Words cannot describe how wonderful you people are. You're incredibly sweet, following this pile of crap called a fanfic. Seriously, if you all were in front of me right now, I'd kiss everyone of you. kisses on both cheeks for everybody
My apologies for taking so long...I went brain dead.
As only seems proper...
You May Be Just Yet Chapter 7
"Thomas, if you pinch my bum one more time, you'll be missing your hand!" Hannah blindly swatted at him with her ladle, a move he easily dodged, giggling.
She grumbled, going back to preparing dinner, as it was the cook's day off. As expected, it wasn't long before the familiar sensation grazed over her arse once again, and it was all she could do not to make deadly use of the butcher knife next to her.
"GOD HELP ME, THOMAS!" She shouted, whirling about, wielding her hefty wooden ladle like a broad-bladed sword.
He bounced back, laughing at her.
"You are so lucky I'm too fat, Thomas Pullings," she snarled, clenching up in annoyance.
"And might I say that a slow, fat woman never looked so lovely."
She glared, turning red. "I...you...grr..." She weakly flung the utensil at him. "No, you may not say! I hate being fat and it's all your fault!"
He only laughed harder, having been a poorly aimed-at target.
Taking on her ever-popular offended look, she went back to the counter, mumbling about her infernal husband and her swollen belly getting in the way.
He watched her, smiling at her seeming rage over not being able to chase him away, the expression only broadening at the joy of anticipated fatherhood. Never before had a round woman looked so beautiful as his pregnant wife. It was becoming harder and harder to hug her, and he never thought he'd be so happy at the cause.
Here he was...a father. His pretty wife expecting...
He studied her, with her narrow shoulders shifting, back twitching from the movement of her arms. And of course that nice buttocks he'd been grabbing at...
The way her fairly petite frame carried that weight...sheer art, he could've sworn...
She suddenly sighed, exasperated, shoulders dropping with the pestered-sounding note. "Thomas, I hate it when you just...stare at me like that. Please don't do that," she muttered in a tone that told her patience was on its last leg. Not that it'd ever really had more than one...
He chuckled, walking up behind her. "Why not, apple tart? Can I not stare at a pretty woman?"
"Not when that so-called 'pretty woman' is your fat wife who is angry with you!"
He smiled, touching cheek to cheek with her. " I am but a simple man, wrought for simple pleasures..."
"And your simple pleasures made me FAT!" She side-stepped away from him, dragging her cutting board with her. "And I hope you know that no matter how long you stare at my belly, you're not going to suddenly be able to see through it and see the baby! So go stare at something else and try to...work your magic, you pest-of-a-husband! Shoo! Off with you!" She turned him by his shoulders and gave him a rough though weak shove toward the door.
...
Though she kept insisting she was to nauseous to eat anything, Tom managed to poke and prod her into getting some of her own soup down her throat, but of course not without going to war over it.
"HANNAH!"
"I'M NOT HUNGRY!"
"EAT ANYWAY!"
"I...AM...NOT...HUNGRY!"
"EAT OR I'M NOT KISSING YOU FOR A MONTH! Oh, wait...you're perfectly fine with that..."
She threw herself back in the chair, crossing her arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips, though never fully revealing itself, her eye twitching in her fierce gaze.
He returned her narrowed eyes and pursed his lips. "If you're not going to eat for yourself, at least eat for the baby, won't you? You obviously aren't going to do anything if your husband merely asks it of you."
True, Hannah was no submissive wife, but she could be bent, and he may have very well hit the proverbial nail right on the head. Though a stubborn woman...she had her soft spots. And he knew them like the back of his hand.
"Y-you...I...you...ARGH." She growled, head sinking between her shoulders in rebelliousness.
He only smiled at it, handing over the spoon anxiously. "That's my apple tart."
Of course, she glared, snatching it away. "Infernal man..."
"I love you, too." He pinched her cheek, rising from his seat. "Be a dear and finish the bowl. Here, give me a quick kiss."
"Go away, Thomas!" She snapped.
He raised his eyebrows and turned on his heel, mumbling, "I knew that would be pushing my luck..."
She stared, sneering, down at the soup bowl, as though blaming it for her morning sickness and her being fat and being kicked roughly from within by a strong-legged babe. She'd never really had the strongest ability to look on the bright side. As far as she was concerned, she was obese and she was uncomfortable. End of story.
"For your husband, Hannah," she quietly reminded herself. "For your husband."
Tom watched her from the top of the stair case. She looked...oh, what was it?...Oh, yes...depressed. Something was wrong with the poor woman.
Well, according to her, everything was wrong, absolutely nothing was decent. That was perfectly normal, however. What was this...this sadness? Anger was Hannah's thing...not sadness. Few things made her cry, and when they did, the tears were over within a quarter hour. His leaving made her cry, which is why, despite what he was told, he knew she loved him. Death made her cry. But neither had happened recently.
"Surely this is the result of the pregnancy, Tom," he mentally told himself. "Women do strange things when with child. Strange things indeed." He thought of going down to flat-out ask her and be done with it so he could fix it or chase it away, but decided it was best to let her alone.
"It had best bring itself out in due time, lest my wife go insane..." He grumbled almost inaudibly.
"STOP SPYING ON ME, THOMAS PULLINGS!" She screamed, without even turning around.
"Yes, love..." He quickly walked away from the railing.
My apologies for taking so long...I went brain dead.
As only seems proper...
You May Be Just Yet Chapter 7
"Thomas, if you pinch my bum one more time, you'll be missing your hand!" Hannah blindly swatted at him with her ladle, a move he easily dodged, giggling.
She grumbled, going back to preparing dinner, as it was the cook's day off. As expected, it wasn't long before the familiar sensation grazed over her arse once again, and it was all she could do not to make deadly use of the butcher knife next to her.
"GOD HELP ME, THOMAS!" She shouted, whirling about, wielding her hefty wooden ladle like a broad-bladed sword.
He bounced back, laughing at her.
"You are so lucky I'm too fat, Thomas Pullings," she snarled, clenching up in annoyance.
"And might I say that a slow, fat woman never looked so lovely."
She glared, turning red. "I...you...grr..." She weakly flung the utensil at him. "No, you may not say! I hate being fat and it's all your fault!"
He only laughed harder, having been a poorly aimed-at target.
Taking on her ever-popular offended look, she went back to the counter, mumbling about her infernal husband and her swollen belly getting in the way.
He watched her, smiling at her seeming rage over not being able to chase him away, the expression only broadening at the joy of anticipated fatherhood. Never before had a round woman looked so beautiful as his pregnant wife. It was becoming harder and harder to hug her, and he never thought he'd be so happy at the cause.
Here he was...a father. His pretty wife expecting...
He studied her, with her narrow shoulders shifting, back twitching from the movement of her arms. And of course that nice buttocks he'd been grabbing at...
The way her fairly petite frame carried that weight...sheer art, he could've sworn...
She suddenly sighed, exasperated, shoulders dropping with the pestered-sounding note. "Thomas, I hate it when you just...stare at me like that. Please don't do that," she muttered in a tone that told her patience was on its last leg. Not that it'd ever really had more than one...
He chuckled, walking up behind her. "Why not, apple tart? Can I not stare at a pretty woman?"
"Not when that so-called 'pretty woman' is your fat wife who is angry with you!"
He smiled, touching cheek to cheek with her. " I am but a simple man, wrought for simple pleasures..."
"And your simple pleasures made me FAT!" She side-stepped away from him, dragging her cutting board with her. "And I hope you know that no matter how long you stare at my belly, you're not going to suddenly be able to see through it and see the baby! So go stare at something else and try to...work your magic, you pest-of-a-husband! Shoo! Off with you!" She turned him by his shoulders and gave him a rough though weak shove toward the door.
...
Though she kept insisting she was to nauseous to eat anything, Tom managed to poke and prod her into getting some of her own soup down her throat, but of course not without going to war over it.
"HANNAH!"
"I'M NOT HUNGRY!"
"EAT ANYWAY!"
"I...AM...NOT...HUNGRY!"
"EAT OR I'M NOT KISSING YOU FOR A MONTH! Oh, wait...you're perfectly fine with that..."
She threw herself back in the chair, crossing her arms, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips, though never fully revealing itself, her eye twitching in her fierce gaze.
He returned her narrowed eyes and pursed his lips. "If you're not going to eat for yourself, at least eat for the baby, won't you? You obviously aren't going to do anything if your husband merely asks it of you."
True, Hannah was no submissive wife, but she could be bent, and he may have very well hit the proverbial nail right on the head. Though a stubborn woman...she had her soft spots. And he knew them like the back of his hand.
"Y-you...I...you...ARGH." She growled, head sinking between her shoulders in rebelliousness.
He only smiled at it, handing over the spoon anxiously. "That's my apple tart."
Of course, she glared, snatching it away. "Infernal man..."
"I love you, too." He pinched her cheek, rising from his seat. "Be a dear and finish the bowl. Here, give me a quick kiss."
"Go away, Thomas!" She snapped.
He raised his eyebrows and turned on his heel, mumbling, "I knew that would be pushing my luck..."
She stared, sneering, down at the soup bowl, as though blaming it for her morning sickness and her being fat and being kicked roughly from within by a strong-legged babe. She'd never really had the strongest ability to look on the bright side. As far as she was concerned, she was obese and she was uncomfortable. End of story.
"For your husband, Hannah," she quietly reminded herself. "For your husband."
Tom watched her from the top of the stair case. She looked...oh, what was it?...Oh, yes...depressed. Something was wrong with the poor woman.
Well, according to her, everything was wrong, absolutely nothing was decent. That was perfectly normal, however. What was this...this sadness? Anger was Hannah's thing...not sadness. Few things made her cry, and when they did, the tears were over within a quarter hour. His leaving made her cry, which is why, despite what he was told, he knew she loved him. Death made her cry. But neither had happened recently.
"Surely this is the result of the pregnancy, Tom," he mentally told himself. "Women do strange things when with child. Strange things indeed." He thought of going down to flat-out ask her and be done with it so he could fix it or chase it away, but decided it was best to let her alone.
"It had best bring itself out in due time, lest my wife go insane..." He grumbled almost inaudibly.
"STOP SPYING ON ME, THOMAS PULLINGS!" She screamed, without even turning around.
"Yes, love..." He quickly walked away from the railing.