring at the carrot. "There’s Easter magic now?"

Tatum scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. "Yes, Ethan, I have to create Easter magic now or else I'm a bad mom."

Ethan's eyes widen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about being a bad mom?"

Tatum sighs, sliding off of her knees and into a sitting position. "No one," she dusts off her hands, "but I'm just sick of the other moms at the school giving me those judgmental looks with their snide comments. Like, I committed an unforgivable sin by having a baby and choosing to work."

"They aren't so bad," Ethan shrugs, relaxing his face nonchalantly. "The other moms are always nice to me–"

"That's because they think you're hot!"

"Oh, you're deranged," Ethan swipes his hand in the air.

"Am I, Ethan?" Tatum scowls. "I went to Cord's field trip to the duck pond, and four moms asked where you were!"

"Oh," he shakes his head grimacing, but then quickly turns back to Tatum. "Which ones were asking about me?"

With a grumble, Tatum squirts white dust in the air towards her husband before charging back into the kitchen.

"Oh c'mon, Tate, I was joking," Ethan chuckles, sauntering cautiously into the kitchen. He gently grabs her elbow, pulling her into his body before enveloping her in his arms. "Hey," he whispers, his lips barely tickling her ear. "You are an extraordinary mom." Tatum looks up at her husband with glassy eyes as he continues. "Those women? They're jealous because… well, hell, you're hot, too," he snickers, his comment making his wife fall into giggles. He kisses her forehead, "they hate that you have it all: the job you love, the adorable son with excellent genes, I might add, and let's not forget–"

"Yeah, yeah," she interrupts sardonically, "the hot husband." Tatum catches Ethan's lips with hers as she slips her arms around his waist. She relaxes her head against his chest as he continues to pepper her hair with kisses, falling into a comfortable silence.  "I just want him to have a happy childhood," Tatum admits softly.

"You don't think he does?"

"I'm scared I'm screwing him up," her voice starts to tremble before she clears her throat. "I just love him so much. Will he look back and remember 'Mom made everything special,'  or will he remember that his mom chose to work, that his mom wasn't there for bedtime, or that I didn't buy him microgreens–"

"Wait," Ethan interrupts, pulling back and giving a curious glare at his wife. "Microgreens?"

"Yes, your son asked me for 'microgreens' because Hayleigh Grayce's mom," Tatum singsongs the name obnoxiously, "told him that if he ate those rather than his goldfish crackers, he'd get taller and stronger."

"Are you fucking kidding me? That woman's got a lot of nerve," Ethan fumes. "Besides, he loves goldfish–"

"Not anymore," Tatum rolls her eyes. 

"Did you get him the microgreens?"

"He's four!" She sasses, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm happy when he even tastes something green and doesn't spit it out!" 

The couple falls into laughter as an alarm on the oven chirps, notifying them that the appliance has been preheated.

"Is this for tomorrow?" Ethan surveys the prep work Tatum has started on the counter.

"Mhmm," she hums, cracking eggs in a bowl before whipping them. "Don't forget; your dad's picking up Louise, and they'll be here around 9."

"Speaking of shitty parents," Ethan jokes, Tatum playfully slapping his arm. He chuckles, shielding himself; but then his eyebrows raise. "And you see? Even if you are a terrible parent, there's always hope for later life."

An unnerving frown etches on Tatum's features. Ethan draws closer to her, planting his mouth against her neck. "Hey," he kisses the sensitive skin again, "you are doing a remarkable job with our son."

Tatum's eyes meet Ethan's crystal pools. "Thank you, baby," she croons, slipping her hands around his neck for one last hug.

"So," Ethan claps, "what's left to do for this Easter Magic stuff?"

Ethan and Tatum finished prepping for the family brunch. They made the 'Easter bunny' paw prints, and left the carrots out with visible teeth marks for Cord to find. 

They started stuffing Easter eggs when Ethan noticed Tatum's energy waning. She had been at work since 7AM post holiday call, and now it was close to midnight. He insisted they both head to bed, that they could finish the egg-stuffing--and hiding--in the morning. Before she could even tuck herself in, Tatum was out like a light.

—

With boisterous laughter echoing through the master bedroom, Tatum's eyes anxiously pop open, instantly greeted with the bright light of the morning sun. She sits up, rubbing her eyes briskly with her fingertips. "Ethan?" She calls out, reaching for her discarded watch. 9:28AM. Shit. She overslept. She jumps out of bed, grabs her robe and hurries out the door.

Why didn't Ethan wake her up? He knew how important this morning was to–

"Mommy!"

"Oof!" Cord instantly crashes into his mom, throwing his arms around her legs. "Morning, baby," she chuckles, squatting down to take him in her arms. She nuzzles her nose into his blond hair, rubbing circles on his back.

"He came!"

Tatum pulls back from her embrace. "Who came?"

"The Easter Bunny!" Cord grabs her hand, eagerly pulling for his mom to follow. "C'mon! I'll show you!" They scurry to the front door area, Tatum pinning her robe closed with her free fingers. "Look, Mommy!" He giggles jumping onto his knees. "Footprints!"

"Wow!" Tatum acts surprised, relishing in her son's excitement.

"Did you show Mommy the carrots?"

Tatum twirls around to find Ethan leaning against the entryway. She stands up, but her husband already has his hands on her, pulling her snug into his embrace.

"Morning, baby," he purrs.

"Morning--uh… why didn't you wake–?"

"Shhh," Ethan sweetly hushes her, his lips meeting hers briefly once, then twice. "Because part of being a good mother is knowing when to take care of yourself." He tucks her under his jaw, his fingers combing into her tangled waves. "You're exhausted," he inhales deeply the floral notes in her hair, exhaling a soft moan. "And you looked so peaceful laying there."

Tatum jerks up. "I was snoring, wasn't I?"

Ethan boasts a guilty grin. "And drooling." He chuckles, hugging her again, running his warm hands up and down her sides. "But don't you worry. Everything is taken care of."

Tatum lets go, eyeing him suspiciously. "What do you mean? I have a casserole to bake and the eggs need–"

"Taken care of," he bares his teeth in a bright white smile.

"But… but how?"

"Easter Magic," he nonchalantly winks.

"C'mon," an older voice playfully chides, "let's show your mama."  Bounding into the room was Ethan's father Alan, carrying Cord on his back.

"Happy Easter, Alan," Tatum giggles, giving her father-in-law a kiss on the cheek before inspecting the remnants of a carrot in Cord's hand. 

"See, Mommy? The Easter Bunny came!" The little boy squeals with glee.

Tatum bites her lip, cupping her hand around her son's head. "Looks like he was really hungry!"

"And I got a basket with books and colors and–and books!"

"You did?" Tatum claps her hands. "Tell you what. Go pick out one book from your basket, and we can read it after we eat, okay?"

Cord nods excitedly as he slips down his grandpa's back, running full force to the living room to rummage through his Easter treasures.

With a twinkle in her eye Tatum looks back and forth between Ethan and Alan. "I… but how…?"

Alan gives his daughter-in-law an endearing side hug. "You already did all of the prep work, sweetheart.”

“It’s true,” Ethan nods. "There wasn’t much more to do; I finished Cord’s basket and got him ready while Mom and Dad stuffed the eggs."

"Wait," Tatum holds up her arms, "where is Louise?"

"She's finishing up in the kitchen," Alan grins, nodding through the dining area. 

Tatum turns on her heel, ensuring her robe is completely closed as she fidgets with her unkempt hair, pushing strands behind her ears. As she enters the kitchen, she watches as a thin, older woman pulls out a casserole dish of cinnamon buns.

"Louise?"

Setting down the pan, Ethan's mother carefully cranes her neck, her expression warming when she sees Tatum. "Good morning, dear. I–I hope you don't mind me. I, uh…" she motions to the kitchen and the dining room. "I didn't mean to overstep."

"Are you kidding me?" Tatum quickly bridges the gap, throwing her arms around Louise, tucking the older woman tightly into her arms.  "Thank you so much, Lou," she softly hums, tightening her embrace. "You didn't overstep at all."

The older woman wraps her arms around Tatum, cherishing the hug from her daughter-in-law. "I guess, I'm just… I don't know, I'm–"

Tatum pulls back, taking her by the hand. "Making up for lost time."

She nods, becoming more serious in her demeanor.  "I wasn't always… a bad mother, you know–"

"Louise," Tatum takes her back in her arms. "What matters is now," she grins endearingly, "and you just gave my son a happy Easter."

Louise's eyes sparkle, peering up at Tatum.  "It really was fun," she giggles, wiping at her tears. "But that sweet little boy? You and Ethan are doing an incredible job."

"Thanks, Lou," Tatum gently pats her arm, "that means more to me than you realize."

The women grab the various dishes and serving utensils and finish setting the table for Easter brunch.  Tatum begins to fill the water glasses with ice.  "Lou, did you ever have that overwhelming sense that no matter how hard you try, you're bound to royally screw up your baby?"

Louise chuckles to herself, "Only every single moment of everyday. It consumed me… but," she grins poignantly,  "this is what I know now. Childhood is already a magical time; they're learning and experiencing things for the very first time that you and I, well, we take for granted," Louise puts an endearing hand on Tatum's arm. "They need love. That's what they remember."

"G'andma!" Cord calls out from behind the women. "Can I show Mommy what we made?"

"You made something?" Tatum curiously looks at Louise, giving her a playful wink. 

"Sure, sweetie. Make sure it's dry, and you can show your mom." The women exchange grins as Cord runs to another room. "I hope you don't mind. I brought over an egg dyeing kit."

"No, that's perfect–" Tatum is interrupted with Cord tapping her hip as he proudly holds out the colored egg.

"Look, Mommy!' He smiles proudly. "I made it for you, but--but G'andma helped me."

"Oh, Cord," Tatum gasps, her face expressive. "This is beautiful, baby!" She picks up the egg, appreciating the blue and purple watercolors, but when she turns it around, she notices writing from a white crayon that spells out the phrase Best Mom.

Tatum never thought in a million years she'd be that mom, getting choked up by cheesy clichés of being the 'best mom' or 'world's best mom', but in this moment, she gets it. She understands why mothers everywhere are so touched by being hailed for something so pompous.

Motherhood is damn hard. No one knows what the hell they're doing, and each mom, even the ones teaching their children to eat microgreens instead of goldfish crackers, think they're doing a terrible job.

But seeing that smile on Cord's face, seeing so much light and wonder in his crystal blue eyes, maybe Louise is right. And Cord is one deeply loved little boy.

Tatum pulls Cord into her arms, saddling him on her hip as she kisses his cheeks. "Thank you so much, baby. I love it." With a blush swirling on his cheeks, the young boy smiles brightly, coyly laying his head on his mom's shoulder.

"Hey," Ethan saunters up next to his wife, brushing his hand against her lower back. "Are we just about ready to–whoa!" His eyes widen. "The table… the food and the–and the decorations…"

"Do you like it?"

"Tate," his voice is low and breathless, his eyes darting across the table spread. "This really is, well, magical." 

She beams as a rosy hue paints her face. "I guess you're now a believer in the Easter magic?" She titters.

"I am, and… I guess I have been for a long time." Tatum gives him a curious glance as he pulls her into a heated kiss. "I'm looking at the magic right now."

~🐰~

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~🐰~

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The faint waft of black coffee and leftover Chinese take-out infiltrates the sterile setting of the education building, the tell-tale sign of one thing: mid-quarter exams. With a massive pass/fail immunology exam staring at her the following week, Tatum is taking advantage of every moment to study with several classmates–even though it cuts into her first Valentine’s Day with Ethan.

They both agreed that the holiday wasn’t something they particularly wanted to fuss about with expensive gifts or acts of grandeur–not to mention, they were more concerned with the other person doing well in the upcoming slew of exams; but still, they wanted to spend a little time together.

Ethan and Tatum are in separate classes this quarter, which forces them to work a little harder in finding time to enjoy each other’s company; at least before, studying was an excuse to be together.  But, they had a mutual respect and understanding: doing well in school takes priority.

“Okay, Drew… treatment plan for MG. And go–!”

“Jesus, Lauren,” the tall, broad-shouldered blond groans, dragging his hand down his face. “We’ve been at this for almost six hours. It’s Valentine’s. Can we please reconvene tomorrow?”

“Shit,”  Tatum glances at her watch, “has it really been six hours?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, huh, Erikson?” Tobias chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

Tatum flashes a sardonic smile. “I’m not sure I’d describe any time spent with you as ‘fun’, Carrick,” she claps back as he pops his gum loudly in her direction.

"That's only because we haven't been able to spend our time together properly."

Tatum rolls her eyes as she piles her notebooks into her bookbag and pulls out her phone. "Six seconds is hardly proper," she bites, earning her several snickers from the rest of the study group. "I better get going."

“Oooo-oooo!” Lauren singsongs. “Are you and Ethan doing something fun tonight?”

Tatum shrugs, stifling her smile as a soft pink swirls on her cheeks. “Not really, but he is supposed to pick me up."

"Oh!" Drew tugs on his jacket. "Are you going to his place? It's on my way, if you need a ride."

"You don't have to do that," Tatum smiles kindly, appreciating the offer.

"I know I don't have to," he titters. "C'mon. It'd be a waste of gas on his part."

Tatum knits together her eyebrows in consideration. Drew makes a fair point, not to mention she trusts him. "Okay… let me text Ethan so he's not sitting there, waiting for my call."

Ten minutes later, Drew and Tatum were walking the three blocks to where he parked his truck. Even though it was fairly late into the evening, the walkways were illuminated by the street lamps and the bright silver moon.

They were chatting about the previous week's lecture when a pair of headlights blinded them, slowing down to park next to the street curb where they were walking.  Being chivalrous, Drew protectively stepped in front of Tatum, shielding his eyes with his hand in an attempt to see the driver behind the wheel. Treading closer, they both instantly make out the figure.

"Oh, hey, Ramsey," Drew waves, relief in his voice. "I was worried there for a moment."

"Me too," Tatum giggles along with her colleague as she approaches the passenger door, waving at her boyfriend. "Hey," she smiles curiously, "what are you do–?"

"Get in."

Tatum halts. Hearing the gruff tone, she turns up an eyebrow as her eyes roam over Ethan's surly expression. "You okay?"

He gives a curt nod, his gaze unable to meet hers.

"Oh… okay," Tatum quietly mumbles, turning to Drew. "Thanks anyway," she offers a crooked grin as he opens the door for her.  "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"See ya, Erikson," he nods, shutting the door as his hazel eyes flicker over to a brooding Ethan. "Uh… good seeing you, man. Will you be at the next poker night?"

Ethan glares at Drew, his nostrils flaring. "We'll see," he mutters as he begins to pull away.

"Ethan," Shocked irritation seeps from Tatum's whisper. "That was rude."

He remains silent, his attention fixed on the road as his jaw ticks tighter.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

Ethan continues to drive in silence, his lips pursing to hold back unspoken words. 

"Did… did I do something wrong?" Tatum probes further. "Are you mad at me?"

Ethan glances briefly at her, an indiscernible heat forming in his gaze.

“Are you flirting… or starting a fight?”

When he still doesn't speak, she sighs, slumping back into her seat. She props her elbow on the door before resting her head in her hand to look out the window. "You could at least talk to me."

The silence between the young couple grows painfully haunting as they are left with only the rhythmic rapping of rubber meeting the pavement. Each block they travel, Tatum's face contorts as her anger festers.

They had never fought before– not like this. Ethan and Tatum were fairly reasonable people with clear heads, and while they can irritate each other, they've always been able to be thoughtful, be logical and discuss their problems. What was different now?

"You know what?" There's a sudden sharpness in her tone. "Just take me home, Ethan."

Ethan continues to drive, the car remaining at its current speed with no signs of changing direction.

"Did you hear me?" She raises her voice, staring at a stoic Ethan. "Stop being such an asshole and take me–"

Tatum suddenly screams as the car jerks  off the side of the road into a grassy wooded area. Kicked-up dirt billows around them as the brakes screech to a halt.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind, Ethan Ramsey?" Tatum unclicks her seatbelt, reaching for the door handle–that is until a large hand grips snuggly around her wrist, yanking her back into her seat. She instinctively turns her head, glaring at Ethan, wrestling her arm away from him. "What the hell is wrong with–?" 

Her words fall silent as Ethan pulls her against his chest, pressing his lips to hers with a searing kiss. He slips his hand behind her neck, deepening their touch, but with her hands on the firm planes of his chest, she pushes him away. Shock and confusion rest in her eyes. "Wh-what was that–?"

Ethan is left breathless from their kiss, a predatory, yet conflicted glint in his smolder. "I don't know what the fuck you've done to me, Tatum Erikson," he growls. 

"Me–?"

"I am logical," he interrupts, "I've always been. And level-headed." He pauses, looking out the window as if searching for the right words. "I am not that guy–you know I am not that guy, Tate. I don't dream about futures and marriage and babies and-and meeting your family and taking you to meet mine. I–" he stumbles into silence.  

He slowly turns towards her, his crystal gaze instantly meeting hers.  A sudden crackle of electricity ignites in the stillness as they stare with hunger baited on their quickened breaths. "Tate," his voice softens, "I don't get unreasonably angry, not over a girl.  And I especially don't get jealous."  He cups her face tenderly as he continues. "But you… you're not just a girl. You're the–" he stops himself, feeling a sting of warmth growing behind his eyes.

He swallows thickly as he draws closer to her. "The thought of you… being alone with any other man–”  

"Ethan," her breathing becomes ragged. "You have nothing to worry about, baby. I–"

"It's not you I worry about, Tate," he sneers. "Guys like that are biding their time to touch… to take… to fuck what doesn't belong to them." A weighted groan clings to Ethan’s exhale, his eyes growing dark, possessive. His thumbs press more firmly into Tatum's cheeks, more protectively as if claiming a prize.

"Tatum," he growls from behind his gritted teeth. "You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?"

A heat coils in Tatum's lower belly at her boyfriend's confession. They had become exclusive before Christmas, but she knew well before that she was falling for him. And this new, overwhelming sensation terrified her; sure, they were committed to one another, but did he feel the same butterflies, the same bundle of nerves, the same vulnerability? Or was she alone?

But just like that: Tatum knew. They weren't just exclusive; they were in love.

With her head in Ethan's hands, she tenderly grabs ahold of his wrists before closing her eyes. She leans her forehead into his, the frustration from moments ago melting away.

Ethan's breath shudders at the feel of her soft skin pressed against his own. Embers of feral heat kindle his growing length as his lips crave another crushing kiss.

This woman…  Somehow without notice, without even trying, without even believing things like this were possible, she had become his everything. 

His thumbs trace the curves of her cheeks before dragging across her supple bottom lip. 

Tatum's eyes flutter open, Ethan's lustful gaze piercing through hers, desire pooling between her legs. She turns her attention to his intimate touch, pressing her mouth to his hand. She plants sweet kisses along his palm before taking his fingertips into her mouth. A glimmer of dow-like innocence permeates her stare, her tongue playfully swirling around his knuckles.

"Tate," his breath hitches, a spark of arousal coursing through his veins. "You… you're teasing a dangerous line… and I'm not sure I can control myself…" His words are dark, ominous, warning.

"Maybe I don't want you to control yourself…" Her words drip like sweet honey, yet ignite like kerosene.

He pushes his large fingers further into her mouth, an abrupt choke rasps as he reaches the back of her throat. A corner of his mouth curls deviously as he watches her eyes glitter with tears. He pumps his hand again, the sound of her gag causing his jeans to tighten further, his eyes swirling into a deep obsidian. "Are you sure this is what you want?" He spreads his fingers apart, allowing her tongue to glide back and forth in between his knuckles. 

Tatum hums as he pulls out his fingers, licking her lips as an invitation for more. Keeping her hooded gaze on him, she pushes Ethan back into his seat before lowering his head. She straddles across his lap, his large hands finding her hips before caressing the thick curves of her ass.

"You know what I want?" A Cheshire grin crawls across her face as she roughly combs her fingers through his soft, espresso waves. "I want you to show me what belongs to you."

Ethan's eyes grow curiously large as Tatum grips the hem of her shirt, discarding it quickly before unhooking her bra. "Touch me, Ethan."

His hands slide up her bare back, his fingertips hungrily digging into her skin as he pulls her into a crushing kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck as his tongue swipes to deepen the kiss.

He finally nips at her bottom lip, giving it a tug before tracing kisses down her chin to the delicate lines of her jaw. 

Soft moans escape her mouth with tickled giggles as his mouth dips lower across her delicate skin. She grabs his hands, guiding them to her pert breast, his grip suddenly eager and rough. His thumbs tease the ache of her hardened nipples, stars of her own arousal dancing before her eyes in bright glitters of white.

And then bright lights of red.

Then blue.

And then red again.

And suddenly, there's a gentle tap against the window followed by the intruding strobe of a flashlight.

"Alright, kids, take it home."

"Oh, fuck," Ethan mutters as Tatum lets out a stunned scream.  He abruptly grabs Tatum to hurry her back into her seat; but with his jerks pulling against her own attempts to hide her nakedness, she tumbles off of his lap, landing on the floorboard with a loud thud. 

He sits his seat up while trying to adjust the obvious and painful bulge in his jeans. Wiping his mouth, he rolls down the window. He clears his throat and fixes a charming smile to his swollen red lips.

"Evening, sir."

"License and–" The police officer stops, hearing whimpers coming from the passenger side of the car. He shines a light and notices a crumpled Tatum, her shoe stuck behind the gear shift and trying to crawl into her seat from the floor. "Son, I highly recommend that if you want to–" he dramatically coughs, "continue the rest of your night, you fix that."

"Y–yes, sir. I will–uh… right now?"

"Right now," the cop gives a wry smile. He glares at Ethan as he sucks on a lollipop. "As for you, young man, in the spirit of Valentine's day," he scoffs into a snicker, "I'm letting you off with a warning." He sighs, shoving a small notebook in his pocket. He turns on his heel to leave, but stops to inspect Ethan one more time. "Get a room."

As the officer returns to his car, Ethan breathes a sigh of relief… then he jumps out of the car to race around to the passenger side. 

"Tatum! Shit, I'm sorry!" Ethan gently helps her up, positioning her into the seat before taking off his jacket to drape across her bare chest. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she quietly answers, holding her head in her hand. "I think I'm fine." She moves her arm to pull the jacket over her shoulder when Ethan gasps.

"Oh God," he hisses, "you hit your head!" He gently takes her chin into his hands, turning her neck to get a better view of her face in the light. A large, purple knot was growing along her hairline, several blonde strands now stained a deep rouge. "Shit. We need to get you to the ER–"

Suddenly, Tatum cups her mouth with her fingers, stifling her laughter.

"What could possibly be funny? You might have a concussion–"

Tatum lets out a snort before a bubbly tirade of giggles fills the night air. "I was hoping you'd leave a mark on me tonight… I just… I didn't picture it quite like this."

Ethan rolls his eyes, but is glad she can see the humor of the moment. He snickers under his breath, fastening his girlfriend's seatbelt. "I'll keep that in mind." He shuts the door, hurrying back to his seat. He starts the car, but before driving away, he glances at Tatum with a mischievous smile.

"What?" She questions, dabbing away her tears from laughing so hard.  He chuckles, licking his lips. "What? Tell me!"

"Oh, baby," he smugly croons, "trust me; that contusion is nothing compared to the marks I have planned for you later." 

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

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"Tate? I'm back, babe."

Kicking off his loafers, Ethan tosses his keys into a decorative bowl next to the front door of their new townhome. The place is eerily quiet, save for a gentle August breeze rustling through the open windows and a family of bluebirds singing a cheerful melody nearby. 

Carrying a brown paper bag, Ethan stops at the base of the stairs, listening intently for his wife. "Tate?" He jogs up a few steps. "Tate? I've got breakfast. Are you up–?"

Suddenly he hears a thunderous crash from inside their master suite downstairs, followed by a distinct shriek for help.

"Shit! Tatum!" Ethan races back down the steps, plowing through their bedroom and into their opulent shared en suite bathroom "Tate?"

A soft string of giggles echo from his wife's walk-in closet, crescendoing into a boisterous laugh with snorts.

"Baby, are you–oh my God!"

Lying on a mound of discarded clothes is Ethan's heavily-pregnant wife, being pinned awkwardly against the wall by her own belly. She pushes against one corner before trying to reach for a nearby built-in shoe rack, but ends up rolling right back into place, her legs stuck up in the air.

"Help!" She squeals into more titters. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna pee on myself!"

Ethan drops the brown sack, rushing over to Tatum's side. He wraps one of her arms around his neck as he squats down, slipping his hand underneath her back. "Ready? Here we go."  With one smooth effort, he lifts Tatum to her feet. He cradles her round abdomen while placing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Jesus, Tate… are you alright?"

She nods, dabbing at her wet eyes as she calms down her snickers.

"What happened?" His voice panics. "Are you hurt? Did you fall?"

She rests a hand on his stubbled face, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. "My little worry-wart," she croons, pulling him in for a fervent kiss. She gently rubs the expanse of her stomach, her hand brushing against his. "I'm fine. Really. We're fine," she smiles endearingly. "I was rearranging my clothes and, well, I guess there were too many garments. The valet rod broke in half."

"Did you hit your belly?"

She shakes her head. "No. I fell on my butt, but luckily I already had all of these clothes on the floor, so it felt like landing on a cloud."

"I think maybe we should go check on the baby. NST. KB. Just to be safe–"

"Look at you, Mr. Smartie-pants," Tatum jokes before fluttering a sweet kiss on his mouth. "Are you an OB, or do you have a hot wife that's an OB?"

Ethan scrunches his face. "Hot?"

"Hey!" Tatum scoffs, slapping his arm playfully. 

Ethan steps forward, pushing Tatum against the wall before nipping at the delicate skin of her neck. "Try insanely hot." He drags his lips to the crook of her collar bone. "And sexy," he hums across her shoulder, his tongue stroking small circles.

"You forgot hungry–"

"Mmmm… is she now?"

"Rams…"

"Right, right," he smirks, straightening himself out before reaching for their morning bagels. "You'll just wait until I'm half-asleep or walking out the door for that kind of hunger–"

"You don't seem to mind," she sucks in her lips, taking her breakfast as they both take a seat in her closet. "Did they give you–?"

"Mustard?" He raises a quirked eyebrow. "You know I asked for extra. But the looks I got–"

"Don't care." Tatum takes a big bite into her Asiago bagel and schmear, drenched in mustard. She looks up at Ethan who is intently watching her. "Want some? It really is good–"

"I'll take your word for it," he takes a bite of his lox-stuffed bagel. "So," he chews, "what's the plan–err, what was the plan for today?"

"I need to get rid of stuff, and if that rod breaking isn't a sign, I don't know what is," she giggles, taking another bite. "I've got several pairs of pants that I couldn't even fit into a year ago, and I figure,” she rubs her belly, “I will never see that size again, so why am I holding onto them?" She motions to a back corner. "And I have all of those formal gowns that have only been worn once. Once!" Ethan nods as she continues, "so I need to figure out if I'm going to recycle a look or just get rid of ‘em."

"Sounds like a good plan." They fall into a comfortable silence as they finish their breakfast.

"Also," Tatum wipes her mouth, "I think maybe it's time…" she looks at a pile of black and camo-colored shirts on the floor.

"Trevor's clothes?" Ethan knits together his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Tatum nods, taking a deep breath. "He would've been upset with me hoarding them all this time. And–" she sighs, "I'm still going to keep a few items, but I don't need all of them, you know?"

Ethan nods in understanding. "If you're absolutely sure–"

"Yeah," she blinks away the gathering pools in her eyes, turning to smile at her husband. "I'm sure. I guess I was scared I would somehow lose part of him or my memory of him, but…" she shakes her head, Ethan instantly taking her hand in his. "That sounds stupid, right?" She chuckles as tears slope down her cheeks.

Ethan shakes his head, squeezing her fingers endearingly. “Not in the least bit.”

Tatum looks up, wiping away her tears before looking at the mound of t-shirts and sweats. "He would've been such a good uncle."

"He is a good uncle, Tate." Ethan's eyes meet Tatum's. "His life will forever be an example to our child of what it means to love unconditionally, what it means to be a hero."

"Damnit, Ethan," Tatum chuckles as streams pour down her face as she silently nods.

He crawls over to his wife, slinking his arm around her shoulders before pulling her close. Placing tender kisses in her waves, he looks at Trevor's old shirts. "We don't have to get rid of them, Tate. Let's just box them up and put them in storage."

"No, no," she wipes her nose on a napkin, "I'll be fine. They need to go." She tenderly pats his thigh, clearing her throat. "Ready to tackle this?"

Ethan kisses her forehead. "Let's do this."

------

[3 Weeks Later…]

"Tate?"  Ethan's bellow echoes through the house. "I thought you were going to help me with this."

"In a minute."

The Ramseys received a special delivery earlier in the day from their good friends,  the Santiagos: a custom-designed, convertible wooden crib. It wasn't completely dismantled, but it still needed to be put together in the nursery. The expectant parents made plans to assemble it that evening, but Tatum was taking her time in the kitchen.

Ethan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before he finally trudges down the stairs.

"Tate. I swear to God, if you're eating mus–" his jaw drops as he watches his wife squirt mustard on a strawberry. "Tatum Ramsey!"

"What?" She innocently looks to her husband, wiping the smear of mustard off the corners of her mouth. 

"The mustard… I… I am at my wits' end with you!"

"What?" She puts a dollop on an apple slice.  "It's not like I'm making you eat it–"

Ethan scoffs, "But I have to watch you eat it. On everything."

"At least I'm not eating dirt or laundry detergent or chalk."

Ethan turns up his nose. "Women and their hormones–"

"Uh, mister. Is this the part where I get to be that woman? The woman who makes it abundantly clear that you actually had a huge part–and I do mean huge–" Tatum braces her back with her hand as she turns and points to her nearly-full-term blossomed belly. "-- part in all of this?"

Ethan chuckles, his lips curling as he saunters closer to his wife. "I think that officially makes me a dad: getting blamed for shit for simply, well, being the dad." He softly pecks at her lips... then turns up his nose. “You even taste like mustard.”

“And you think your morning breath is better?” She teasingly reaches to pinch his nipple, but he swats her away. His eyes widen as a mischievous, toothy grin crawls across his face.

“My morning breath doesn’t taste like pungent bitter sauce, meant for a hotdog.” He reaches for her side to tickle, but she playful bats his hand away. However without warning, his other hand swoops in, his fingers wiggling against her other side, digging into her skin.

Tatum lets out a squeal as she kicks and swings her arms. “Ethan Jonah! You are such a–” She grips at his chest again, but before she can twist, he grabs her wrist, lifting it above her head.

“Such a what, huh?” He playfully taunts.

“You are such a rat!” Tatum struggles, finally pulling away from his grip. “You play dirty!” She rubs her wrist; but suddenly, she reaches up and pinches his nipple before twisting it.

“Ow!” Ethan flinches. He grabs his chest, gently massaging the dull sting. “And you think I play dirty?”

Giggling, Tatum scurries up the stairs.

“Tatum Lenae, this means war!” He chuckles as he chases behind her, taking two steps at a time to reach the second level of their home.  He looks around the landing before padding lightly down the hallway.  “Tatum,” he singsongs, “come out, come out wherever you are.” He hears a small gasp coming from the nursery, a knowing grin growing on his face. He takes a deep breath, stifling his laughter. Abruptly, he pushes open the double doors. “Gotcha!”

But Ethan’s face suddenly falls.

Tatum twirls around, her big blue eyes drenched in tears. “Did… did you do this?” Her voice falls hoarse with emotion as she holds out her arms.

Ethan tucks a hand into the pocket of his jeans as he bashfully combs his fingers through his wavy locks.  “Yeah.” He steps forward, his voice timid and gravelly as he gazes into her hands. “I… I did. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

In deep rich earth-ones of olive green, espresso browns and mirky blacks, Tatum flounces out a soft, jersey-knit baby blanket, covered in familiar, worn-out phrases: ‘Army’; ‘Peace through Strength’; ‘Hooah’. 

‘Lt. Trevor McCord Erikson’.

His shirts. They were all there.

“Rams,” she chokes out in a whisper as her fingers trace across the stitching and the reinforced letters, “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Is it okay–?”

“Baby,” she hugs it tightly to her chest, “it’s absolutely perfect.”

Ethan lovingly takes his wife into his arms as she presses her face into his neck. He nuzzles his nose into her hair, tracing mindless figures on her back, allowing her to take in the moment. 

He knew this gesture would stir up deep emotions for his wife.  One of the hardest challenges of Tatum’s life was continuing on without the one person who believed in her, who loved her, who rescued her. Sure, she had Ethan now, and she couldn’t have dreamt in a million years to have someone so perfectly matched by her side; but no one could replace Trevor.

As she finally catches her breath and settles down, Ethan helps hold up the blanket for her to slowly inspect each detail. “You said,” he whispers, “that he would be mad if he knew you were hoarding these in your closet; but I think he’s more upset that he can’t be here to watch you become a mother, to hold his niece or nephew, to watch them grow. This way… he can”

Tatum lifts her chin, capturing Ethan’s mouth in a tender kiss. “Thank you,” she sniffles, “thank you so much, baby.”  She presses the soft fabric to her face as tender memories of her brother warm her heart. “Is it… alright if I use it? Until the baby comes?”

The corner of Ethan’s lips curls as he nods his head. “Of course... Just don’t get any mustard on it.”

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

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@alyshak92 @annfg8 @bisexualdisasteracd @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @lsvdw-blog @mvalentine @ofmischiefandmedicine @rookiemartin @starrystarrytrouble @youlookappropriate

~🖤~

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!OC (Tatum Erikson-Ramsey)

Series Music Inspo: "Ships in the Night" by Mat Kearney

Chapter Music Inspo: "I Choose You" by Sara Bareilles

Chapter Summary: On the night of their wedding, Tatum begins to reflect about her relationship with Ethan... and about all of the missed opportunities that they had with one another.

Word Count: ~3400

Warnings: NSFW/smut 🍋; language

A/N: Some of these characters/plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry. Huge thank you to my girl @charlotteg234 for helping me choreograph my smut, and to my girl @ao719 for looking over said smut! lol Love you both! Not truly beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Would you call me crazy if I told you I believe in cheesy romance stories? You know the type: the kind where the rich CEO’s car breaks down in a small town, where he meets the shy, yet beautiful local pastry chef with a failing bakery? He inevitably screws things up, but he proves his love by performing a grand gesture–in this case, buying out her bakery to give it back to her. Or how about the age-old story where a woman meets a stranger in a bar, spends a hot night of passion with him, only to find out in the morning that he is her new boss?  Or he’s the son of her boss? Or he’s the crown prince of some made-up country in the Mediterranean? 

Now, before you roll your eyes at me, I know what you’re thinking. Stuff like that doesn’t actually happen in real life. Men don’t go out of their way to make fools of themselves for love. Love has its limits, and the sensation of being ‘swept off your feet’ is nothing more than a trigger of chemicals in your body, supported by the greeting card companies and flower shops.  And let me tell you: I totally agree with you.

Until it happened to me.

When I was twenty-three, I fell in love with the most intelligent, fearless, most handsome man I had ever met in my life. He was strong, yet sensitive; he was quiet, but hilarious.  He was such a colossal pain in my ass. And I absolutely loved him for it. For over three years, our relationship was thrilling, breath-taking, all-consuming and wild. It was the kind of love that inspires love songs and poetry, a love that makes you believe in soulmates and wishing on stars and happily ever afters.  We had no idea what the hell we were doing, which made it so incredibly perfect. He was so incredibly perfect.

Then, I single-handedly fucked it up. Everything that was good in my life, I threw it all away in a single moment. And that incredibly perfect man… I broke him. And the worst part? I changed him. Because of me, he learned to be cold and hard; he learned to be closed off, to protect himself from getting hurt ever again. He lost that spontaneous bright light in his eyes. And love?  He stopped believing in it.   

But, I’ll let you in on a little secret: the story of Ethan Ramsey and Tatum Erikson doesn’t stop there.  It should’ve. My God, it should’ve, but fate had a different ending for us.

“Tate?”

His voice. It still rings like a melody to me, especially with my name dancing on his lips. Well, that and judging from his mumble, his keys must be in his mouth.  His hands are full with a late dinner, and no doubt, Jenner is making it nearly impossible for him to sneak through the door with his excitement.

I give the navy velvet sky one more glance as I turn to walk back inside from our balcony. Pulling the curtains shut, I watch Ethan set the table before lighting a few tapered candles between our plates. He then promptly unpacks the brown paper bags of our greasy, late-night fast food dinner.

Recinching the white satin belt of my short, lace-trimmed robe startles him into a double-take.  “There you are,” he beams brightly at me; he offers a guilty smile as he claps his hands. “Nothing was open at 1:30 in the morning except…” he sighs, “the golden arches.”

Raising a playful eyebrow, I saunter closer to him, closing the gap between us. As I wrap my arms around his thick, swole musculature, his taut, strong arms envelop my own body. He pulls me closer, pressing me lovingly into the flat planes of his chest.

“Mmmm…" I nuzzle into him, "it’s perfect. My husband did good,” I steal a fry.

He smirks before kissing my forehead. He looks at his watch. “It’s been–” he clicks his tongue, “--nine hours? I really hope I haven’t messed this marriage-thing up too badly just yet. Although, I’m not so sure that feeding my wife McDonald’s on her wedding night is being a good husband.”

"I think you're doing a damn good job on keeping her satiated, Mr. Ramsey," I giggle under my breath. 

The man truly is a god. His glorious tongue and nimble fingers permeated secret parts of me during our quaint wedding reception earlier, making us swiftly take our exit during the main course.  Even now after spending four breathless hours making love, I look up into those possessive crystal eyes, and my arousal instantly awakens. God, I need him.

Ethan tilts his head lower towards me, his breath warm on the shell of my ear. “Every touch from you, Mrs. Ramsey, leaves my begging… for … more," he nips at my earlobe, punctuating his words.  The sudden sting ignites a fury of goosebumps across my skin.

And suddenly, I can't let go of him. Feeling the heat of his body against my own intoxicates me like a fine vintage wine. This man, this honorable and selfless man: he is my beloved, my husband, my forever. My soul literally craves just to be in his presence; my being thirsts to be held steadfast in the oasis of his heart. I want to dive deep and succumb to his currents; the height of his love I will never, ever be able to fathom. 

And to think: he chose me. Again.

The silky fabric of my robe slips off my shoulder. Ethan's large hand brushes across my exposed freckled skin, admiring my decollete as if he was experiencing it for the first time. His breath shutters against my chest, his desire hardening against my belly. His mouth presses to my exposed skin as he marks me as his own. The pull from his pout is heavenly; he burrows his face into my neck, his arms hugging me tightly.

I tenderly rake my fingers through his espresso waves, massaging the back of his neck.

"My wife…" he silently breathes against me like a fervent prayer. His hands find the loose knot of my belt, pulling the tie undone with his thumb. The material flounces open, his fingers roaming across my bare curves.

His lips find mine, a slow fire kindling between them. His tongue flirts inside my mouth, swirling languidly around the tip of mine. 

My knees buckle with the abrupt throbbing between my legs, but his arms brace me. We both warmly snicker before I peer up at the gorgeous, chiseled lines of his face. His dark stare is so attentive, so captivated with me; I can feel my heart pirouette in my chest. 

I want him–God, I fucking need him in the most feral of ways. Now. I am his lamb, his sacrifice. I need him to strip me, ravage me, break me, consume me. 

"I thought you were hungry," he growls, tracing my jaw with the bridge of his nose. His eyelashes flutter against my skin; even my toes curl to the command of their gentle tickle. 

My breath quickens, the rise and fall of my chest pressing into his firm body. "I thought you were," my voice softly rattles, painfully aware of his tightly constricted appetite in his sweatpants.

He rolls his tongue across his bottom lip as he tucks a finger under the material resting on my other shoulder. With a careful flick,  the satin glides down my arm, drifting into a delicate cascade until it ripples on the floor around my ankles.

"I am," he cups my cheek, painting his thumb across my own pout. He then drags his knuckles down my exposed body: down my chin and neck, between my breasts and around my navel. He takes a knee, his mouth replacing his hand. He trails sweet kisses down my abdomen before tenderly caressing my sex. I hum as he gazes back up at me, his eyes dark with want. "I am very–" I gasp as he pushes his fingers into my core, "--very hungry." Pulling back out, he lifts his hand to his mouth. He moans in pleasure, his tongue eagerly lapping up my sweet desire.

As he sensually sucks on the tips of his fingers, I greedily steal his hand, bringing it back to my own lips. With a mischievous grin on my face, I kiss his palm before dragging it down to my pert breast. I guide his hand into massaging me slowly, his secure grip finding and teasing my nipples. Losing myself in the vast wilderness of his longing stare, he renders me speechless; the anticipation leaves me breathless. God, just put your mouth on me already...

I drag my teeth across my lips, watching my new husband shiver, unraveling on his knees. Combing my nails behind his ear, he shifts his gaze back to me, and I whisper. 

“Take me.”

Hastily finding the bottom curve of my ass, he takes hold of me, pulling me closer to himself. His hands wander smoothly up my thighs, discovering my wet slit. He tenderly traces my folds, and a sudden ache for more courses through my legs 

His finger grazes over my plumping clit, once… then twice before he circles around again… and then back the other direction. My foot coyly turns inward as my knee curls to shield my throbbing apex from his welcoming intrusion.

“Uh-uh,” he scolds me. He slips my leg out from under me, instantly finding its way over his broad shoulder. I brace myself on the back of a chair as he strums my swollen button. 

My knees quiver with reckless electricity; my body trembles with raw nerves.  My lower belly warms with excitement, euphoria building deep within me. I begin to rub against his hand.

“Ethan,” I gasp, “please baby–”

He stops. As he flicks his eyes to me with that irresistible smirk, he must’ve seen the look of betrayal written all over my face.

“Ethan?”

But before I can get my words out, he scoops me up bridal-style, hurrying me into our bedroom.  He throws me like a ragdoll onto the plush bed before ripping off his undershirt.  I sit up on my knees, my fingers reaching for his waistband. As I lunge closer to take what I want, he grabs my wrists. He crawls on top of me pinning me down, my hands helplessly over my head. 

He kisses into my whimpers, his teeth nipping at my swollen lips. “Such an eager girl,” he snickers, biting my lip again until he gently licks into my mouth. 

Ethan traces his tongue down my body, circling around my nipple before pulling it into his mouth.  Fuck, it hurts so good. One of my hands has traveled to the back of his head, encouraging his rapacious mouth into my sensitive skin. But, he possessively steals my hand from his neck, restraining it useless above my head.

“Stay,” the corner of his mouth turns up as he pants, “you stay right here until you finish for me." He playfully tugs on my other nipple with his teeth before stealing another glimpse of me. "And you will finish on me.” 

His demanding claim on me as well as his overpowering strength sends a chilling ache through my body. My need for him grows fervent, restless, completely starved.  I am his hostage, and only he holds the key to my release, to my pleasure. He is my undoing.

He slips down my body, spreading my legs apart for him. I quake as he spreads apart my lips, and all at once, his tongue drinks me deeply. My back arches against the mattress, as he swirls around my most sensitive area.

My breath becomes ragged as my hips thrust off of the bed. Hoarse mewls escape my mouth as my head thrashes back and forth across the pillow.

Without warning, he glides two thick fingers into my channel, stealing the very breath from my lungs.  Finding the perfect spot inside, he strokes deeply, smoothly, my toes curling with the change of sensation.  

I am overwhelmed; each stroke builds on the last, the intensity obliterating my mind. Is this pleasure? Is this pain? I can’t–I can’t take anymore.

That is until Ethan takes his other hand, firmly pressing it down on my lower belly. The electricity of my desire erupts into a million stars, dancing in my own galaxy. 

And then he slides in another finger.

My mouth drops open into earth-shattering silence as I pump my hips uncontrollably into his hand. My body trembles, hurdling me towards an orgasm. It’s terrifying, and thrilling, and absolutely emotional. I can barely breathe anymore, my inhales catching in my chest as my body cries out. 

But suddenly, as my climax overcomes me, throwing me off the edge to complete ruin, Ethan stops. He grips my ass and swiftly, flips us both over. Finding myself on my knees, my husband’s head is between my thighs, his lips a breath away from my wet pussy.

"Ride me, baby."

He pulls my hips down, the sudden jerk causing me to grab the wooden headboard. His stubble tickles my sensitive skin as my nerves reignite with pleasure. My body melts into him, his mouth instantly finding my deep ache. He blows gently across my throbbing clit before wrapping his mouth around it, giving it a nip with his teeth.

"Ethan!"

A stun of electricity courses through my veins.  A deep burn contracts in my belly as groans of ecstasy escape my throat; my eyes prick with tears of euphoric joy as he strokes me through another orgasm.  My whimpers fill our room as I uncontrollably pulse and constrict around his tongue and fingers. My thighs quiver as I grind my quaking pussy across his hungry mouth.

My knuckles blanch to white as I grip the headboard; glistening with sweat, my body grows limp, begging for rest, begging for oxygen, begging to collapse from my husband’s predatory gleaning of my body… now his body.  

But, he holds me fast and close, his hands gripping firmly to the swells of my ass as he continues to feast on my ravaged center. He tenderly nuzzles me open, his tongue consuming every last drop of my pleasure.

He crawls out from under me, quickly climbing onto his knees to kneel behind my body. His arms snake around my abdomen as he pulls me back into his lap. And I collapse against his chest, my hands finding the tops of his before tangling our fingers together.

Relishing his touch, Ethan presses his lips into my jaw, along my neck, coming to rest on my shoulder. He tightens his hold on me as his mouth finds the shell of my ear, my body lax against his. 

And then I giggle. His soft whispers of the most lovely, the most hidden of secrets saved just for us drip like honey from his lips, his sweet words seducing me in the most intimate of ways.

Turning my head to meet his gaze, our lips brush against one another as we finally relax into each other's arms, laying down against the swirl of sheets and stacks of pillows. Finding a comfortable silence, I can feel his pulse bounding in time with mine as we share the air around us. He mindlessly traces shapes with the tips of his fingers across my hips. His ankles intertwine with mine, and somehow, something so mundane feels so possessive, so intimate. I could drown in this moment, knowing my last breath was him claiming me as his own.

"How?" I sigh, not realizing the actual word escaped from my mind.

"Hrmm?" He rasps, readjusting his hold on my body against his.

I titter in embarrassment. "This. I just can't believe… we're here…"

He nuzzles his nose against my neck. "Just you and me." He takes my hands, gently interlocking our fingers together as he brings it up to his mouth for a kiss.

A thought crosses my mind. And I sit up, leaning myself against the plethora of pillows against the headboard.  Grabbing a sheet to cover myself, I look down at my husband, a pensive grin quirking on my mouth. "Do you–" I sigh, shaking my head. "Nevermind."

Ethan sits himself up next to me, playfully knocking his shoulder into me. "Do I what?" 

"It's silly."

He smirks. "Like that's ever stopped you?"

I swat his arm before wrapping my hand around his bicep, laying my head against his shoulder. "Do you believe... in fate?"

He rolls his head towards me, giving me that look, like I just asked him the most idiotic question on the planet.

"What?" I teasingly pout. 

He raises his eyebrows. "Do you really want to know my answer?" 

No. I chuckle to myself; I know better. I have always appreciated Ethan's ability to remain level-headed. He's a realist, a believer in physical matter. Everything can or will be explained by science. For the most part, I agree with him. Afterall, I am a scientist, too. 

And maybe he's right; the rekindling of our relationship was a complete coincidence. But still… after all of the missed meetings and stolen glances from afar… after all of these years, why now?

He presses a lingering kiss to my forehead. "Tell me. What do you think?"

"Whether or not you believe in fate?"

"No," he rolls his eyes, grinning wide. His deep chuckle reverberates through his body, warming mine. He pulls me gently into his chest. "Tell me, baby," he softly croons. "Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me what's got you thinking about–" he waves his hand in the air as if he's presenting a magical word on a rainbow. "--destiny."

"Not when you say it like that," I pinch his belly.

"Okay, okay!" He flinches, snickering before cradling me closer. "I'm sorry. I'll be serious." I give Ethan a questioning glare until he holds up three fingers. "Doctor's honor."

I giggle as I mindlessly begin to play with his fingers in silence.  I finally sigh because I officially sound like a lunatic, and surely, this beautiful man is about to go get our marriage annulled. "I don't know," I breathe him in deeply, my fingertips grazing through the hair on his chest. "I feel like… now looking back on us, we had so many missed opportunities… divine interventions… I don't know," I snicker at myself because I don't just sound insane; I am insane.

That is until Ethan takes my hand, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "I'm listening."

"What if we were always meant to find each other? Like… God, I don't know." I turn around to face him leaned against the wall of pillows. "Imagine we're heading to work on the T, but we keep missing the stop… and yet, we still end up where we're supposed to go, even if we have to catch another line or hail a cab."

Ethan gives me a skeptical look. "Okay, so… you believe you and I had missed opportunities to be together–"

"I don't know if I believe it… but somehow calling those missed connections, those times that we almost crossed paths again…" I bite my bottom lip, shaking my head. "Rams, how could they just be coincidences?"

Ethan couldn't take his eyes off me; I could tell he was perplexed with what I was insinuating by the way he chewed the inside of his mouth. We fell into a quietness, my question left unanswered. 

I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Maybe I was being hyper-emotional with it being our wedding day and all the talk of love everlasting.

After spending a few moments studying my face, Ethan tenderly takes my foot, pushing back the sheet to expose it completely. He lays it on the firm planes of his abdomen as he begins to gently knead his thumbs and knuckles into my arches.

"Coincidences, hrm?" He exhales heavily. "Or fate?" He shakes his head with uncertainty as he strokes each one of my toes. "Tell me a coincidence. One of our coincidences."

Feeling myself melt into his touch, I look down at my wedding band, twirling it around my finger. Taking a deep breath, I lick my lips and begin.

"Do you remember the time…?"

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @ao719 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL OPH

@alyshak92 @annfg8 @bisexualdisasteracd @cariantha @coffeeheartaddict2 @lsvdw-blog @mvalentine @ofmischiefandmedicine @rookiemartin @starrystarrytrouble @youlookappropriate

~🖤~

~🖤~

"Why are you being so quiet?"

With her elbow on the table, Tatum sighs, her cheek resting in her palm. She glances up slowly, meeting Ethan's crystalline stare. "It's a library," she becomes expressionless, looking back at her books. "Besides… I'm trying to study–"

"You're acting weird."

She scoffs, a subtle blush crawling onto her cheeks. "I am not."

Ethan chuckles, biting his bottom lip. His attention flickers aimless to the bookstacks as he leans his chair back, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk. "You're… a liar."

Tatum drops her pen. "Excuse me?" She glowers. "I am not."

"Yes, you are, Erikson, and…" He furrows his brows, "I want to know why you're being so quiet. With me."

"Maybe," she closes her books, "I don't have anything to say to you, Ramsey."

He exhales heavily. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," Tatum lets the words nonchalantly fall off her lips as she stands, packing up her bag. "I–I just… I mean, I need to–"

"We kissed," Ethan interrupts as Tatum's navy blue glare grows wild, scanning the library to ensure no one was listening. He lowers his voice. "We kissed, and… now you won't talk to me, and–"

"Ethan," Tatum shakes her head, pulling her satchel across her body and turning to leave. "I came to study with you. We have a big pharm check-off tomorrow, and–"

"You know what I think?" He grabs her arm, stopping her exit. 

She sighs, slumping her shoulders. "Fine. What do you think–?"

"You liked it."

Tatum snickers sardonically, crossing her arms. "You're so full of–"

"I felt it." Ethan gently steps forward, cautiously tucking a blonde wisp of hair behind Tatum's ear. With a humorless chuckle, he locks his glare with hers. "I–I don't know what it is… but Tate, I… I can't stop thinking about–"

"Enough." Tatum puts her hands up, backing away. "It was just a kiss, Ramsey." Watching a twinge of pain flash across his face, she quickly twirls on her heel and walks away.

"You're nervous." Tatum pauses at Ethan's words, keeping her back to him. "You're nervous because… I think you felt it, too."

She sighs heavily, refusing to look at him as she disappears amongst the shelves.

Ethan and Tatum had quickly become close friends since starting medical school a couple of months ago. They met briefly during orientation, and then again when they were assigned to the same lab group. 

Normally quiet and reserved, Ethan found himself gravitating towards the friendly blonde. She wasn't just a pretty face; conversations with her were stimulating and hilarious. She was smart, someone who rivaled his own intelligence, but indulged in being goofy. 

But for him, it was never a crush. Until it was.

After performing poorly on an assessment exam, Tatum insisted on helping Ethan practice for his make-up practicum. Somewhere amongst the laughing and innocent touching, their lips met tenderly. The room around them suddenly incinerated, the crackles of desire palpable between their bodies. But just as soon as the kiss started, it was over, and the two colleagues were left wide-eyed, staring at one another in complete shock. Breathless. And both were unable to admit they were hungry for more.

Tatum plunges herself deep into the library stacks. The brush of an ache pains her chest, her heartbeat erratic and uneasy. The look on Ethan's face… She glances over her shoulder, making sure he wasn't following her before nose-diving into a corner to hide. She grabs a book, pretending to read it as she nips at her nails. Although she turns the pages, she carefully peeps through the spaces between books to see if she can see him. 

Truth is Tatum has been thinking about that kiss since it happened seventeen hours and fifty-two minutes ago. It was unexpected, and confusing, but hot and… dreamy. Just like in the movies. She loves hanging out with Ethan; he was a little rash at first, but she saw right through his attitude. He is witty, and actually quite empathic, not to mention he is pretty cute. He is the first guy in a long time that treated her with respect, who valued her opinion and intellect, someone who gave her credit because she's an equal–not just a woman.

But then they kissed. Kissed. Doesn't that change things? Tatum is happy the way things were–are; she loves being his friend. She loves sparring with him about grades and sharing snacks. She loves talking to him about, well, anything; and, they even started texting one another (but only after 9, when it's free).

She loves it when he laughs–shoot, when he actually smiles, he really can light up her whole day. Her favorite part is when he gets really tickled: his cheeks burn red, making his eyes blaze brilliantly sky blue as he scrunches up his freckled nose. All of those pearly whites show and…

Tatum's eyebrows lift high on her forehead as she paralyzes with panic. Oh my God. She snaps the book in her hand closed as she sits up straight. The corner of her lips begins to curl as her eyes dart aimlessly around the aisle.

How long has she had a crush on Ethan Ramsey?

Tatum hangs her head in her hands, coaching herself on how to breathe again. She can't like Ethan; he's her friend. Actually, he's one of her very best friends here at school. Maybe she's just confusing his kindness as something else.

But then he said… he said, 'he felt it, too.'

What did he feel? Is it why she couldn't sleep last night? Is it why a surge of adrenaline pulses through her nerves when she hears his voice, hears his name?

Is this why she's now being quiet around him?

Ethan is good. He's a good guy, a good person who is meant to do so many good things… and he has damn good hair. 

To Tatum, is he too good for someone like her?

Standing up, she drops the book onto the reshelving cart before moseying back to the student study area. The slow creep of crimson swirls up her neck when she sees Ethan, still sitting at the desk.

And he sees her. He stands, pushing his chair in before sauntering closer. But she holds her hands up, motioning for him to slow down. They stare at each other, their mouths teasing with honest smiles they try to conceal.

"Ethan, I–" Tatum crosses her arms, hugging her herself tightly. "I'm not nervous." He wrinkles his brows, but freezes when he notices the pools collecting in her glassy eyes. "I'm terrified."  

A crooked smile forms on his face as he nods in understanding. He casually steps closer, first putting his large hands on her shoulders before pulling her into his chest for a hug. "Talk to me, Erikson."

She snorts, wiping at her tears. "You've become… my best friend here. And I don't want anything to happen to us–"

"Tatum… you mean…" Ethan stops himself suddenly, his mouth curving in embarrassment. "--I mean, your friendship means a lot to me. And I don't see anything changing that."

"Promise?" Tatum whispers, a smile blossoming on her mouth. Ethan nods as he tries to stifle a toothy grin. She exhales heavily, "Okay. I just… I don't want a mistake we made–"

"Whoa," he smirks. "I wasn't aware we made a mistake."  Tatum playfully glares at him before he continues. "Do you think… the kiss… it was a–?"  

She cuts him off, shaking her head. She sucks in her lips, tucking her thumbs into her pockets.

"Okay, good," Ethan glances at her lips before staring back into her eyes. "--because I want to do it again... If that's alright with you."

Tatum stills, nibbling on her bottom lip. Her cheeks paint with warmth as her eyes become enchanted with Ethan's full lips. Feeling the heat in the air, his breath tickling her nose, her eyes flicker shut as Ethan leans in, gently brushing his lips with hers.

"Are… we still friends?" He whispers, his nose softly tracing the tip of hers. She playfully snickers as he kisses her again: this time, the touch is longer, their mouths fitting together like a puzzle piece, innocent, but starved. 

Ethan pulls away, his voice deepening into a gravel. "How about now?"

Tatum jokingly shoves him away, both of them giving into fits of giddy laughter. She stares at her feet, bouncing her toe nervously. Noticing their giggles falling silent, she takes a peek, glancing back up at Ethan. 

And instantly, she is enraptured with the cool fire in his eyes, her heart squirming with a million butterflies, the flutters tickling her sides with unspeakable joy.

"Okay," she licks her lips, "maybe… just… one more time. Y'know? Since we're friends."

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

Tags (Please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @anjanettexcordonia @ao719 @bascmve01 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

ALL OPH

~🖤~

"Alright, Mama," Tatum whispers in a direct, warm tone, "just one last big push, and your sweet baby will be here." 

Feeling the gradual pressure building in her body, the exhausted mother takes a big breath, bearing all of her energy into delivering her first born child.  Suddenly, she gasps for air, both in relief and out of pure joy as her baby enters the world.  She tumbles back into her husband’s lap, his endearing arms embracing her with unbridled admiration. After nine laborious months of hoping, planning and praying, they're officially a mom and dad.

"Hey, there, precious!" Tatum squeals, "happy birthday!" She swiftly dries and stimulates the newborn, suctioning out the tiny gurgles and replacing them with the tiny cry of new life. "Dad, wanna tell everyone if we have a boy or a girl?"

Giving a tender kiss to his wife's forehead, the elated young man dabs tears from his face before looking at the baby in the physician's arms. "It… she's a girl!" Roars of celebration from the delivery nurses fill the room as the new parents sob secretly to one another, embracing their now family of three. 

Not wasting any time, the physician lays the little girl on her mom's chest as she finishes the delivery, ensuring mom and baby remain safe. After cleaning up the patient and the room, Tatum saddles up next to the bed, taking a moment to dote on the new family.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Erikson," the young woman glances up at Tatum, gently stroking her baby's back. "I could not have done this without you."

"Girl, I am so proud of you! Look at what you did." Tatum tenderly caresses the infant's chunky arms before allowing the baby to grip her finger. "What a beautiful way to bring in your first Mother's Day!" 

"Oh my gosh, that's right," the patient giggles, patting her baby on the bottom. "A Mother's Day to remember!"

Tatum smiles brightly as she squeezes the new mom's hand. "Enjoy the rest of your special day! You've earned it!" 

Grabbing her phones and pagers, the blonde obstetrician quickly makes her way to the door.

"Dr. Erikson?" The new father calls out, "would you mind if we got a picture with you and our baby girl?"

"Sweetie," his wife gently scolds, "don't you think she wants to go and enjoy Mother's Day, too?"

"It's fine," Tatum grins, holding out her arms to take the infant. "I can never get enough baby snuggles… as long as you're okay with it." 

Eagerly nodding and powering on the camera, they gently pass over their daughter. 

Cradling the partially-swaddled newborn in her hands, Tatum brings the petite infant closer to her face to coo and singsong about her cuteness. Entranced with the innocent movements, time seems to cautiously slow down, the room becoming a blur. A breath hitches thickly in the OB's throat as she gently traces the dainty features, the familiar gesture causing her mouth to run dry. The chubby fingers. The rosy nose. Long lashes sprawled heavenly across her cherub cheeks. It was like a dream, a beautiful moment in time, flooding memories of hope… and crushed dreams.

"Dr. Erikson?"

Tatum's eyes flutter. "I'm sorry, um what did you–?"

"We want one with your face!" The patient giggles, holding the camera up.

“Oh, of course,” Tatum paints on a smile. 

"Ready? Smile!"

As the flash of the camera begins to fade, Tatum gently boops the infant's button nose. "Well," she hands the baby back to the mother, "I better not take up any more of your family time."

"You probably need to get home to your own kids," the new mom suggests.

"How many kids do you have, Dr. Erikson–?" 

"--I bet you're such a good mom!"

Tatum glances at the hopeful mother's stare, filled with so much love and anticipation for the physician's answer.  "None, um, I mean, no," Tatum clears her throat, a chill almost penetrating her stormy blue gaze. "I'm not a mother."

"Oh," a tinge a sadness hits the new mom's voice. "But, I bet delivering so many babies… and coaching so many women… probably makes you feel like a mother."

"Something like that," Tatum grins, giving the patient a wink. "But what's most important here and now is that you are now a mom." She gives the woman a pat on the hand. "Have the nurses call me if you need anything. Congrats again, you guys." 

Tatum hastily exits the room. Shutting the door behind her, she exhales heavily.  Today is barely halfway done, and it has already proven emotional taxing on the chief of OB, especially after delivering her sixth baby. Which meant her sixth 'Happy Mother's Day!' Which meant her sixth clarification that she doesn't have children.

And no. She doesn't want to talk about it.

Still, Tatum takes joy in the holiday by watching other women become mothers, watching them relish in the precious moment of enduring the miraculous test of the human body and spirit, watching them bond with the actual fruit of their labor. The journey was not created for all, but if she can help it, she wants to help women enjoy the transition who desire motherhood.

Experiencing such a monumental moment is the reason she even got started in this business. Maybe this is her way of coping; maybe this is her way of healing. Maybe this is her way to ensure that every new mother savors that moment they first hold their newborn in their arms.

Maybe this keeps her memory alive, a beautifully tragic memory, full of so much love. And so much unspeakable pain.

Even after all of these years.

"Dr. Erikson! You have a delivery."

Tatum slips off her scrub cap as she moseys towards the cheery voice of the unit secretary; but, even before she reaches the desk, her eyes capture the sight of an elaborate arrangement of white lilies and roses.  She breathes in the subtle floral notes, her fingertips admiring the soft petals of the flowers. A large satin bow, accented with burlap adorns the large vase.

"These came for you, ma'am."

"Me?"  Tatum's eyebrows furrow as she notices the handwriting on the envelope to the card. Her husband. And she's instantly confused. While flowers are lovely, Ethan knows better than to send them to his wife. And surely he knows better than to send them today.

A small crowd of nurses and techs gather around as she opens the card.

"Are you about to tell us we're all about to be aunties?" One of the nurses jokes, the other staffers giggling and gasping with hope.

"Definitely not," Tatum titters, forcing a kind smile. "We just got married, you turkeys." 

"So?" More laughter erupts as the rest of the unit joins. "We're ready!"

Tatum playfully scowls, lifting open the card to read. 

To the strongest mother I've ever known, to the strongest person I've ever met. Today I celebrate you and your courage. Happy Mother's Day. -Rams

A subtle sting pulls at her vision, her heartbeat now thundering in her ears. She feels her cheeks flush with heat; from embarrassment? From love? From anger?

No, he meant well.

But, damnit, he knows better.

Tatum swallows thickly, painting a brave, chipper expression on her face. "He, uh… Dr. Ramsey wanted to brighten up the unit for mother's day.  And–" she thinks off the top of her head, "--to celebrate the day, lunch is on him!"

The labor and delivery team collectively 'aww' and clap in excitement from the generous gesture. "Well, if you aren't going to give us a baby just yet, I guess we'll settle with food," a nurse jokes as the women snicker amongst themselves, heading back to work.

Tatum speedily retreats to the physician's lounge, making phone calls to her favorite deli and putting in an emergency order with a hefty tip of appreciation.

Finally having a moment alone in the locker room, Tatum decides to freshen up from her busy morning. As she empties her pockets, Ethan's card pops out, coasting onto the tiled floor. Slowly retrieving, she anxiously opens it back up.

And she reads it again.

And again. 

Her fingertips drag across the ink, each line and stroke like a sharp blade to her heart.

She closes her eyes, concentrating on her shallow, furious breathing.  It’s fine, Tatum; it’s fine. Breathe, two, three. Exhale, two, three. Breathe, two…

Suddenly a pair of gray eyes appear in the darkness. His gray eyes. Then, his voice. 

“What’s wrong with her? Tate! Tate?!”

A pair of hands appear, gripping tightly to her tender abdomen. Another set join in, rubbing vigorously on her chest, causing Tatum to gasp and wretch on her own air.

“This is too much blood–”

“Call a rapid team–”

“Will someone page trauma–?”

One by one, more hands appear, but what once looked like her saving grace deteriorates into her hell as arms and hands tangle around her, strangling her, choking her.

“Cross and match four units–”

“Grab the methergine and hemabate–”

“We can’t let her die, too!”

“No,” Tatum exhales, her own fingertips tearing at the collar of her shirt, her nails clawing at her neck and chest.  Her tears pour like heated rivers down her flushed cheeks. “Please… stop…” 

“Dr. Erikson?”

Tatum’s eyes snap open, frantically looking around the locker room. Her attention turns towards the petite, concerned voice of the secretary, waiting by the door.

“I--I tried knocking, but--”

Tatum nods, forcing a big smile on her face. “It's fine," she swallows in relief, "that's fine.”

----------

Tatum slinks into the apartment after 9PM, instantly being greeted by the wet nose of Jenner.  

"Hey, buddy," she lovingly croons, taking his face in her hands for sweet scratches and kisses. Giving him one last pat, she quietly kicks off her shoes before heading to her bedroom through the kitchen, hoping to avoid her husband.

As she turns to head straight into the en suite, she crashes into a broad chest, arms open wide to receive her.

"Hey," Ethan hugs her tightly, pressing his lips along her hairline. "How was your day?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?  I… tried texting you–"

"I was busy." Tatum slips out of his arms as she heads to the bathroom. 

"Are you hungry?"

"No." She shuts the door; but the force behind her nudge is stronger than intended, causing it to rattle bitterly against the frame.

Ethan stares at the closed-off entrance to the room, uncertainty flooding his features.  He takes a deep breath, running a hand down his face. Irritation snarls on his mouth as his hands flex.

Then, he barges in.

"Ethan!" Tatum shrieks, quickly grabbing a towel to cover her naked body. She hugs it around her backside as she faces away from him. "Do you mind?" 

He scoffs into a sardonic snicker. He recognizes she's upset, but he's not about to let this spin out of control. "Since when do you hide yourself from me?"

"Since right now," she hisses.

"Then look at me," he growls, "and tell me to leave."

Tatum blows away a frustrated breath.  Adjusting the towel around her torso, she finally turns to face Ethan. She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fail her as her eyes lock with the devastating compassion in his gaze. She fixes a stern lip, but she can feel her own defenses crumble as his expression softens.

Ethan begins to saunter towards her, careful as not to challenge her, but with assurance and protection. Close enough to reach, he grips tenderly around her shoulders before enveloping her wholly into his tight embrace, tucking her trembling body into his own.  

Feeling the swift rush of being swept from her own feet, Tatum finally lowers her facade, melting into sobs. 

Letting her fall apart in his arms, Ethan combs his fingers into her blonde tangles before fisting her waves, drawing her into his neck. His other hand relaxes, allowing his wife to stand on her own again–but he refuses to let go. Absent-mindedly, he traces figure-eights across her back and down the slopes of her sides, feeling her ribs shutter from each cry.

"I knew today would be rough… but I'm guessing that I made things worse," he whispers, a deep gravel in his timbre. "I wasn't trying to make you upset, baby."

"I know," Tatum's words are barely audible as she twists Ethan's T-shirt into her grip. "I… I just don't want to talk about it–"

"Maybe we should talk about it."

"Rams… I…" Tatum lets go, gently shoving herself away to stare at her husband. "No."

He sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Tate, I–" he shrugs his shoulders, "all I did was send you flowers–"

"--on Mother's Day!" She snaps, pounding the side of her hand into her palm. "How could you–? I mean, why–?" she fumbles anxiously with her words before hanging her head into her hands. "It's bad enough I'm cursed with the memories–"

"--then let me be haunted with you, Tate." He gently cups her cheeks, pleading silently for her to look at him. "Facing what you did… you were–you are… so… incredibly brave–"

Tatum shakes her head, breaking out of his hold. "Don't."

She begins to storm towards her closet, but Ethan grabs her elbow, pulling her back. "Do not walk away from me, Tatum Ramsey," he steams through his nose. "I get that I may have fucked up today, but–" he lets out a humorless chuckle, shrugging, "baby, I didn't know, okay? I–I just… I love you so much. I didn't want this for you today. I didn't want you to be sad." He sucks in his bottom lip before exhaling. "It's your first Mother's Day where… you don't have to be alone with this." He tenderly takes her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. "You're not alone. Not anymore."

Tatum stares at their joined hands, her wedding band softly clanging against his. She sucks in her lips before glancing back at her husband. "I'm sorry, Rams," she breathes. 

Within an instant, Tatum is safe and sound where she's supposed to be: in Ethan's arms, his lips lost in her waves as he whispers words of reassurance.

Tatum tips her head up, her husband’s stare greeting hers. "I still don't think I'm ready to talk it… about her. About what happened."

"Okay," Ethan casually concedes, his fingers lost in her tresses. "That's fine."

"I… don't know if I will ever be ready," her voice cracks.

Ethan hooks her chin, lifting Tatum's gaze back to his own. "Maybe. Not today. But… maybe someday."

----------

Four Years Later…

"... if you are just now joining us for today's show, we are discussing maternal mortality rates in relation to postpartum hemorrhage…"

"Are you seriously listening to that?" Tatum hands Ethan his dinner as she crawls onto the couch next to him with her own meal. "You were there for the recording–"

"I know," he dices up his salmon. "But they're interviewing a long-time hero of mine."  Tatum chews quietly, her stormy blue pools locked with admiration on her husband as he nonchalantly winks at her. "Rumor has it… she's got the hots for me."

Tatum snickers, shaking her head as she drapes her ankles across his thighs.

"... I am here with Dr. Tatum Erikson-Ramsey, an OBGYN analyst for the New England Journal of Medicine and a correspondent with the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists. She is also the head physician and lead research analyst and developer for what is now being hailed by the World Health Organization as the 'gold standard' of defense from PPH. Of course, I'm talking about intravenous tranexamic acid." The cheerful host jokingly takes a big breath before continuing. "Thank you again for being with us, Dr. Erikson."

"Thank you for having me."

"Now, postpartum hemorrhage is clearly something you are passionate about. Pardon my pun, but what birthed this passion? No doubt you see this in the maternity ward a lot, but was there an event? Maybe a person that inspired you to dive into this research?"

"Actually," Tatum endearingly chuckles, "yes. There… is someone. A young women I met after medical school, way before I even considered OB. She found herself pregnant in a loveless, abusive relationship, and to make matters worse–" she falls silent, whispers of heavy breaths being taken. "Her baby was not compatible with life."

"God," the host gasps.

"It was… an awful situation," Tatum licks her lips. "After delivery, she lost over half her body's blood volume, losing consciousness a few times, but… she fought. She fought hard… just so she could hold her daughter before she… while she was still here."

The interviewer takes a moment. "Wow, Dr. Erikson. I… I can see why such a tragedy like that, witnessing something like that influenced your entire career. Are you… still in touch with her?"

"I am," Tatum's voice brightens. "Everyday."

"No doubt she is very proud of you."

"She is. She's… incredibly proud."

Tatum quietly looks back to her husband, a knowing sparkle in his eye with unshed tears. "You know? I'm fairly proud of her, too."

Ethan slowly leans in to kiss his wife when a sudden static from a baby monitor interrupts them, followed by a few muffled mewls until finally pained wails echo throughout their living area.  Ethan puts down his bowl, but Tatum presses her hand to his shoulder.

"I got it." She grins, quickly giving him a kiss–then another–before scurrying up to check on their five-month-old son.

"Cord?" She singsongs, padding into the darkened room. 

As soon as the blond-headed baby sees his mom, he begins to frantically pump his legs in the air. His crystal gaze tracks her movements, sticking his tongue out in joy. "Why are you crying, beansprout?" She chuckles as she brings him protectively into her arms. "I bet… you're hungry, huh? Is my big boy hungry?"

She peppers kisses across his soft head as she prepares to nurse him. Slinking back into her favorite rocking chair, she latches her son to feed as she traces his precious features.

"You have a dimple right here," she coos softly, stroking softly over the mark. And she titters to herself. "Just like your mama." Tatum takes his free hand, curling his fingers around her thumb before kissing his tiny fingertips.  "Your older sister…" her breath hitches, a teardrop sloping down her nose as she begins to chuckle. "She had the same dimple."

~🖤~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~🖤~

Tags (please let me know if you wish to be added/removed)

PERMA

@alj4890 @anjanettexcordonia @ao719 @bascmve01 @charlotteg234 @issabees @kat-tia801 @kingliam2019 @mainstreetreader @mom2000aggie @neotericthemis @nikirennie87 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam

~🖤~

AN 3: I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to put a more personal note with this fic. As a lot of you know, I have the absolute honor and privilege of helping women become moms. When I first went back to school, I never thought I would fall in love with women's health. But even more of a surprise to me, I found a deep passion in my heart for bereavement.

I first heard the term "miscarriage" when I was 5 years old, and I remember even back then, it was such a forbidden topic; NO ONE talked about it. So, in silence, I learned that the word equated to shame and embarrassment.

Twenty years later, I took care of my first patient. And she had a miscarriage in her history. My next patient? Same. Third? She had two. I would learn from one of my mentors that ONE IN FOUR women will experience a miscarriage or loss of an infant (and it's estimated that the number is higher!). And I started wonder: if this is happening so frequently, why aren't we talking about it?

~🖤~

With the shake of his wrist, Ethan glances at his watch. 6:18 PM. Lighting the last candle in the bedroom, he unbuttons his shirt before slipping into a pair of heather-gray joggers.  Tatum would be home any minute, and he wanted to be fully prepared in taking advantage of their night off together.

He looks at her message again.

‘Last patient delivered yesterday. Coming home early. I hope you’re ready for tonight 😘’

A crooked smile grows across his face, his sweatpants growing snug at the thought of the intimate evening he was about to share with his wife.

God, it had been way too long. Tatum had been away most of the week. Monday and Tuesday, she was in Maryland in her annual regulatory meetings with the FDA. Wednesday, she was part of a symposium at Johns Hopkins that was televised to other universities. When she finally made it back Thursday morning, she went straight to work, spending the evening on-call. But luckily, she took this weekend off to spend some much-needed time with her husband and pups.

He hears her keys jingling down the corridor just outside their front door. Ethan quickly shuts off the lights, the illumination from the candles creating the perfect ambiance. He grabs the fresh plate of sushi from the refrigerator before grabbing a long-stem rose he bought on a whim that he knows will make her laugh.

The door begins to open, and Ethan adjusts his pants in excitement. If he knows his wife–and he does– he was about to spring free in less than five minutes.

He leans against the bar, licking his lips with anticipation.

“Ethan?” 

God, she’s going to be screaming that name later. He grows harder in anticipation, his pulse racing through his veins as butterflies dance in his belly. Come to daddy, good girl…

“Is Mr. Ethan here?”

Wait a minute. Suddenly, there’s another voice. A little voice. A familiar, little voice.

“He’s supposed to be, Gabi-bug,” Tatum whispers before turning to call out his name again. “Ethan?”

Then there is another voice, a deep baritone. “Why is it so dark in here?”

“Rafie!” Another woman’s timbre softly scolds him.

Without warning, the lights flicker on, catching Ethan off guard. “Rams?” Tatum stumbles in with her bags over her shoulders, awkwardly tittering as she looks around the room. “What are you–oh!” She notices his exposed, sculpted chest with a rose in his hands. “Awww, baby, look at –ohhhh!” She glances down, instantly recognizing her favorite pair of lounge pants…along with the large reason why they are her favorite pair of lounge pants.  And she stifles a toothy grin.

“Mr. Ethan! Mr. Ethan””

“Shit!” Ethan quickly grabs a dish towel, holding it in front of his hips. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Four-year-old Gabriela Trinh-Aveiro bounds into the room–and then freezes the moment she sees Ethan, and her eyes grow large. “Daddy? Mommy? Mr. Ethan said a bad word. And he’s nakie!”

The young couple stumble into the room, assured that they didn’t hear their oldest daughter right. Rafael quickly averts his eyes. “Oh, my apologies Chief Ramsey.”

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Ramsey,” Sienna remorsefully smiles, taking her daughter by the hand; but as she steers her daughter away, the pediatrician accidentally glances back at Ethan. “Ohhh!” She blushes, stopping mid-step. “We, um… are both… uh, very, very–”

“Meu amor!”

“Right! Um…” she titters, her eyes glued to Ethan’s body. “We’ll just… um, how about we’ll just come out here–I mean… wait! I—”

Tatum holds up her hand to stop Sienna before placing it around her petite shoulders. “It’s alright. Just–” she turns back to Ethan, her cheeks swirling to red. “Give us a minute.”

Ensuring that the coast is clear, Tatum turns back to her husband. “What are you doing?” She whisper screams, slapping the back of her fingers against her husband’s arm.

“I… I was getting ready for tonight! Like you said in your message–"

“For Frozen on ice, Ethan! Remember?” Tatum drags her hands down her face. “We bought Gabi the Elsa costume for her birthday along with the tickets?”

“Shit, that’s tonight?”

“No,” she sasses sardonically, “the Aveiros and I thought it would be hilarious to pull your leg.”

Ethan quirks an irritated eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

Tatum sighs, stepping closer and giving him a peck on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.. But we really did have plans. Just go throw on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt and–”

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” he gestures to his groin. 

Tatum covers her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter. “Doesn’t it just go away if you ignore it?”

“Christ,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “ignoring the problem will not make it go away, Tatum.”

She snorts. “Well, I can’t exactly do anything right now about the problem.” She leans in, pressing her lips to his mouth. “I promise it will get a lot of attention later. But for now? Um–”

“I’m jumping in a cold shower–”

“Mr. Ethan?”  Gabriela stumbles back into the room, rocking back and forth in her blue, sparkly dress.

Ethan hides behind a counter, forcing a smile on his face. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Gabriela clears her throat, knocking on the wooden cabinets and begins to sing. “Do you want to build a snowman?” She giggles into her cupped hands.

~🖤~

“Gabi-bug,” he sighs, “you have no idea.”

“Ethan!” Tatum chides, rolling her eyes. “Just… let it go.”

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~🖤~

~🖤~

The warmth of his breath tickles the back of her neck.  His fingertips dig possessively into the soft skin of her bare hips while the rise and fall of his chest against her back lulls her into a soothing comfort of home. And just like that, waking up at 5AM doesn't seem so awful to Tatum Erikson. 

She and Ethan Ramsey made things official over three months ago. Their blooming relationship grew strong quickly, their physical chemistry becoming hungry. After exploring their bodies in the most playful of ways with kisses and hugs, the young couple finally took things intimately a couple of weeks ago, the connection terrifying them in the most exhilarating way.

Finally crossing that threshold, Ethan and Tatum discovered they barely had time to feed their new found desire. Last night, however, was Tatum's first time to actually stay the night at Ethan's, and even though they barely got any sleep, everything about it felt perfect.

Seeing the time, Tatum slips out of Ethan's arms, finding an old t-shirt of his to wear, and sneaks off to his shared bathroom.

"Well, lookie what we have here!" A familiar baritone chirps behind her, just before she can close the door.

She rolls her eyes. "Carrick."

He puts his hand on the door, preventing her from closing it for privacy. He stands there, staring at her intently in his boxers, shirtless.  "I didn't know we were having a slumber party."

Tatum sighs, ensuring the hem of Ethan's shirt hangs past her bottom as she glares at his roommate. "What do you want?"

Tobias tisks. "Now, now, Miss Erikson, I was just saying good morning." He looks her up and down, his lip curling into a smirk. "Just know… you're always welcome here." He chuckles as he slinks back to his room.

With a huff, Tatum shuts the door, locking it before getting ready for the day.

Moments later, she emerges, hurrying back to Ethan's room. Noticing him still slumped over in bed, Tatum quietly giggles to herself, padding lightly to his side as she takes off the shirt she borrowed. She crawls in behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Time to wake up, sleepyhead," she mewls before nibbling on the shell of his ear. 

A soft, raspy chuckle floats from Ethan's chest as he turns onto his back, putting an arm around Tatum before pulling her into a kiss. "Hi."

"Hi," she whispers back, her lips finding his again as his large hands find her curves.

"I like this," he titters into another kiss, his grip becoming stronger, massaging the swells of her ass.

"Don't start something you can't stop, Mr. Ramsey," she croons, biting her lower lip.

Ethan slowly flips them over, pinning Tatum down against the bed. Her ankles naturally cross behind his back as his morning desire presses firmly into her swollen core.  "Who said anything about stopping?"

Ethan nips at her pulse point, his hands wandering the slopes of her full breasts. Small whimpers tumble off her lips, as she begins to grind herself into his hardened length… when all of a sudden, there's a loud bang on the door.

"Ramsey! Clinical! Let's go, bro!"  The door abruptly swings open, leaving Ethan and Tatum frozen in the act.

"Julian!” Ethan barks, “what the hell–"

"Oh my God!" Ethan’s third roommate Julian Santiago walks in with a beaming smile on his face, looking back and forth between the couple. "Awww, look at you two all–” he laces his fingers together. “Love is in the air!” He lowers his voice, nonchalantly waving to an embarrassed Tatum. “Morning, sweetie."  He leans his shoulder against the doorway, crossing his arms. "So… when did you two lovebirds start… you know?"

"Juls–" Tatum starts, pulling a sheet over herself.

"I swear to God, if you don't get the fuck out of here, Santiago–"

"Okay, okay," Julian holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm leaving."

Ethan sighs, laying his forehead on Tatum's shoulder as they both fall into awkward snickers. Without warning, Ethan feels a slap across his rear end. He reaches back to find a long accordion of foil-wrapped condoms.

"That's it," he snarls, climbing off of Tatum and chasing after his roommate.

"Damn, Ethan," Julian looks down, his eyes widening, "I figured you were packin', but daaaa–"

"Get the fuck out!" Ethan throws the stack of condoms at his roommate before slamming the door. 

He huffs, leaning against the door, combing his fingers through his hair with frustration.

"Hey," Tatum slinks towards Ethan, placing her hands on the firm planes of his chest.

He takes her hands in his. "I am… so sorry about that. They can be so… and they like getting a rise–"

"Shhhh," she places a finger over his lips, silencing him. "It's fine."

"No, it's not fine–"

Ethan's words abruptly falter. Tatum's slender fingers wrap around his girth as she begins to stroke him, her thumb pressing tenderly under the head of his cock. 

"Is… this fine?" Her voice softens, a sensual gravel in it as she continues to work Ethan's hardened length.

"Tatum," his breath catches in his throat, his fingers brushing back her blonde strands. "Y–yeah, baby, that…" he swallows thickly, "that feels… God–" 

"How… about now?"  Tatum falls to her knees, her eyes sparkling with hunger as her gaze remains on him. She licks up his length to his tip, her tongue savoring his precum as her hand continues to pump him languidly.

"How… about…?" Tatum takes him into her mouth, allowing him to sink fully down her throat before she’s pulling him back out for another swallow. Over, and over.

"Fuck…"

------

It was a busy morning in the research clinic, between lectures and laboratory assessments. When the group finally broke for lunch, it was after 2 o'clock. The guys were walking to the bookstore to grab some snacks when Ethan notices Tatum already making herself comfortable on the planters in the commons.

"Hey," Ethan calls out to her with a wave, "can I get you something?"

She shakes her head, "I'm fine."

Watching her stick her head back into her study material, Ethan could sense something was off. He calls out to Tobias and Julian, "Hey, I'll catch up with you guys."

"Sure, you will," Julian mocks as he looks over and notices Tatum alone. Tobias clues in and pretends to hump the air.

Ethan flicks them off as he jogs to Tatum's side. "Hey, you," he grins.

"Hey," her eyes widen in shock, "what happened to snacks?"

"You just… seemed off," Ethan shoves his hands in his pockets. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she feigns a smile, turning back to her notebook. "I'm fine."

Ethan bends over, waiting for Tatum to meet his eyes. "But…"

She snickers. "But… I think I'm getting a cold or something–really, I'm fine though–"

"Oh yeah?" Ethan sits down next to her. "What's wrong? Maybe I can get you some–"

"No, no," Tatum waves her hand. "My throat has a tingle like it’s getting sore, and my tonsils feel swollen."

"You still have your tonsils?"

"You don't?" They fall into titters, Ethan knocking his shoulder into hers.

"Let me see."

"What? No," she chuckles.

"Why not?" He jokes.

"Because," she blinks her eyes, trying to come up with an answer, "that's… weird. I don't know."

"C'mon, Tate," he laughs, "it could save your life."

"My hero," she sasses. "Fine." She opens her mouth wide, Ethan reaching into his satchel for a pen light.

"Oh. Ohhh–"

"Huh?" Tatum mutters, her mouth still open.

"It's awfully big in here. No wonder you talk so much–"

"Ethan Ramsey!" Tatum shoves him away, closing her mouth.

Ethan chuckles to himself as Tatum playfully glares at him. He continues. "But your tonsils are pretty swollen. They even have petechiae on them."

"Seriously?" She runs her fingers over her neck. 

"Hey," Ethan's voice grows soft, serious. "Just go to the infirmary on campus. They can swab you for strep."

"You think it’s strep?" Tatum frowns.

"Or flu," he shrugs. "But the sooner you can diagnose–"

"--the sooner you can treat. Right." She nods in understanding. "I'll give them a call."

After making a doctor's appointment for the next morning, Ethan and Tatum head back to class to finish their afternoon of lectures.  Usually their evenings consist of studying, either individually or in their study groups, but with her sore throat getting worse, Tatum decides to call it an early night, and heads back to her place. 

The next morning, Tatum arrives early to her appointment. While she waits for the doctor, she examines her own throat with a mirror, flashing an otoscope light into her mouth. 

Shit. The bruising has gotten worse, explaining why it was so hard to swallow.

Explaining everything to the doctor, the older gentleman decides to order a routine blood test while also obtaining swabs of both her throat and nose.  "Miss Erikson, do you bruise easily?"

"No, sir–I mean, I’ve never noticed before."

He kindly points to a few spots on her arms, legs and back. "I'm going to ask you some personal questions, is that okay?" Tatum nods. "Are you in a relationship?"

"Yes, sir," her lips begin to curl at the thought of her boyfriend.

"Do you feel… safe with him?"

"With Ethan?" She gives the clinician a peculiar look. "God, yes. He's great."

"Has he ever hurt you?" 

She emphatically shakes her head. "No, never."

He scribbles down a few notes before turning his attention back to Tatum. "Would you describe yourself as accident prone?"

She giggles. "No, sir. I mean–I can be clumsy at times, but nothing noteworthy."

He hums, writing down more information. "If it's okay with you and depending on your WBCs and platelet count, I would like to also test some clotting factors."

"Clotting factors? Like, hemophilia? I'm twenty-three; wouldn't I know that by now?"

"Not unless it's caused by…" he stops himself. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he cordially smiles before leaving the room.

Cancer. He was going to say 'cancer.' And she thought the worst that could happen today was a strep diagnosis… but cancer?

Nerves get the best of Tatum as her knees bounce incessantly while she picks at her cuticles. Waves of nausea rush to her stomach, and she's unsure if it's because she's worried or if she's getting sicker.

She finally pulls her knees up, hugging them to her chest, resting her head on top of them as she closes her eyes. She takes a few deep breaths and drifts off.

"Miss Erikson?"

"Yes," Tatum jolts up, rubbing her face. "Do we have the results?"

The physician nods, smiling kindly as he pulls up a chair. "Everything… is negative. No strep, no flu, no staph. Your crit and platelets are all fine, and your WBCs are normal–"

"So… no cancer."

"No," he titters, “no cancer.”

"And no infection?"

"That we can see. Even if there was one, your body seems to be taking care of it without having to enlist a ton of help."

Tatum nods her head slowly. "I guess I don't understand. I mean, why else would my tonsils be so swollen? Why is the back of my throat so… so bruised?"

The doctor purses his lips, deep in thought. "Do you chew your food all the way before swallowing?"  Tatum scoffs into a chuckle, nodding her head as he continues. "Have you recently choked? Or maybe…" he titters, shrugging his shoulders, "... I don't know, maybe… some… blunt trauma?"

Tatum screws up her lips, thinking about anything unusual that may have happened in the past few days. 

And then she freezes.

Her eyes widen in horror. 

Oh. My. God.

------

Tatum hurried back to her lecture, already missing the first two hours due to her appointment. She saw several of her colleagues outside, getting some fresh air during their professor-granted twenty-minute break. Glancing around, she instantly finds Ethan, chatting with his roommates.

"Hey," she taps him on the shoulder before waving a hand at Julian and Tobias.

"Hey," Ethan puts his arm around her, tucking her into his side. "How are you feeling?"

She nods agreeably. "I'll be fine."

"Wait, what happened, sweetie?" Julian's eyebrows knit together. 

"Oh, um, I wasn't feeling well–"

"Her tonsils were huge," Ethan interjects, "with, like, marbling of petechiae–"

"--we don't have to talk about it–" Tatum mutters.

"They're bruised?" Tobias clenches his teeth, his face contorting with disgust.

"What did the doc say?" Concern etches across Julian's features.  All three men turn their attention to the blonde, waiting for her to answer.

"Well, I, um," she stutters, "everything came back negative, and, uh… so I need to… rest my throat," she lowers her voice, "and not talk about this anymore."

"So it's not strep?" Ethan raises an eyebrow. "And not the flu?"

"Open up, and let me see," Tobias motions for Tatum to step forward. "Maybe it's the mumps–"

"You idiot," Julian playful chides, "she has to be up-to-date with her MMR to be in the program–"

"But vaccines aren't 100% effective–"

"It's not the mumps!"

"They probably didn't even test her for that–"

"They had no need to! Look at the differentials!" Julian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You just always have to be oppositional, don't you, Carrick?"

"Oppositional?" Tobias sardonically chuckles. "I am nothing if not consistent."

"Yeah. A consistent pain in my ass!"

"Will you two–" Ethan stops himself, taking a deep breath. "Just stop." He turns his attention back to his girlfriend. "Tate, did the doc have… like, an explanation? Something?" 

"Can we maybe talk about this later?"

"I want to know if you're contagious," Tobias jokes, holding his hands up, turning up his nose.

"Dude, shut the fuck up," Julian shoves Tobias shoulder while Ethan glares daggers into him.

"Fine," Tatum huffs, "you really want to know? Fine." She crosses her arms, planting her feet. "Blunt. Trauma."

"Blunt trauma?" Ethan repeats.

"What? Like you shoved something down your throat?" Tobias gives an inquisitive look.

"Oh," Julian takes a step back, covering his mouth. "Ohhh." He looks away, shaking his head before staring back at Tatum in disbelief. "God… damn, girl!" He belts, falling into snickers.

"What?" Ethan looks to Julian nervously. 

"Oh, hell naw," Tobias chimes in, his eyes wide as he looks Tatum up and down. "Hello, Miss Erikson! Fuck!"

Tatum rolls her eyes before she stomps off back to the lecture hall.

"What just happened?" Ethan looks confused, looking back and forth between his friends and his girlfriend. "I don't get what's–"

"Dude," Julian wraps his arm around Ethan's shoulders, slowly guiding him back into the building. "I knew those condoms were going to be too small for you."

Ethan glares at him with humor budding in his expression, wondering where Julian was going with this.

"Apparently… so is Tatum's mouth."

~🖤~

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