#so I spend the better part of two hours holding this miserable sick child

[spocksgotemotions]

been having a Lot of thoughts about working in childcare lately. Like I love my job. I love the kids I work with. I love most of my coworkers. But sometimes it’s just So Emotionally Exhausting. These are babies! Their parents should be better.

[lokigayforhela]

could you do one where Hela is the one who's pregnant instead of reader, and she's going through a rough pregnancy so the reader takes care of her

I apologize for disappearing so long. I got OC brainrot and couldn't write anything other than an au in which my OC girlfriend for Hela is a Valkyrie sent to fight Hela and things Go Wrong. Anyway, I hope this beast of a cute fic makes up for my absence, as well as the knowledge that I also have another, smuttier fic to upload tomorrow, too. Enjoy~

Rating: G

TW: Rough pregnancy

WC: 2958

“Look at it this way, darling. You get to do what you love most. Lying in bed and sleeping as much as you want.”

Hela scowled and crossed her arms over her chest, but you knew her well enough by now to know that it was more a defensive act than Hela harboring any real anger.

“I don’t want to spend the next two months doing nothing but staying in bed and eating and peeing. It sounds boring,” Hela grumbled, and you reached over to lay your hand on her belly gently, knowing it would calm the both of you down a little more.

“…we’ll talk more about this when we get home, okay?” You could tell there was something that Hela wasn’t quite saying, and you knew the back of a cab was the least appropriate place to discuss it, so you decided to hold off on any further talk until you’d gotten back to your apartment.

You kept an arm around Hela as you guided her to your bathroom so that you could run her a bath, fully intending on pampering her, now that you knew she was both in a not-so-great mood and because you knew she deserved it, with the long seven months she’d been through already, and as the water ran, you let your mind wander back.

When you’d first found out that your attempts to get pregnant had worked, you’d both been over the moon. Hela was excited to carry your child, and you were excited to be doing it with her, and everything had been absolutely perfect.

But the honeymoon phase had worn off rather immediately. Hela had quickly become miserable with morning sickness that left her in the bathroom for the better part of an hour most mornings, she’d had all sorts of aches and pains that came with her body preparing itself to give birth, and to top it all off, she’d tried to remain as present as possible, as the CEO of her own company, which had added even more stress than either of them had planned for.

But the real icing on the cake had been today, when you’d gone in for Hela’s monthly check-up and had found out that she had high blood pressure and was recommended bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy, which Hela had found less than ideal.

And all of that together, you mused, was causing Hela to have the standoffish reaction she was showcasing at the moment, and if you were being honest, you couldn’t blame her for it one bit.

“Come on… Out of these clothes and into the bath with you,” you cooed, going over to her so you could help her get out of her shoes without losing balance, and you were glad that Hela allowed the help. Even heavily pregnant, she had remained steadfast in her insistence that she was independent and didn’t need help.

Spoiling, on the other hand… That, she didn’t mind one bit, and you’d certainly been laying it on ever since you’d received the news.

You let Hela use your arm for support as she undressed herself and stepped into the tub, and when you turned around with the intention to bring a towel over for her, she caught your wrist.

“…join me?” Her voice had taken on a more vulnerable quality, and you knew that meant whatever it was that was bothering her, she was ready to talk about it, and so you nodded, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Of course. I’m just getting towels, I’ll be right back.”

You made quick work of fetching said towels, as well as undressing yourself, and as soon as you stepped into the tub, Hela sat up so that you could sit behind her, and settled down as soon as you’d gotten yourself comfortable.

For a few long moments, you just held her, arms wrapped around her waist and hands gently splayed against her belly, smiling softly when you felt the baby give a little kick as they moved, and as you waited for Hela to speak, you pressed gentle kisses to her shoulders and back, loving on her softly.

“…I’m just so worried that everything that can go wrong is going wrong,” Hela murmured after a heavy silence.

You nodded, and pressed one last kiss to her shoulder before settling your chin there. “…I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, too. And goodness knows, you’ve had it rough this whole time.” You paused, rubbing her belly gently as you thought. “But the doctor said everything else looks absolutely normal. You’re healthy… Little bean is healthy… This happens sometimes. It’s completely normal, with first-time mothers. The doctor said so herself. And the bedrest is just… a precaution. To make sure things don’t go really wrong.”

Hela said nothing, but you could tell she was stewing in what you’d just said, and so you kissed her cheek gently before continuing. “I know you’re worried, that you’ll get behind at work, and that you’ll miss a lot by not going in, but you know… That’s what Zoom calls are for… Though I do think you should take it easy, even with that. I know how… stressed you get even just talking about work sometimes, so… I don’t know, maybe one call a week, to check in on things. Everyone else there knows what they’re doing and what you want. They’ll manage just fine, and you know that.”

“…I do,” Hela admitted in a quiet voice, and you moved your hands away as she moved herself to recline more against you, and you shifted with her, making sure she was as comfortable as possible as you looked down at her. “I’m just overthinking, and I know that.”

You nodded along with her. “Which is why I’m going to make sure you have all sorts of things to keep your mind off of work and everything else. I’ll make you a whole little basket, full of things to keep you entertained while you’re at home. All your favorite movies and books and snacks… Crossword puzzles, you like those… Sudoku, although maybe not, because you always get pissed when you mess up.”

That earned a laugh from Hela, and you smiled, relaxing a little more, now that she seemed to be doing the same. “…chocolates?”

“Only the finest of chocolates, for the finest of wives.” You laughed softly, and pressed another kiss to her temple, lingering there for a moment. “And when I’m home, I’m going to absolutely spoil you. I mean, even more than I’ve been spoiling you, and you know how much I’ve been spoiling you. I’m talking foot rubs whenever you want, back massages with body oil and everything… Hell, I’ll even be your own personal chef and cook you anything and everything you want. And if a craving hits you at three in the morning, I’ll go right out to the corner store and get you whatever it is. Pickles and peanut butter, a gallon of ice cubes. You name it and it’s yours.”

“Mm, what would I ever do without you?” Hela mused, in a playful tone that sounded much closer to her usual self, and you hummed softly.

“You’ll never have to know.”

A more comfortable silence settled over the both of you, and you reached for a washcloth, wet it, and got it soapy before taking to gently lathering Hela as she sat up.

“…y/n?” When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, and hesitant again, and you fell still, anticipating what she was about to say. “What happens if I… if I meet the same fate as my mother?”

It was just what you’d expected her to say. Ever since she’d been pregnant, Hela had been consistently worried about dying in childbirth, as he own mother had, and you’d let her worry to you about it every time that the concern crossed her mind. And you had to admit, you were a little terrified that something that drastic might run in the family.

All the same, you kept a level head as you hummed softly. “…we live in different times now. We have better doctors, better technology, more advancements. Even if, heaven forbid, something was to go wrong in the delivery room, I think the nurses would be prepared to do anything and everything they need to. But I don’t think it’ll ever come down to that. You’re my brave, strong girl. And I love you. So much.”

You pressed a kiss to her shoulder and let the washrag sink to the floor of the tub as you wrapped your arms around her again.

“I don’t want you to worry about that anymore, darling. And I know that’s a difficult ask of you, and I understand it’ll come up again. But just… trust me. You’re going to be just fine.”

Hela gave a single hum of acknowledgement, and made no move to speak, so you settled for kissing her shoulder again and going back to washing her.

Hela would come around, on her own. And if she didn’t, you’d be there to help her every step of the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s all this?” Hela looked up at you in mild amusement, straining to see you over the mound of goodies you’d stuffed into a basket you’d bought to keep by the bed.

“I told you I was gonna spoil you!” You sat the basket down on the bed and plopped down next to Hela, pulling your feet up so you could sit cross-legged as she looked between you and the basket. “Go on, take everything out! I’ll put it all back in once you’ve ensured everything is up to your standards.”

Hela rolled her eyes, but you hadn’t seen her smile this much since the doctor had put her on bedrest a few days ago.

“Alright, alright, give it here, then.”

In lieu of tugging the, admittedly very heavy, basket over to Hela, you simply pulled on one part of it until it came tumbling down on its side onto the bed, spilling its contents across the bedsheets.

“Okay, I see this blanket looks extremely fuzzy and very warm,” Hela pulled the soft, emerald green blanket you’d rolled up toward her, running a hand over it.

“For those pregnancy chills you get sometimes,” you explained, smiling when she draped the blanket over her lap. “Keep going, keep going, there’s, like… thirty things in there.”

“I see… Ten different DVDs, Y/N, you know we have Netflix, right?” Hela looked over at you and you simply shrugged.

“Speaking of, we also now have Disney+, Hulu, HBOMax, Paramount+… Am I forgetting something? I don’t know. But remind me to cancel all those subscriptions once the baby’s come. I mean, unless you want to keep them all, which is fine, too.” Hela gave you a look, and you smiled innocently. “What? I wanted you to have options.”

Hela said nothing else on the matter, and turned back to the basket. “True to your word, I see two different crossword books… And I see you traded the Sudoku idea for an adult coloring book and colored pencils.”

“They’re supposed to be calming.” You nodded sagely, earning a laugh from Hela.

“And when I tear all the pages out in sheer frustration?”

You grinned. “It came in a ten-pack, so…”

“Right. Of course you thought of that. What else have you hid in here…” Hela pulled out no less than ten different packages of her favorite chocolates and other snacks, ranging from somewhat healthy to bordering on sugar-rush inducing. “I don’t think I should be having some of this stuff, with the little bean still cooking.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t~” you sing-songed, beaming when Hela rolled her eyes fondly and set the pile of treats aside. “Massage oil. Y/N, how adult of you.”

You scowled playfully, nose wrinkling. “Get your mind out of the gutter, it’s not for that.”

“I mean, it could be…” Hela wiggled her eyebrows in a manner that was more comedic than anything else, and you snorted.

“Bedrest, Hela, not bedsex.”

“Well, why not both? I hear it’s good for me.”

This time, it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Moving on, please.”

“Oh, we’ll revisit this discussion later.”

“Mmhmm.”

You fell silent as Hela took out a few more items: a five-foot long charging cord (“So you don’t have to reach”), a portable charger (“So you don’t have to turn over to reach”), and a handheld, battery-run game that boasted including over ninety-nine different games.

“You really think I’m going to be bored, don’t you?” Hela mused, setting everything to the side.

“I mean… I would be, if I had nothing to do but sit in the same place all day every day for the next two months, and…” You trailed off as Hela cut you an absolutely annoyed glare. “…I’m not making things any better. Sorry.” You decided it was in your best interest, then, to shut up, and instead nudged a few more items from the basket toward Hela.

“’What To Expect When You’re Expecting,’ darling, don’t you think it’s a little late in the baby-making process for a book like that?”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Just something to read. Again, I mean, since we read it, like… six months ago. I bookmarked parts that might still be useful to you. Like breathing exercises and stuff, and what to do if you get Braxton-Hicks contractions, and what to do when your water breaks and you get real contractions.”

“…fair enough. I see you’ve thrown a healthy mix of other genres in here, as well. Cheesy romance, young adult… children’s books?”

“To practice your mama reading voice,” you nodded, already smiling at the idea of Hela reading in a hushed tone to your baby while they slept in their crib or against one of your chests as you sat in a rocking chair.

“I think I’ll leave the mama voice to you, can you imagine me cooing? It would be laughable.”

“Actually, I can imagine it, and it’s extremely endearing and it makes me fall even more in love with you, so.” You accentuated the end of your sentence by sticking your tongue out, earning a huff of a laugh from Hela as she reached for one of the last items.

“’Ring for a Kiss,’ hm?” Hela smirked up at you, giving the bell a test, and this time, it was your turn to laugh as you leaned over to kiss her.

“Well, they didn’t exactly have one that said ‘Ring for Your Wife To Come Dote On You and Bring You What You Need.’”

“Mm. Too lengthy.” Hela nodded in agreement and set the bell aside before picking up the last item you’d tucked away in the basket, a small, black velvet-covered box, which Hela regarded with narrow eyes before glancing up at you.

“Okay, okay, so this one isn’t so much something to entertain you as it is a… thank you, I guess,” you muttered, suddenly feeling a little shy.

“…for…?” Hela prompted gently, waiting for you to explain before even thinking about opening the box.

“For… this, I guess? For carrying our baby. For making all the sacrifices you have, to keep yourself and our baby safe, and for still loving me through it all,” you explained sheepishly, worried Hela would find the idea, and the gift, laughable.

But Hela only smiled softly as she finally pried open the small jewelry box, carefully pulling out a gold chain with a modest infinity charm attached to it. “Y/N…”

“I thought we could add the baby’s name on it… Once they’re born and we have the right name for them… And then maybe we could keep doing that, if we decide to have more. But I promise right now, I’ll carry the next one. It’s only fair, after the absolute nightmare you’ve had to live through the past few months.”

“I’d do it all over again, for you. For us,” Hela murmured, holding out the necklace to you and moving to hold her hair out of the way so you could gently fasten it around her neck, which you did immediately, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as soon as you’d finished.

“I love you. So much.” You didn’t say it because you felt the need to. You just did. Needed Hela to remember that.

“And I love you. Always.” She turned around so that she could kiss you properly, lingering even as she drew back. “I’m so incredibly lucky to have you in my life, to take care of me and watch over me, and absolutely spoil me.”

You smiled softly, nuzzling your nose against hers. “And this is barely scraping the surface, just so you know. I’m not going to let you do a thing without me being there to help you. Just so we clear that up right now.”

Hela laughed gently, wrapping her arms around your neck to keep you close. “My hero.”

“My entire life,” you whispered in response, kissing her again and gently curling your hand around her belly. “Both of you. I’m gonna take such good care of you. Forever.”

“And we know that.” Hela kissed you again, and it felt so comfortable and warm and happy that you couldn’t help but to smile as you drew back.

“…okay, maybe bedsex just once…”

Hela only laughed. “You’re cleaning the bed off first.”

You flung yourself over with a dramatic sigh. “Must I sleep in the bed I made?”

But you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so entirely complete in your entire life than you did right in that moment.

[brattyfics]

Like That

Pairing: Rio x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Rio get to know each other better. Loosely based on ‘Like That’ by Doja Cat. 

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 3.5K

Installments: Say So | Like That | Talk Dirty

And baby, I want it, and I'll just be honest 'Cause I just can't front when I look at you

About six weeks have passed since Rio declared himself your man, and you quickly learned he took the title very seriously.

He was busier than usual with ‘flipping his game,’ and you were busy preparing to transition your shop, but you saw each other often despite time constraints. You agreed date nights at least once a week were a must, but when you couldn’t see each other, Rio made sure to end nights with a phone call. Virtually falling asleep next to him gave you butterflies, reminding you just how exciting new relationships could be. It took prodding, but he told you made-up bedtime stories and the boring details of his day. In return, you shared things about yourself— childhood memories, the crazy things your mom did to embarrass you. He was sweet and attentive, and you found it refreshing to be with someone who was just as infatuated with you.

On your second date, he took you to his favorite restaurant, a fancy sushi place with expensive rolls. He taught you to hold chopsticks the wrong way the way he did and even fed you across the small table, a couple of unfortunate rolls falling apart due to his prodding. You tried your best to hide your amusement at the pensive look on his face. For whatever reason, Rio thought of himself as a sushi connoisseur, but it was clear to you that he was still learning.

“You’re no better than me!” He admonished when he noticed the way you held your chopsticks. Like his technique, it was incorrect, but it worked for you— sort of. “I never said I was.” You couldn’t keep the amusement off your face any longer. “You’re the one who comes here weekly. I thought you were a professional, and we’re in the same boat.” He folded his arms on top of the table as he insisted you were wrong, but secretly he found your teasing endearing. Later that night, he called and gave you a cheesy line about loving to see you smile.

The following week, you had lunch at a mom-and-pop soul food restaurant that served the best cornbread and peach cobbler in the city. The owners, an adorable older couple, Donna and Gene, and servers alike stopped by your table to meet Rio. Donna gushed over Rio, showering him with compliments and extra cornbread. “Girl, he is cute!” She told you, failing miserably at whispering. He smirked as you rolled your eyes, but he handled the attention well, being friendly and personable even when Gene kept going on and on about changes to the menu, one chef to another.

A few days later, he called you up randomly and asked you to get ready and ride with him somewhere. “What should I wear?” You asked, hoping for a hint. You could hear him smile as he said, “It doesn’t even matter, ma. You always look good.” The occasion had turned out to be ‘Foodtruck Friday.’ Barbecue, kebab, taco, ice cream, and other miscellaneous food trucks were parked in a spacious lot in Downtown Detroit. You settled at a picnic table and shared several plates of food as you discussed the possibility of your own mobile ‘Mad Batter’ shop somewhere down the line. It got you thinking about the future.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” You asked the dreaded question in between bites of a colorful Korean fusion taco. He stiffened as he considered the answer. “What is this, a job interview?” Sometimes you saw peeks of bossman Rio rather than the Christopher Castillo you were getting to know. It happened seemingly out of nowhere when you asked questions he felt were invasive.

You looked up from the panko-fried shrimp, red cabbage, shredded carrots, and tasty orange sauce wrapped up in a flour tortilla with a frown. You had two choices: respond in the way he had or make light of the situation. So, you said, “Kinda. You’re auditioning for a spot on my roster, so...”

He stopped chewing the half-eaten dumpling and swallowed hard. “That’s not funny.”

“You better start taking the interviewing part of the audition more seriously then.” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, and he gathered your hand in his own, wearing a look you couldn’t decipher. “You got it, ma.”

You played a game of mini-golf at the local arcade. Rio stood tall behind you, holding you by your hips as he corrected your stance. You purposefully arched your back, brushing against him just slightly. “Like this?” You looked over your shoulder with the most innocent look you could muster, but his eyes were glued to your ass. “Yeah, just like that.” He answered in a low tone without looking up. You giggled as you took your swing, adding a wiggle for his benefit. You pretended to care about the ball as it glided across the bright green tarp towards the hole. “How was that?” You chirped, looking down the lane.

“I can’t even lie. I don’t care about the game right now. I just wanna watch you.” Your aim was terrible, and the ball never went in the hole without several attempts, but he insisted you finish playing the course. You teased him about it for days after despite his claim that he actually enjoyed the game because it was one of Marcus’ favorites.

“Stop lying! You just wanted an excuse to openly watch my ass.”

“Why you always gotta call me out?”

You shopped a cozy health and wellness store with hundreds of cool little trinkets for sale. Neither of you had been there before, so you took your time exploring, stealing unexpected kisses from the other. Rio took full advantage of the size of the store, pulling you by the hand and holding you close to his side.

He frowned at the large collection of shiny crystals. “A rock, really? What does anybody need with a rock?”

“It’s not a rock!” You hissed, head whipping around as you hoped the owner didn’t hear him.

“What is it then? It looks like a rock to me.” He picked one up, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a crystal!”

“What’s the difference?”

“It has healing properties...” Rio snorted but strung his arm across your shoulder and listened intently as you read the info cards to him. When it was all said and done, he bought an aventurine stone to apologize to the owner for prosperity, well-being, and good luck.

The next day, he disappeared with no warning. You had been worried sick until Mick let you know he was busy handling something. It would have only taken a minute to tell you that, so you were (understandably) pissed. He showed up at the shop several days later like nothing had ever happened. “What’s up, mama?” The greeting that usually melted you grated on your nerves. All of your feelings about the situation bubbled up to the surface. It was hard to find the right words— you were still getting to know each other, so how mad could you be? At the same time, how little did he think of you to not say anything? Finally, you settled on, “I can’t do the disappearing act.”

Rio wasn’t used to answering to anyone, not even his child’s mother, about his whereabouts, but he put his palms up in surrender when he saw the serious expression you wore.

“You’re right, mama. That’s my bad. It won’t happen again.”

And it hadn’t.

But knowing ahead of time only made it a tiny bit easier, especially when he didn’t have a set return date. You were going on day seven (the longest you had gone without seeing him since you started dating) when he called to say he made it home and wanted to see you. Your heavy heart swelled with relief. You missed him way more than you probably should have, so you insisted on a night in at your place, wanting him to feel relaxed and at home instead of on guard somewhere public.

It had been a long six weeks without sex while he romanced you with delicious food and beautiful words. It wasn’t an easy task, but you knew as soon as sex was thrown in the mix, you would be done for, either destined to be his or ruined by him. It was a scary thought, but distance had indeed made the heart grow fonder, and you cared about him enough to take a chance.

He was set to arrive within the hour, but you were still unsure of what to wear, frantically rummaging through the dresser for something cute and comfortable. You let out a frustrated groan when your phone started to ring, thinking Rio might have come early, but when you look down at your phone, you see your best friend’s name and face. You swipe quickly, accepting the FaceTime call. “Hey, girl!”

“Hey, stranger!” You pick up the phone, so you can look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She replies with just as much sass. “I haven’t talked to you in what— two weeks?”

“We talk—“

“—text.”

“Okay, fine. Text. We text every day. What are you talking about?”

“That’s not the same.” She insists even as you remind her of the ridiculous amount of time you spend trading memes and food pictures with her.

“Anyway, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to decide what I’m going to wear between this, this, or this.” You move the camera around, showing her the different options. A black-and-white tank and short set with ‘Being cute is not a crime’ in a cute font. A fuzzy grey sweatsuit set with hearts, or a simple cream hoodie with matching shorts.

“Um, what’s the occasion?” You giggle at the look on her face, knowing she thinks none of the above are appropriate for wearing outside of the house.

“Movie night in.”

“You need help picking an outfit for movie night with yourself?” Her face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait, is it movie night with yourself?” You try to be casual about it, shrugging your shoulders in response. As usual, she sees through your bullshit and goes straight into an interrogation. “Oh, bitch. You been holding out on me!” She asks you five questions in a row without stopping to breathe before settling on one. “Who?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. “...Rio.”

“Rio?” She frowns. “Like the guy we work for, Rio? With the eyebrows and the neck tattoo, Rio?”

“Yes, that Rio.”

“Wow.” You wince but decide it’s best to get it over with. “What? I know you, so I know there’s more where that came from.”

“I don’t know what to say! From what I can tell, he’s a decent dude, I guess, but you know what he does. You definitely know what we do for him! You don’t think that could be a problem?”

“It’s messy, for sure, and I can admit that, but I’ve been thinking about getting out anyway...” She nods. “Then, I guess there’s nothing else for me to say about that. You’re both grown, and you know what you’re doing.” She was your best friend, which meant she’d always give her honest opinion, but wouldn’t berate you about your choices. Just like that, you return to your regular discussion topics, everything from warehouse gossip (yes, even in the business of crime, there’s a rumor mill) to new music releases. Before you knew it, forty minutes had passed, and Rio was calling your phone. You promised to call her more often before hanging up.

You sing your ‘hello’ into the phone, hoping Rio can’t detect the shakiness in your voice as you clumsily pull on your bottoms.

“Hey, mama. You about ready? I know you’re sensitive about your space and all that.” He was referring to the fact that he had never been past the doorway of your home. Your home was your sacred place, so you were extra careful about who came in and what energy they brought. It was always nerve-wracking to let somebody into the space that you cherished so much.

“Yeah.” He picks up on the hesitancy in your voice. “Are you sure?” You nod your head as if he can see you before telling him yes with a giggle. “Alright, well, I’m outside. Can I come in?” You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your tummy. “Yeah, I’ll come unlock the door.” He whispers his thanks, and you take a moment to force yourself to relax. When you meet him at the door, you do so with an open mind and heart, taking in his appearance with a goofy grin on your face. As usual, he’s dressed in all black, wearing a well-fitted t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s casual but still so high quality and attractive.

“Hi.” You breathe out like a dork when you realize you’re staring. It helps that he seems just as mesmerized, stepping forward to envelop you in a tight, warm hug. He sways you from side to side before pulling back, his hands resting heavily on the top of your ass. He settles for a quick peck on the lips because he has something to say. “You’re as pretty as ever, darlin’.” He says earnestly, shaking his head as he steps back to look you over once more.

“Kiss me again.” His hands cup your ass as you devour each other in the open doorway. You forget your surroundings. “Damn, ma. Can I at least get inside before you jump my bones? I don’t mind giving your neighbors a show if that’s your thing, but…” You turn to hide your embarrassment, leaving him to close the door behind you as you gesture around the room as if you’re in an episode of MTV Cribs. “... here’s the living room. The kitchen’s through the arch. The bathroom’s over there...” He follows you with his red as you point.

“And the bedroom?”

You snort. “The tour stops here for now. Sit down.” Your tone leaves no room for argument. He settles into the soft couch while you grab the snack tray from the kitchen. Homemade popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, and dried fruit gummies are on the menu.

“All this for me?” His arms snake around your waist so that you can curl up into his side. “What we watching?” You grab the remote. “I saw a trailer this week that caught my attention. I’ll play it for you.” He didn’t care what you watched as long as he got to be close to you, so it didn’t take long for you to get the movie started. He stole glances at you when his knuckles brushed against your bare knees under the blanket. You’re embarrassed at how wet the small action makes you, so you stretch out across the couch and place your bare feet in his lap, silently planning your revenge. The movie may as well not be playing because you couldn’t be less interested in the plot as you lightly stroke him through his sweatpants with the balls of your feet.

“Ma...” He warns, watching you in the low lighting. He’s come to learn you like to tease, but he doesn’t think he can take it, not tonight. “Hmm?” You hum innocently, loving the strained look on your face. He doesn’t move even as you sit up on your haunches and kiss him. It’s slow and long in the best way. He pulls you to sit in his lap. His hands roam your body as you grind down onto him, relishing in the feeling of the soft skin on your tummy. He sighs into your mouth as one hand finds your bare breasts.

He pulls away to talk shit. “No bra? You just knew I was gonna put out, huh?” He pushes the cotton material up so he can see you properly. “Perfect.” He murmurs into your skin. You let him kiss and lick and suck on your nipples until the pressure you feel below is too much to handle. You’re a quivering mess when he finally helps you pull the cotton material up and over your head. It lands on top of the television behind you, but neither of you notice.

You nudge him until he removes his own shirt, and then he lifts his hips to help you when you begin tugging on his sweats. They puddle at his feet while you spread your legs wide, desperate to get your hands on him. “I could cry right now.” You admit honestly when you finally see him, biting your lip. He arches a brow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, darlin’?” His hips jerk when you take him into your hands, the cold temperature surprising him.

“It’s definitely a good thing.” You whisper excitedly, staring with wonder as he hardens in your hands. He barks out a laugh, stunned by your ability to make him laugh, even with his dick in your hands. “That’s really nice, ma. I feel real special.” Your eyes meet, and silent promises of all the filthy things you’re going to do to each other are exchanged. “You should. I’m about to change your life.” He throbs in your hands, loving that you find small ways to challenge him.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” He wraps his arms around you in preparation to get up, but you stop him with a shake of your head. “I don’t wanna.”

“No? What you wanna do then?”

You answer him by slipping to your knees. You spit on his dick, stroking him up and down slowly. He watches you closely as you lower your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tip. It takes a lot of restraint, but he lets you do your thing, slowly working him deeper into your throat. He closes his eyes as he concentrates on lasting, but he can’t turn his ears off, the obscene smacks painting a vivid picture for him. When you swipe your tongue across his balls, he moves to stop you, grabbing your shoulders. Fire dances in your eyes as you realize you got him where you want him. “I don’t wanna.” You repeat.

“You are a brat.”

You release him with a pop. “The biggest.” You admit, swallowing him once more. He groans, thinking he can’t believe you’re the same sweet girl who bakes in a frilly pink apron and begs him to tell her bedtime stories.

“I want you to fuck me now.” He stops you before you can bend over the couch. “Slow down. I want you on your back, darlin.”

You throw his earlier words back at him. “That’s nice. I feel really special.”

“You should.” He mocks you, instructing you to hold your legs wide. He wastes no time licking and sucking you as enthusiastically as you had done him. “You’re so pretty. I could eat this pretty pussy forever.” He compliments as you squirm in his hold. “You’d let me, huh?” You shake your head frantically. “No! You’d drive..me crazy!” Payback is a mother, especially when Rio’s the one dishing it out. “Wait, wait—“You whimper, clawing at his shoulders.

“What?” He cajoles. He almost wants to laugh at the distressed look on your face. “I want you.” You pout, trying to sweet-talk him.

“You have me.”

“Not like this. Inside.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.” You swallow, watching as he fumbles around with his pants searching for a condom. He opens the golden foil packet with expert fingers, positioning himself in between your spread legs. “You don’t have any pointers for me now?” He drags his tip up and down your slit, slowly pushing his way further. Teasing. You shake your head. “No. Just fuck me.”

“That ain’t polite. You gotta say please, mama.” You scowled, but he didn’t budge. “Please.” You pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster, sighing as he gave in. You cursed at the stretch, him at the way you squeezed him. “You feel…” He couldn’t find the words, so he buried his face in your neck, trying to gain some composure. You caressed the back of his neck sweetly. “You feel good too, baby.”

His hips stuttered forward, and you gasped as he worked himself deeper. You grasp his shoulders tightly, your nails embedding themselves into the soft skin.

“Yes!” You squeal.

“Like that?” He grits out, struggling to keep his rhythm.

“Yes, just like that!” You cry, moaning as he pounds up into you. His lips find yours again, and it’s bliss. Then before you can stop yourself, you’re calling him Daddy like it’s his given name. He groans into your sweaty neck like he’s in pain.

“You’re so nasty.” Overwhelmed and breathless, you whine your protest, “You’re nasty. Look at what you’re doing to me.” His eyes shift to where you’re connected. You’re creaming all over him and leaking down onto the couch, but you can’t bring yourself to care about anything other than coming. You do just that, mewling as you make an even bigger mess between your legs. He whispers filthy things into your ear as he finishes, grunting at the way you seem to be sucking him in even deeper.

“That was—“

“—unreal.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you can bring yourself to move. Your sweat-covered skin sticks together. You swipe your hand against your forehead while he pants.

“I wanted to ride you at least once tonight, but after that, I’ll be lucky to make it to bed.”

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903

RIO TAGLIST

@xsweetdellzx​

[spencers-renaissance]

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 6

Positive

Cult girl and Hannibal find a way to turn a life-altering mistake to their favor.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: accidental pregnancy, discussion of abortion, adoption, slight emetophobia

Another week passed and the 'hangover' didn't subside. Then a third week passed, so you had to give up the façade and just admit you were sick. Hannibal was smugly concerned, but not alarmed. It paid to have a doctor for a fiancé. Studying could be done from bed and you needed to be in perfect working order to burn down your grandmother's country club and fully enjoy it.

Hannibal wasn't so much of a hypochondriac that he denied you affection while bed-ridden. That, or he didn't believe what you had was contagious. Whatever it was.

It wasn't until you woke up late, just days before the start of the new semester, that you discovered. You hobbled blindly to the bathroom to take your medicine. You were fully prepared to drop to your knees and vomit in the toilet and you wanted nothing more than to return to bed and slip back into sweet unconsciousness. Not even microdosing meth could keep you awake.

You slid your birth control packet out of its sleeve. You were halfway through the green placebo pills, so you were sure that didn't help how miserable you felt. This period sure had a hell of a build-up.

That's when a number caught your eye.

It was a number you weren't even previously aware existed. A date on your birth control packet. Dated three months prior.

You weren't lucid enough to comprehend what it meant, but once it hit you, you spit the pill into the sink.

Expired. You thought. How the fuck do pills expire?

No. No. No. No.

"[F/N]?" Hannibal said. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." You called back. "I... just need to take a shower."

You turned the faucet on. It was a bad lie and he would figure it out eventually, but you couldn't involve him. Not yet. You needed a minute alone to think.

You found the pregnancy test you stashed under the sink all those years ago. You double-checked the lock, then began the test. There was no romantic or even palatable way to describe the process of peeing on a stick, quietly as possible, to avoid your frankly terrifying fiancé's notice. Once it was done, you wrapped the still-loading test in toilet paper and shoved it back under the sink.

You had no idea how long it would take to give you a result. Or if waiting four years to use it would give you a false result. There was so much you didn't know.

You jumped into the shower and washed up, trying to push all thoughts of panic out of your head. It didn't work. You went right into bury-the-body mode. A fall down the stairs could best pass for an accident, but had the unintended consequences of severe bodily harm. You wondered if those special herbal teas actually worked and where you'd find one. Or, instead of investing in gimmicky, pseudo-scientific abortion teas or throwing yourself down a flight of stairs, you could just talk to him.

You sat on the bathroom floor in a towel for what felt like hours, holding the mummified pregnancy test between your fingers. It took all your strength to rip through the tissue paper and confirm what you already knew.

A big, obnoxious pink plus sign. Almost like it was rubbing it in.

Your head was screaming just talk to him. He was your goddamn fiancé. The man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. But you couldn't tell him. Not after what he said at the country club.

"Hannibal?" You called out, voice weak. "Can you come here, please?"

He opened the bathroom door to find you huddled against the sink wearing nothing but a towel. It was a sight that would make anyone freak out.

"My god, [F/N]." He took a knee beside you. "Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?"

You gestured to the pregnancy test at your side. You hugged your knees into your chest and waited for him to process everything.

He looked at you with an unreadable expression. "I thought you were on birth control?"

You covered your face with your hands. "I did too. Nobody told me that the pills actually expire."

Then came the question that you were dreading.

"What do you want to do?"

That was why you were hesitant to tell him. Not because he would try to make a decision for you, but because he wouldn't.

"I don't know." You blurted out. "What do you want to do?"

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "You know I can't tell you that. You need to decide for yourself."

"That's what I was afraid you were going to say." You threw your head back in exasperation. "I'm just asking for a little direction. You said you definitely wanted to have kids-"

"Not like this." He cut you off. "Not when it would derail your entire career.” 

“Look, you know I was on the fence about having kids at all.” You rambled, just trying to collect your thoughts. “But then you described what you wanted for us and it just sounded so nice.” 

“Darling, I am begging you,” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “Please, decide for yourself and only yourself.” 

“I’m trying!” You objected. “I just need a second to think.” 

“Don’t think, just answer.” He implored. “What do you want to do?” 

“I want to get an abortion.” You blurted out before slapping your hand over your mouth. 

“Was that really so hard to say?” Hannibal asked, voice broken with relief. Relief of what, you couldn’t place. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him. “It was, a little.” 

“Why?” He tilted his head curiously. “And please don’t say it was because of me.” 

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, hiding your face again. “I just learned I was pregnant, like, five minutes ago. I shouldn’t be expected to make a choice this massive without at least ten minutes to think about it.” 

“Do you really want to get an abortion?” He asked. 

Your voice wobbled with uncertainty. “No... yes?” 

“I see.” He said, as if this were just a point of academic curiosity that didn’t involve him whatsoever. “Is there a part of you, no matter how small, that wants to see the pregnancy to term?” 

“Well, yeah. Thus the basis of my uncertainty.” You threw your hands up. “But I also know it’s insanely unrealistic to think I could just speedrun my last two years of school and however long it takes to establish a career just to get to the domestic bliss.”

“You would do good to not expect motherhood to be a blissful retirement plan, love." Hannibal gently scorned. "Parenting takes just as much commitment as your studies. Likely more."

"I know." You bashed your palms against your forehead. "I said it was unrealistic, didn't I? Look, I just don't foresee any worthwhile outcomes if I carry this pregnancy to term. Even to put it up for adoption just seems selfish. Why bring a kid into the world just to set them up for a shitty life?"

Hannibal paused, and looked off into the distance pensively.

"If you could forgive me a hypothetical," He began. "What if we could guarantee them a wonderful life?"

"Are we talking philosophy, or do you have an actual suggestion?" You probed.

"A bit of both, depending on where your mind takes you." He smirked as if he were about to say something very clever. "What if Beatrice [L/N]'s estate made sure our child had a safe, comfortable upbringing? With a weighty college trust fund in their name, naturally."

You couldn't tell if this was brilliant or insane. It all depended on how 'hypothetical' the whole situation really was. Either way, you were interested.

"Go on." You urged, letting the idea slither into your mind.

"There's nothing in the will that specifically states we must raise the child ourselves." He recounted. "Only that it must be of blood descent."

You hadn't considered that, but it made sense once you heard it out loud. Your grandmother had many skills to make her a sharp manipulator, but her inattention to detail was always her downfall.

“Forty-five million extra dollars in the bank would be nice.” You said. You were humoring him at first, but when you said it out loud, it rang true. 

“Forty-five is drops in the bucket compared to what we can get from her property.” He added. “The house and the golf course.” 

You put your hand on your chin, actually, seriously considering it. You were on the precipice of inheriting more money than you could possibly spend in one lifetime. Money that could make so many problems go away overnight. Money you could hand out to anyone you wanted to, just to make their lives a little easier. You pictured yourself giving waitstaff six-figure tips, or handing a hundred dollar bill to someone asking for change on the street. You could erase your best friend's college debt as a birthday present. Get Hannibal a proper gift. All with money you bled out of your abusers.

It was divine justice. All at the price of nine months of your life.

"So..." Your voice trailed off. "We just need to keep this thing alive for the next nine months..."

"We can find an adoptive family in that time." Hannibal nodded along. "And we can set up a college fund for the child to be given to them on their 18th birthday."

"And we could make the adoption open, in case the child ever wants to meet us." You said.

"Right." He agreed. "Allowing the option for an adoptee to meet their biological parents is much better for their mental health and adjustment."

You covered your mouth with your hand, only to hide your excitement. "I take it back, I'm starting to see a positive outcome."

[ethanesimp]

THE OAK TREE // ZERO E.T. 

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x GN! Reader

Summary: Everyone at the Oakes Academy is aware of the rivalry that exists between two of the school’s best students, Ethan Torchio and Y/N L/N. What nobody knows is what a brilliant team they are when they’re at risk of their reputations being damaged and a killer’s on the loose.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Just Ethan and Y/N behaving like children, mentions of killing someone (as a joke), swearing.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

TEASER

A/N: This is the first chapter of The Oak Tree! I hope you guys enjoy :) Huge thanks to @night-girl-301​ for proofreading this and cheering me on! I was like... scared as shit to post it so yeah.

Taglist (strike means it won’t let me tag you):  @oro-e-diamanti @gretavanfleetlove @victoriadeangeliswifey @cheese-toastie-11 @selenophiliaxx @superchrystaldrug @petit-poussin @bidet-and-legolas @fallingforyou123 @ethaneskin @soft-boy-ethan @teenyweenynightghost @reputationdamiano @cantaraiilmionome @tabi-toast @queen-of-brokenhearts @geklutst-ei @juststalking @cruz-ata @ohtorchio​ @ethan-torchio-angelo​ @unitermoonshine​ @everythingisdefinitelynotfine​

It was only a few minutes past two-thirty when you managed to open the door that led to the greenhouse. The key, more often than not, would get stuck in the lock, and you’d have to spend a few minutes trying to yank it free, but this time around luck seemed to be on your side.

You placed your large black backpack on the stool that was always by the door before closing the entrance again. Mr. Murphy was still watering the plants, completely oblivious to your presence thanks to the loud music coming from the small stereo he kept near the gardening tools. You tapped his shoulder gently not to startle him; it wouldn’t be the first time you’d come into the place unannounced and you didn’t want to be the reason why he had to walk around with a cast on his arm again. 

He smiled fondly at you and adjusted his large glasses that were starting to slide down his nose. Mr. Murphy was an old man with long white hair and kind blue eyes, he’d been in charge of the greenhouse at the Oakes Academy for almost twenty years and had been the first person to show you kindness after you first arrived at the place years back.

“I thought I told you to take the afternoon free, Y/N,” He shook his head disapprovingly and you could only shrug. You had to work at the greenhouse at least three hours a week to maintain your scholarship per the Academy’s rules and it’d been long since it stopped being a task and instead became your favorite part of each day. 

“We were let out of Philosophy earlier so I thought I’d come by before I go study. Can I help with anything?” The older man sighed but nodded. He adjusted his glasses once again and wiped the dirt from his jeans.

He pointed at the corner where all the pink anthuriums were kept, shielded from direct sunlight, “Please water those, put a bit of fertilizer on the ones that arrived on Wednesday, and if you’ve got time, can you please feed the worms?” 

“Sure thing, anything else?”

“Just those three things. I’ve got to go help unload the groceries so please lock up both doors once you’re done,” He asked with a smile on his face as he buttoned his coat and grabbed his walking cane from where he’d dumped it on the floor right next to him. Back when you’d only known him for a few days, you’d always rushed to his side to pick up his cane and help him, but quickly realized it was a thing that annoyed him because of how independent and stubborn he was. “Oh and, before I forget, the kid’s outside. I don't want to come back and see you two trying to tear each other's heads off."

A laugh escaped past your lips and you shook your head as you tilted your head to the side so you could look through the hole in one of the windows. Just like he’d said, the boy with the long hair was sitting outside by the oak tree reading a book. You looked back at Mr. Murphy and shrugged, "No promises."

"I'm serious. You're smart Y/N, and I'm pretty sure you could easily find something you've got in common. That much hatred isn't good for either of you." Those were Mr. Murphy's last words before he walked out of the room.

You stood by the plants for a few minutes as you played around with the headphones that hung around your neck. You’d already sort of been startled by the topic you’d seen during Philosophy that day and you hoped that being at the greenhouse would serve as a little distraction but Mr. Murphy’s words hadn’t helped much.

You huffed and looked around for the hose to water the pretty anthuriums to get your mind off of everything that had gone down that day.

-

Hours later, you were still unable to shake Mr. Murphy’s words off. It wasn’t the first time he’d insisted on voicing his thoughts against that rivalry you had going on with the person standing between you and your biggest dream coming true. The thing that pissed you off though, was that his words had reminded you of what your best friend, Rory, had told you just the previous night while you did your usual hate rant. According to them, it was a good way to destress yourself.

You scoffed at the thought alone and let your chin rest on your palm as a frown appeared on your forehead. There was not a thing you could name that made you even remotely similar to the person sitting only a few feet away from you at the quiet school library. Ethan Torchio, a.k.a. Your archnemesis, the person you disliked the most in the face of the earth, was biting on the tip of his pencil as he concentrated hard on the thin black book he was holding up. Those dark eyes that shone honey whenever light hit them just right and those long strands of hair that graciously fell down his back accompanied by his signature turtlenecks and pretty smile were enough to make someone’s knees weak, but they only made you gag. 

You were sure he felt your eyes bore holes into the dark depths of his soul because it didn’t take long for him to look over his shoulder and meet your stare. Ethan smirked and his eyebrows shot up as he sent you a wink and a small wave. You knew that expression of his, he was teasing you, riling you up, hell, maybe he was trying to intimidate you. As crazy —and maybe a bit pathetic— as it made you sound, a simple smirk wasn’t just that when it came to him, never had been. Those dark eyes of his communicated his devilish intentions to you while he looked like an innocent child who’d never break a plate to anyone else.

You held his stare and mirrored his expression, which made him chuckle softly. It was nothing more than a silly game you’d play with one another to see who’d get tired of it first. The stare-off didn’t last too long that time around because his attention was stolen by one of his friends, Thomas. You simply shrugged and went back annotating on your copy of the black book. It was nothing more than one of those books written for the sole purpose of boring people to death. You loved reading, but when it came to those school-issued books that took around three pages to describe the sky-blue sofas in the main character’s living room, you couldn’t read more than a few pages before wanting to aggressively chuck it out the window. 

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the book that did nothing other than make you feel miserable, you stood up. You walked over to the large window that went from floor to ceiling. To your delight, the curtains were drawn back, which allowed sunlight to illuminate the otherwise dark library with its beautiful hues of orange and yellow. The librarian was a grumpy woman that loved when the curtains covered all the windows and blocked any source of light that wasn’t the soft glow of the lamps placed all over the dark room. You were almost convinced this woman had never felt the warmth of the sun against her pale and ashy skin, sometimes you even thought of her as a vampire that’d burn to death if she dared to stand outside for a few minutes. 

You looked out the window and admired the green gardens that adorned the front yard of the Academy’s largest building. The Oakes Academy was old and had been around since 1057. However, unlike most ancient schools like this one, the school board hadn’t been too interested in renovating the place outside of simply reinforcing the structure enough to fulfill the basic safety guidelines and the installation of optical fiber wires for a better internet connection. Even then, it was still considered to be one of the most prestigious schools to study at, and if it hadn’t been for the generous scholarship you were offered, you wouldn’t have been able to afford it anyway.

“Still plotting that little plan of yours to end the human race?” You bit down on your bottom lip to stop the colorful curse words from spilling as you turned sideways to look at Ethan. He’d decided to wear one of those annoyingly tight black turtlenecks of his and a pair of plaid trousers that made him look taller than he already was.

“Yes, and I’ll start with you first,” You smiled sarcastically at him, “In fact, I’ll swing by your dorm and murder you in your sleep,” You added while you choked the air for dramatic effect.

Ethan laughed and rolled his eyes. He had that spark of hate in his eyes that was always present when he was talking to you. That look alone told you that all that hatred and disgust you felt towards him was returned in the same magnitude. This rivalry of yours that consisted of dirty looks and constant arguments had been going on since eighth grade and it just seemed to get progressively worse as graduation approached. 

Everyone at Oakes knew how much Ethan and you despised each other, it wasn’t a secret. Even the Head Professor had been a witness of plenty of your many petty fights and you didn’t doubt that the people in charge of the Student Welfare department were sick of the many reports you’d filed against each other for breaking the ‘student rules of politeness’. No one remotely important cared much about your reports anyways because they were far from serious and, more often than not, childish.

“How cute. Although I don’t think that’d work too well for you, would it amore? If something were to happen to me they’d know it was you,” He commented. You shrugged and bit your lip in anger at the nickname he knew very well you detested. 

You casually leaned against the window, “Meh, it’d be worth it if I knew I wouldn’t have to see your face again. Now please get away before someone starts getting the sick idea that we’re friends.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but backed up a few steps either way, “God forbid someone would think such a horrific thing," He scoffed and raised his hand only to show you his middle finger when he knew the librarian wasn’t looking.

Before either of you could utter out another word, Damiano, one of Ethan’s closest friends, walked up to where you two were standing, effectively ending the conversation between you.

He waved at you and offered you a kind smile, which you immediately returned. Unlike his best friend, Damiano was a delight to be around. He was one of the kindest and nicest people you had ever met. You were quite close thanks to the fact that he’d been dating Rory for a while and you got used to spending long nights with the two of them doing silly things like playing board games or watching films. You were basically their third wheel, but neither of you minded much, if at all. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Damiano smacked Ethan on the shoulder as he started a conversation with him. You took it as your chance to leave and just awkwardly walked away after mumbling something about having to find Rory. They had told you something about eating dinner together, and while you’d initially refused because you were supposed to finish the book and start on your report, you were tempted to accept their offer and forget about the stupid book for a little bit more.

Just as you were about to leave the library, your phone vibrated inside the pocket of your warm cardigan. You took it out and chuckled when you read Rory’s message about their new phone but groaned when you realized they wanted to see you after curfew. You sighed and left the library as you tried to think of a great excuse to tell your roommate Emilia so she’d cover for you while you snuck out.

Ethan had his eyes focused on your figure as you left the library but turned back to look at Damiano when he spoke up, “If you’d only talk to them Ethan, I-” He sighed and interrupted his best friend, already irritated by the conversation he’d had with you.

“No, I will not talk to them, okay? Not like we can even talk because we start arguing like two toddlers,” Ethan mumbled out the last part and took a deep breath in. Truth be told, no part of him wanted to talk to you. You were annoying, rude, and didn’t seem to have more than one brain cell in his eyes, so why lose his time talking to you? Not like there’d be anything to talk about.

“They’re just so exasperating!” He spoke up and Damiano rolled his eyes as he saw his hate rant start approaching. They were both aware that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, “I just- They try so hard and it’s annoying. Like I swear they’re also a huge hypocrite. I know you don’t see it but I do, I’ve never met anyone mo-”

Before he could end his last sentence, he felt a body slam into his and arms snake around his waist. Ethan huffed at the impact but wrapped his arms around her frame once he noticed it was Adeline Rossi, or Addie as everyone liked to call her. 

She pulled back and looked at both Damiano and Ethan excitedly, “You will never believe this but the craziest thing just happened… Hey, where’s Vic?” She trailed off as she started looking around for her friend.

Ethan chuckled lightly when he saw Thomas quietly approach Addie while she was distracted. They all knew she was the easiest person to scare, so it didn’t take more than a slight push and a soft boo for her green eyes to go wide and for her to jump. She was quick to turn to where Thomas was standing and didn’t think twice before smacking his shoulder with the heavy book she was carrying.

Thomas put his hands up in defeat as he took a step back and rubbed his shoulder, “Okay, okay shit. Stop, that actually hurts,” He whined and Addie only shrugged as Damiano and Ethan watched the whole interaction with amusement. 

“Right, so, ignoring all that,” Addie spoke up once again and shifted her attention back to Ethan, “Since she is nowhere to be seen, could you please help me with some stuff? It’s just this little interview for one class of mine and I’ve already interviewed Damià and Thomas but I need just one more.”

He nodded and said a quick goodbye to his two best friends before following the shorter girl out of the library. However, while he was walking, he felt his phone vibrate inside the pocket of his jeans. He fished it out and frowned as he read the text that had just been sent to him but laughed once he noticed it was only his girlfriend Emilia from her new phone. 

Then he sighed and rolled his eyes once he realized she wanted to see him past curfew again and he knew Will would ask him for money in exchange for not ratting him out. He quickly texted her back and slipped his phone back into his pocket as he followed Addie to her dorm.

Next

GOOGLE DRIVE 

[boygirlmeetsworld]

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer:  One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now.  At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching. 

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again. 

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately. 

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being. 

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could. 

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’ 

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated. 

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that. 

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?” 

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’  

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

                                                       * * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this. 

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

                                                        * * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne Centric, Panic Attack, Sickfic, Sick Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, he gets half a hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Damian Wayne is a good brother Series: Part 10 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Sequel to Pneumonia, Damian decides to spend his day home with Richard.

Full story under cut

Footsteps echo through the hall, light, but heavy enough to be intentional. Too carefully timed to be confident in their placement. And with too little bounce to be Richard’s.

 Nor would he waken if they were Richard’s and that’s really his first clue. Briskly throwing off the sheets and flattening his hair, he throws open the door before his father can make it the rest of the way down the hall. The footsteps stop in their tracks.

 He leaves the door open as invitation, yet it’s unnecessary – father doesn’t approach. From what little time they’ve spent together, Damian finds it strange – his father is single minded in his work but yet so indecisive in his home – well – really this wasn’t his home. “How is he?” The words come out too harshly and he grits his teeth, hoping for leniency – father is to be respected, not talked to in such a manner.

 Nor was father was pleased the last time he erred in his judgment. Ever since he’d failed the first time he meant, he’d been treated like a plague, locked in his room then, and avoided now.

 …But he’d heard stories from Richard about a softer man than the one he’d met a year ago. A man whose love was stronger than his hate – who took in children and saved their souls.

 It was odd that such a man had shied away from his own son. Damian couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong – he understood the skirmish with Drake was wrong – but Richard spoke of a man who could forgive. And yet. He’d only seen forgiveness from Richard.

 He’d thought perhaps, that had been his father’s influence.

 Another footstep resounds around him, and the realization strikes – he hasn’t moved. Huffing – at no one in particular – he silently strides forward, yanking his dresser drawers open to retrieve a set of perfectly folded clothes.

 “Damian.” Father stays just out of sight beyond the door. Its nerve wracking – almost painful – waiting for information. Richard promised he would be fine, last night, he promised Bruce could take care of the things – would be back – would fix it.

 He’d almost believed him, but for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

 It was odd, seeing him waver – especially because he’d seen for himself how much Bruce cared for him. He’d read the worry in his expressions and the thinly veiled pain as he stitched his successor’s side. Father was back – he’d believed that much – though he didn’t believe it when Richard said it – and that was… a complicated thing.

 Suffice to say, he’d kept watch from afar until he heard the doorknob turn, leaving once father began to speak.

 An awkward clearing of the throat makes him turn. Father stands in the doorway, looking stern but unsure, finally having decided to make an appearance. It’s irritating, how tall he seems; his head mere inches away from the top of the doorframe. “What?” He can’t keep panic from slipping into his voice. Swallowing, he makes another attempt. “How is Richard?”

 Frowning, father shakes his head slightly looking displeased. Damian’s heart sinks to the floor – Richard couldn’t – he promised – he –

 “He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped. His blood oxygen level fell last night, I had to put him on an external canister to raise it.” Damian lets out a long breath, his pulse returning to normal as father continued. “He’s stable, Leslie came over an hour ago. She predicts a full recovery, just don’t expect him to bounce back too quickly.” His father paused, giving him a curious look. “You look flush, are you alright?”

 Suddenly full of the desire to be alone, he shuts the door. “Yes. One moment.” For a moment he thought – never mind that now. Turning back to his clothes, he kicks off his pajamas, hastily changing. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing steadily – everything is fine.

 He can hear his father hesitating, the floorboards groaning as he shifts his weight. “School starts in an hour. I’ll drive you.” It takes all the willpower he can muster not to let a groan escape his lips. School’s awful on the best of days, a miserable prison with miserable teachers not paid enough to put up with his obnoxious rich classmates’ egregious behavior.

 “I’m not going.” Richard needs monitoring after all and his father had fulfilled the task last night. For proper care, he needs properly awake caretakers.

 “You will go.” The response is firm, but not without minor hesitation – something Richard had taught him to look for – something he could exploit in interrogations – something he could exploit here (for a good cause of course).

 His argument must be flawless – rational and logical, nothing else will suffice. Pulling on his socks, crossing the room, he flings the door open, storming into the hall, in a display of righteous fury. “The benefits of my attending school today do not outweigh the benefits Richard would receive if I monitor his progress and allow you sleep in order to be prepared to monitor him tonight. Firstly, I know the material already.” His father makes a noise to interrupt, but he continues unperturbed.

 “Secondly, I understand the social benefits are a concern to you. Ask Richard, I have made a friend. His name is Colin and he’s much better than any of the awful children at that school. And I’ve met with Lian and Irey and Jay.” The Titan’s children were annoying, but he wasn’t lying. It was awful, but he’d made it through the ‘playdate’. “Thirdly, as for extracurricular activities, Grayson has provided me with all necessary materials to pursue my interests. And…” He trails off, finding his father’s eyes tired, the bags under them unreasonably puffy. Gesturing vaguely, he pointed back at a mirror in his room. “Just look at yourself, you expect to watch him well like that?” They can debate all they’d like, but if father refuses to sleep much longer, the argument will be decided in his favor.

 The eyes shift to the mirror and back, then to him, to the floor, then covered by a hand. His father turns, muttering something he can’t quite hear, but he makes out the words from reading his lips. ‘What the hell has Dick been teaching you?’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth – he’s won. Perhaps, with further needling, he’ll be out of school for good, but today, he doesn’t press his luck.

 Father drops his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Keep up with your studies.” He takes a few steps back. “You can sit in the room but don’t bother him.” Damian holds back an eye roll, as if he would bother Richard while he’s recuperating. “Call if anything changes, I’ll make breakfast.” Father turns, Damian’s eyes follow, watching him stride down the hall, ducking into the kitchen.

 As the kitchen door smoothly thuds shut, he turns back to his room, swallowing down the odd sensation that stirs in the base of his throat. His steps are silent – mindlessly so, as he pads over into the adjacent bathroom to finish his morning routine.

 He emerges – the strange feelings sticking with him – he supposes he ought to feel relieved, but dread builds in the pit of his stomach instead at the prospect of seeing Richard.

 Father said Richard would be fine. Leslie said Richard would be fine. Richard promised he would be fine.

 None of them are liars – but what if they missed something? The thought wracks his mind on an endless loop. The hallway seems to stretch out as he takes a step towards his brother’s room. What if something changes before he gets there? What if the medication doesn’t work – what if it’s a super virus or an antibiotic resistant bacteria? Their enemies could come up with ridiculously effective toxins, pathogens aren’t that much different.

Richard promised. He tries desperately to hold on to that thought, stumbling forward, forcing himself closer to his room. His heart pounds harder the closer he inches, his head joining the party and thudding along in time. He feels like the deer slipping on ice on that dumb movie Richard made him watch; it’s as if his legs have forgotten to function.

 He’s nearly there – the hallway spins slightly but it’s just a few more steps – he needs to get control of himself but he can’t breathe. Two more steps. Two more steps and then he can. See Richard.

 Halfway through his next step, he trips, falling face first onto the floor, unable to do anything but choke out unsteady breaths, his mind screaming the counts to a breathing exercise learned as a child long ago.

 Pathetic. He would have been killed in the League for less. He mastered control of his emotion as a child – this – this is unacceptable! He reaches a hand forward, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself – he has to keep moving.

 His hand connects with a foot, he looks up, finding a flush face with bleary eyes staring back. “Damian?” Richard’s voice is rough and quiet, guilt floods his stomach – Richard shouldn’t be out of bed – he shouldn’t have panicked like this – this is – “Woah, buddy, breathe.” There’s a hand resting on his shoulder, the next time he looks up, Richard sits next to him on the floor, tapping his hand in time to a new count, one he learned here a few months ago.

 There’s a million pieces of his mind scattered about the hallway and the longer he sits there breathing, the more pieces settle back into their places. Richard’s verbal count shifts into coughs, but he keeps his hand steady. When he finishes, the tapping’s all that’s left.

 Damian shakily pulls himself up on his knees, not quite sure what exactly happened. Richard gives him a small sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy – sympathy that Damian doesn’t want – feels guilty for receiving – sympathy he’s never earned. It’s overwhelming – and something’s wrong with him – because he doesn’t cry – hasn’t cried since he was nine – and he’s nearly eleven and he’s over this.

 He can’t cry because everything’s okay – Richard’s arms are open in an invitation, his hand receding from his shoulder, but close enough to hover. He’s fine. Richard is fine. Tired, yes, but his side’s not gushing blood, and his coughs subsided. Damian wipes his eyes on his sleeve, glancing around – ensuring they’re alone – before sliding up against the wall next to Richard, scooting under one of his shoulders. A muscular arm drapes over his shoulders, hand settling back on his shoulder.

 He’s warm, a bit uncomfortably so, and his breathing sounds raspy, but as he leans against his brother’s chest, he hears a steady heartbeat and it’s unbelievingly reassuring. The hand on his shoulder is firm, but not tight; he can slip out; he’s not trapped.

 Really, he ought to be ashamed, of needing comfort like some sniveling third-grader, but it’s different – coming from Richard – someone he’s seen far too many times on the wrong end of some twisted concoction of fear gas, crying and screaming – needing comforting himself. Fear gas. Maybe this was an after effect – he files away the notion to mull over later – perhaps run a blood test on himself later.

 Richard’s grip tightens as he coughs, turning to face away. Damian’s gut drops – Richard was supposed to be on supplemental oxygen. Guilt claws at his insides as he quickly stands, pulling his brother along the best he can. It gives him appreciation for Nightwing’s smaller frame – his brother is way heavier and bulkier than he was a year ago – supporting him takes nearly all his might. “Come on.” He urges, dragging Richard into his room, this times his steps steady and stable.

 They’re both out of breath by the time they’ve made it to the bed. Richard plops down, bouncing slightly on mattress, gasping for air. Biting back his guilt, Damian quickly traces the path of the nasal cannula, shoving the nose piece into Richard’s hands. “Here.” He watches the man fumble for a second before settling it place.

 He slides down, tucking himself into a tight ball beside the bed, listening as gasps turns to wheezes, wheezes to coughs, coughs to rasps and back again, as Richard learns how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.” He grunts, nudging Damian with his shin.

 Damian huffs, he shouldn’t be thanked – he caused this mess! “For what?!” He half-shouts, quickly lowering his voice before he can say more. He needs to stay calm – he’s not supposed to be a disturbance. “It’s my fault you-”

 “Damian.” Richard groans in an annoyed way, not an ‘I’m about to hack up another lung’ way. “Thanks for staying in to keep me company. It’s sweet.” Some company he is, forcing his brother out of bed to come pick him up off the floor. “Quit pouting, I’m fine.” The leg nudges him again. A third time when he doesn’t respond. He pushes back. Richard nudges him again. Damian scowls, what’s he supposed to even do in this situation?! “Let’s play Mario Kart or something.” Richard says, as if he’s overheard Damian’s thoughts.

 Just as he pauses to mull over the suggestion, the door screeches on its hinges, shaking him out of his musings. “We should get that oiled.” Father mutters, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. He freezes in his tracks at the sight of Damian on the floor. “Everything okay?” Unfreezing, his motions are rigid and forced, his lips pursing into a straight line, brow furrowing, contorting into deep worry lines.

 Richard swings his legs back onto the bed. “Just left to use the bathroom, Damian helped me back.” The lie sounds natural, comes far too readily out of his mouth. Damian swallows, staring at the floor as his father ponders whether the statement rings true.

 It seems he’s decided to let it slip if he knows. He grunts an acknowledgement, setting the tray aside the bed, passing each a plate. It’s funny – how their dishes are so plain – just pure white, no décor. It struck him as odd when he’d first used them, now no longer odd, but fitting. The bland dish fits right in with Richard’s bland room.

 Father leaves as quick as he came, and Damian’s left to reflect on the empty room as he munches on a bagel. He hasn’t spent much time in here, out of respect for privacy, he’s seen it before, but never thought what it would be like to live in it. “Don’t you get bored of looking at the walls?” He mutters, after swallowing a bite. His own walls are cluttered with his possessions; trophies from fallen enemies, keepsakes from his mother, and gifts from his brother (even a friendship bracelet from Brown is tacked to his corkboard). Richard’s are bare, save one faded poster. His eyes linger on the grinning young acrobat, gracefully swinging with his parents in the background.

 Richard hums, curiously following his gaze. “Walls are walls, I don’t normally look at them. I just come in here to sleep.” He nods towards the television. “If I’m bored I can watch a show.”

 Damian rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you even turned it on?” He stands, spinning, taking in a full view of the room. “Room color effects your mood.” It’s something Richard used an excuse, to get him to pick a new color for his bedroom when they first moved in. “And potted plants are good for overall wellbeing.” He has a few on his dresser, he even set up an automatic watering system. He could hang some ivy over the balcony. Though… maybe not ivy.

 Richard smiles to himself, letting out a little raspy noise that he supposes could be a laugh. “You’re really into it, huh?” Damian feels heat rise to his cheeks, he’s not ‘into’ anything as trivial as room décor. “Go wild, you can order whatever online and have it delivered.”

 Damian turns his attention back towards Richard, hastily scoffing as he finishes speaking. “I’m not interested, I just wondered how <em>you</em> of all people could have such a bland room.” A flash of annoyance runs over Richard’s face, lingering long enough for Damian to properly identify it. It’s surprising to say the least; Richard almost never looks that way at him anymore.

 Annoyance fades as Richard gazes out past the balcony. “I… lost a lot of stuff in the move.” Damian kicks himself mentally – Richard last lived in New York, but a month ago he overheard him and Drake talk about an old apartment back in Blüdhaven. He’d done some snooping in old casefiles, Richard’s stint there had been quite extended. Extended enough to have his property demolished by a villain even before the entire city was leveled by a nuclear explosion. “Damian.” Richard looks at him, face carefully neutral. “Don’t worry about it, let’s play cards or something.”

 Don’t worry about it – how can he not worry about it?! He’d be devastated if he lost the gifts from his mother – some things aren’t replaceable. He gives the room another glance – it’s still empty – but he could fix it slightly. Maybe consult with Drake about the former apartment, if necessary contact – he shudders – the Titans during – he gags – one of their playdates for advice. “Damian are you okay?” Richard looks perplexed.

 He shoves his plans back down, first things first, walls and flooring. He turns on the spot, marching out the door. “We’re fixing your room.” He mutters, storming down the hall to grab his laptop.

 When he walks back in the room, Richard is staring at him. “What?” He demands, as Richard’s eyes follow him all the way to a chair aside the bed. He’s a bit annoyed at the chair even, it’s from the kitchen, probably dragged in here by his father last night. He adds ‘seating’ to his mental list – if Richard’s ill or injured, it would be nice for Pennyworth or him to be able to sit somewhere.

 Richard shuffles back, edging closer and sitting upright against a mountain of pillows. “Nothing. I just thought you weren’t interested.” He cocks an eyebrow as Damian pulls up a paint comparison site.

 “I’m not.” He spits. “I don’t want to look at your boring walls anymore.”

 Richard laughs again, in his modified way. “Mm. Yup. Sure.”

 Damian ignores the comment, already delving into the program, comparing colors against the wall - connecting to the TV to display them, and weighing the pros and cons of each one. Richard watches, providing occasional commentary, rating each color on a scale from one to one hundred. They argue over shades of green, and the correct way to make purple pop – nothing serious, nor work related. Later the room will be full of things, but for now he’s content to let their conversation fill the void.

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 19

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N: Hello there! This one was a little more fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it.  illuminated-blue’s gif goes really well with this one. ❤️

Warnings: annoying people, mention of death at the end, and wound cleaning.

You and Billie end up going to that one restaurant you’d visited when you were hopping around town trying to avoid people. You are glad to be going back because Milo had loved it and you were starving. You are seated quickly and both you and Billie laugh as Milo makes a friend from a nearby table. He plays with the lab while you and Billie get comfortable. You smile when she hands you one of the waters that the waiter brought a few minutes ago.

“Here, dear. Drink. Let me know if we need to leave, okay?”

You smile widely at Billie’s thoughtfulness before nodding in agreement. You take a sip of the water before looking around with a sigh of relief. It’s so nice to be out again, and being with Billie and Milo is just icing on the cake. You look back at Billie watching as she eyes you carefully before glancing at the menu. You know what you’re getting, but that doesn’t stop you from looking. Billie doesn’t bother with that yet. She is more concerned about you.

“Are you excited to go back to work?”

This question surprises you, and you look up suddenly before shrugging noncommittally. You are excited to go back to work because sitting around all day isn’t for you. Sure, you like being with Billie and Milo, but you became a vet for a reason. Despite loving Milo like he was your child, you really needed to see other animals too. You smile at the thought and nod in confirmation before taking another sip from the glass in front of you.

“I am! I miss the pets and keeping busy, but I have to admit it has been nice to spend time with you.”

Billie smiles at this before she glances down at the menu in front of her. She’s never been here before, but when you mentioned that you liked it she figured she’d give it a try. It was a little more out in the open than she liked to be, but so far no one was paying them much attention. She found it hard to pay attention to much of anything else when she was around you. She had really enjoyed these past few days having you and Milo stay with her.

“I’ve enjoyed it too, Y/N.”

You smile at this before glancing behind you to check on Milo who is still playing with the other dog. You laugh before shooting Billie a questioning look. You’re only half kidding with what you ask next because part of you is worried that you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Are you sure you’re not sick of us yet?”

Billie smirks at the thought of growing sick of you and Milo. She had to admit that sometimes Milo could be a little high maintenance, but she enjoyed every moment she spent with the two of you. It seemed so easy with you, and although she knows the current situation isn’t exactly realistic, she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you around all the time.

Billie shakes her head about to disagree with you when your waiter comes back with your drinks. You smile excitedly because you haven’t had an actual drink in a while, but you were feeling better today so you decided to go for it. You were also celebrating since it was the end of the week and you had yet to fall down again. You made a note to knock on some wood later before turning to Billie as she orders her dinner. You smile absentmindedly before taking a long sip from your drink. Billie watches with an amused smile as your waiter leaves after taking your orders.

“Feeling better?”

Billie’s teasing smile makes you laugh in embarrassment, but you don’t hesitate to nod before you place your already half empty glass on the table. You turn to bring Milo back towards you since he is kind of in the way, and you smile as he moves quickly to sit next to you, his head already in your lap, sniffing for food. You push him away before offering a verbal response.

“Definitely. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

Billie smiles at this before taking a sip of her own drink. She eyes Milo when he comes to stand next to her looking for food. Billie simply pets him before shaking her head. She can’t help but smile when he whines a little before just lying down next to her. You smile at this and you’re too busy looking at Milo to realize that Billie’s shooting you an adoring look.

“Well, you deserve it after the week you’ve had, Y/N.”

You nearly laugh at this but you manage to hold yourself back and just smile instead. You can’t think of anything more relaxing than what you’ve done for the last week. You’ve just been sitting around all day doing nothing but spending time with Billie and your dog. You honestly couldn’t think of anything better.

“The week I’ve had? All I’ve done is sit around and spend time with you and Milo. Not exactly taxing, Billie.”

You watch as she smiles at you before you realize that this isn’t exactly what Billie meant. You don’t bother to change your answer because you still feel like you’ve had a pretty nice time off.

Billie shakes her head before clarifying her meaning. “I was mostly referring to Sunday, but I’m glad you haven’t had a miserable time.”

Billie smiles as you blush slightly before shaking your head at the thought of how much of a ‘miserable time’ you’ve had with Billie. Sure, the first couple of days were a little rough, but your headache hadn’t bothered you in hours and you were glad to be out with Billie again. Not that you didn’t enjoy your time alone with the medium, it was just nice to feel normal again. Not sickly and stuck indoors.

“Not at all. I’ve had a lot of fun.”

Billie smirks at the way you say this and she raises an eyebrow as she watches you get lost in thought. She can imagine what you’re thinking of because her mind quickly goes to certain moments alone with you. Billie doesn’t get to dwell on them long before you’re speaking again. She looks up just in time to see you smile cheekily, and she has to resist the urge to throw something at you. The chips in the middle of the table look like a good option.

“With the kittens of course. They’re my favorite part.”

You have to stop yourself from laughing when you see how Billie’s expression changes to one you recognize immediately. You looked away because now wasn’t the best time to humor those thoughts. Instead, you finish up your drink before you smile apologetically at your girlfriend before reaching out for her. She moves her hand away last minute and you pout before trying again.

“Aw Billie, I was kidding. You know you’re my favorite.”

You smile victoriously when Billie accepts your apology and takes your hand with a sigh. She runs her nails over the back of your hand before you turn it so your palm is facing up. You shiver slightly and have to stifle a laugh as Billie tickles your palm. She smiles at your adorably ticklish nature before releasing your hand to reach for her drink.

“I have to bring them back to you soon, don’t I?”

You are too busy feeding Milo a treat that you’d brought with you to follow Billie’s question. You look back to her with a frown before what she said registered and you nod enthusiastically. The kittens are finally old enough to get their first round of vaccines this week. You have no idea what your schedule looks like, but you will make sure to find time for them when you can.

You and Billie talk a little about her cats before your food arrives. You can’t help how excited you look, and Billie doesn’t even try to hold back a laugh at your childlike glee. She knows how you feel about food, but she supposes that it’s food and just the fact that you’re out again that’s making you so happy. She doesn’t let herself feel bad for keeping you at home for so long, but she is glad to see you like this again.

“You’re adorable, Y/N.”

You smile at Billie about to say something sarcastic when something over her shoulder catches your eye. Your smile disappears and you drop the chip in your hand as you groan under your breath. Billie frowns about to turn around to see what you’ve spotted, but she doesn’t get the chance. You sigh in defeat, moving Milo so he’s under the table before putting on the fakest smile you can muster. Maybe she’ll get the hint.

“Claire. How are you?”

It took Billie a moment to recognize the name. She turned to see the brunette standing behind her and her frown immediately deepened. It didn’t take Billie long to realize that she wasn’t going to like this interaction at all. If not for the reasons you’d given her in the past, then just the way that Claire was looking at you now was enough for Billie to decide that she didn’t like her.

Since she heard about your hospital visit, Claire had been trying to track you down. She’d called into your work only to be told that you weren’t going to be in for the next week or so. She knew where you lived from the various stories about you in the news, but she didn’t know which apartment. She’d harassed the front office enough that she was banned and despite hanging around for almost a full day she never saw you.

She had almost given up trying to find you when she realized that you probably weren’t even home.

You were with Billie.

Claire hadn’t wanted to run into the medium, or really see her at all, so she waited. She waited for almost a week before she followed you here. It had taken a while to gather the courage to confront you, but now as she stood beside you, she was glad that she hadn’t just gone home.

“It’s nice to see you alive and well, Doc.”

You stiffen as you watch Claire move closer to you and rest her hand on the table just inches from yours. You don’t fail to notice how she completely ignores Billie, and you turn to your ticked girlfriend before looking back to Claire. You’re not in the mood for whatever this is, and you are going to make sure that Claire knows that. You don’t appreciate that she’s ruined a perfectly good outing by showing up and you try your best not to snap at her as you respond.

“It certainly is. Have you met Billie Dean? Billie this is Claire, she works at the pet store I go to.”

You sincerely hope that Claire could take the hint and leave you in peace. However, as you watch the brunette barely turn toward Billie who somehow looks even less impressed, you feel any hope you had slip away. Claire instead turns more so she’s facing you after throwing a perfunctory look over her shoulder.

“Yeah, hi. I just wanted to check on you. I heard about what happened.”

You sigh in annoyance before responding quickly. You don’t say that you’re fine because you’re not. You’re a little miffed and you want this to end now.

“It was just a little concussion, I’m all better now.”

You ignore Claire as she starts speaking again. You vaguely realize that she’s going on about how concerned she was and how glad she is, but all you can focus on is Billie. She’s shooting you an incredulous look that you assume is a result of your description of your injury. You just shrugged before shooting her a smile that she rolls her eyes at. You see her look down briefly before reaching for what you assume is Milo under the table. You’re glad that he’s stayed put and you sigh before meeting her gaze again. You’re about to say something to cut Claire off when you feel a hand on yours. You know it’s not Billie’s because you’re looking right at the blonde and she’s petting Milo and sipping her wine. Her gaze moves down to where Claire’s hand covers yours, and that finally makes you realize that you haven’t responded.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”

You barely hear the end of what Claire says before you move to stand up. You mostly wanted to move your hand, but  for some reason you stood and now you had to do something. You smile before moving around the table, not looking away from Billie who is frowning slightly in confusion. You just smile wider before you reach Billie’s side and sit down next to her. Now Billie is between you and Claire, and you feel like you can breathe again.

“Yeah, I have Billie to thank for that. She took good care of me.”

You get settled in your chair before leaning in close to Billie. Despite the fact that it brings you closer to Claire, you don’t really think she’ll reach over Billie to get to you, you are immediately comforted by the close contact. Claire’s bold, but not that bold. She seems to pause for a second before she does something that really shouldn’t surprise you. She sits down in your abandoned seat before reaching for your drink. Your mouth falls open and you’re glad that you finished it because Claire just frowns before putting it down.

Your patience is gone at this point and you sigh before squeezing Billie’s arm so she doesn’t snap. You felt her tense and you didn’t want her to be the one to tell Claire off. It should be you.

“Did you need something, Claire?”

You sound as ticked as you are, and you’d feel bad about it if this was anyone else. However, it’s not and this was probably the 12th time you’ve had to keep yourself from commenting on something rude that Claire has done. For this reason, you don’t feel much sympathy as the brunette in front of you frowns before looking to your food. You don’t have time to speak up again before Claire is smiling and shrugging casually.

“Yeah, Doc. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out sometime. You know on a real date?”

You can’t help but smile at her question and even as you feel Billie sit up next to you, you let out a laugh. You know that your reaction is weird. You should be pissed by what Claire is insinuating, like Billie, but you just find it hilarious. Your laugh seems to stop her and she frowns in confusion as she looks to you before you manage to sit up with a sigh. You see the smug look on Claire’s face, probably due to the fact that she got a reaction from Billie, but that didn’t really matter. You weren’t going to let her have the satisfaction for long.

“Thanks, but I’m more than happy here with Billie.”

You squeeze Billie’s hand under the table as you say this, but you don’t feel her relax which you don’t like. Your attention turns to Claire though once you hear her sigh heavily before leaning back in her—your chair. She crosses her arms over her chest before finally looking to Billie. There are a lot of things that she’d like to say, to accuse the medium of but she doesn’t. She isn’t sure what you see in her. She’s a hack who thinks too highly of herself, and you deserve better than that.

“Are you sure? I can show you a better time. Like you deserve.”

You scowl and open your mouth to say something a little meaner, but Billie beats you to it. She clenches her fist and glares at the brunette across from her. She doesn’t know much about her, but Billie can’t help but wonder where all of this cockiness comes from. Clearly, she can’t take no for an answer.

“What Y/N deserves is to be respected. Which means when she says back off, you back the fuck off.”

You hold your breath as you watch Claire tense at this and glare at Billie in return. You sigh in defeat, but you nod in agreement with what Billie’s said before saying the last thing you’re willing to about this.

“She’s right Claire. You don’t respect me enough to take no for an answer, so even if Billie wasn’t in the picture, you wouldn’t be either.”

Despite the mood changing drastically from Claire’s unwelcome visit, you and Billie stay for an hour or so longer. You don’t move back to your seat. Instead, you move your food to your side and get yourself a new drink that you finish way too quickly. You sigh before turning to Billie with an apologetic look.

She hasn’t said much since Claire left. You did most of the talking which you couldn’t help but worry about. You know that Billie’s upset and you can’t really blame her, but you’re still nervous. Billie was already stressed out by the interview airing tonight, now this? You frown as you reach out for Billie’s hand that’s resting on your thigh.

“I’m sorry she showed up, Billie. I never would have thought--.”

Billie shakes her head, cutting you off before she sighs in defeat. She has to admit that she was still a little annoyed by the rude interruption to their dinner. She wouldn’t have thought that you had to deal with things like this happening. She didn’t think that Claire was so bold. Then again, you had said that she’s done something similar at work and whenever you went to the pet store.

Finally, Billie finds her words and she tries to smile before squeezing your hand.

“You don’t have to apologize for her behavior. I didn’t realize how persistent she was.”

You smile wryly at this before nodding in agreement. You mention how often Claire has bothered you and Billie feels her anger return full force. Why couldn’t people take a hint?

“She’s still young. Hopefully she’ll get a clue.”

You don’t notice how Billie’s mood has soured until she scoffs a few seconds later. She doesn’t want to imagine what it will take for Claire to get a clue. She drains the rest of her drink with a scowl at the thought. You stop with your fork halfway to your mouth when Billie empties her glass and your eyes widen a little before you put it down. You turn to Billie, not quite sure what to say, but you just go for it hoping you don’t make it worse.

“It’s okay, Billie. I think you scared her off.”

Billie Dean shakes her head before speaking up in a tone that immediately had your attention. You frown despite what Billie says to you.

“No, it’s not okay, Y/N. People shouldn’t treat you like that. Not her and not-.”

Billie trails off, mentally cursing herself for letting that last part slip. She hadn’t planned on mentioning Doug because you’d already made up your mind. She didn’t want to argue about it despite not really liking your decision. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to let this go, and you shoot Billie a questioning look.

“What? What were you going to say?”

Billie doesn’t answer immediately and instead reaches for Milo’s treats. She feeds him one and watches as he catches it midair. Billie smiles slightly before turning back to see you frowning.

“Not Claire, or assholes like Doug get to treat you like that. You deserve much better, Y/N. I mean that.”

You smile appreciatively before kissing her in thanks. You pull away sooner than you want, but you’re in public and you are still a little on edge from Claire popping up. So you just smile before moving a stray hair behind her ear with a sigh.

“You know, thanks to you, I’m starting to believe it.”

This time Billie kisses you and you laugh when Milo tries to get in on the action. He wasn’t finished begging for treats and he has his front paws up on the table before you realize what he’s doing. You push him down before shooting him a glare while Billie simply laughs. You roll your eyes but accept another kiss from Billie with a smile.

You eventually pull away before looking around you briefly. You saw Claire leave so you’re not worried about her, but you still feel eyes on you somewhere. Instead of focusing on this you decide to turn back to your girlfriend with a cheeky smile.

“Still, if we run into her again, I want you to punch that bitch in the face, Billie Dean.”

Milo leads you through the neighborhood excitedly on his last walk of the night. It’s almost 11 and you and Billie got back from the restaurant a while ago. You had been glad when Billie seemed to leave her worry behind and return to her normally calm self by the time you arrived home. You left her to go check on the cats and you and Milo were wandering around aimlessly as you thought about what the rest of your time here would look like.

You plan to leave Sunday because you really should get back to your place. You need to get ready to work Monday and that includes making sure that you have food to eat. You are going through a list of things that you need to do when something surprises you and Milo. You jump and then curse as Milo pulls free and runs after whatever just jumped out of the bushes.

“Milo, no! Wait!”

You aren’t completely surprised when he doesn’t listen to you and you groan in annoyance before taking off after him.

Billie is downstairs waiting for you to come back when 11 o’clock rolls around. She sighs before looking to the television with a frown. She’s not going to watch the interview, and she hopes that you don’t want to either. Billie reaches out for Bit when she hears the front door open. She lets Bit rub up against her hand, but she soon flees when Milo comes running into the living room. He’s a mess and Billie’s surprised by the sight of him covered in dirt and leaves.

“Milo, what did you do?”

Billie looks up when she hears you groan loudly before you appear around the corner. It takes you a minute to get your shoes off and you finally sigh in relief before heading to where Billie is waiting. She stands immediately when she sees you and you wince in anticipation as she gasps in surprise.

“Y/N! What happened?”

You, like your dog, are covered in dirt and small cuts from where you’d fallen a couple of times before diving to catch your dog. You stiffen, but don’t protest as Billie’s hands go to your shoulders, and she leads you to the couch. She takes a good look at you and sighs when she notices that you’ve scraped your palms and some of your knuckles pretty badly.  She looks to you again for an explanation, and you sigh in defeat before mentioning how Milo had gotten away from you.

“Milo decided to chase a stray cat through some bushes and out of the neighborhood.”

Billie’s eyes widen before she turns back to Milo who is lying at your feet. He is licking his paws but seems fine while you look a little worse for wear. You sigh as you sit up slightly before realizing that you hurt your knee falling too. You hiss in pain and Billie immediately looks over you again before she sees your stained pants.

“Did you hurt your knee?”

Billie is really just asking for clarification because you’d already said that you’d fallen. Still, you nod before muttering something under your breath that Billie doesn’t hear. You shoot Milo a look before sighing in realization. You probably need to get cleaned up. You don’t get to say this; however, because Billie beats you to it as she glances upstairs.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

You hiss under your breath as you hold your hand out to Billie. You’re sitting on her bed still in your dirty clothes as the medium gets her supplies together. You watch as she grabs the hydrogen peroxide and you cringe in anticipation waiting as she grabs some gauze.

“This might sting a little.”

You just nod before holding your hand out to Billie and she takes it in hers before carefully cleaning your knuckles. You hold your breath and don’t let yourself curse at the pain. You jump slightly though and Billie just shoots you a sympathetic look before kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll be more careful.”

You shake your head and manage a smile before releasing the breath you’d been holding. Billie had been careful and you were just a wimp when it came to injuries. You say something to this effect and Billie rolls her eyes at you as she finishes putting on your band aids. You sigh in relief before thanking Billie for the help. You take a look at your hands before realizing what comes next.

“I guess I need to get undressed, huh?”

Billie just smiles before looking at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and Billie is a little worn out from her busy day. She wants to make sure you’re taken care of first, so she just nods before turning to leave.

“That’s probably best. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

You just nod because you’re finally starting to feel your exhaustion set in. The adrenaline of chasing after Milo and getting to him before he ran into traffic had worn off and now you were just tired. You stifled a yawn as you stood up started to take off your pants. You stumble slightly and groan in annoyance before you manage to get them off. Your breath hitches as you bend your knee and pain shoots up your leg. You curse Milo again before finding a pair of shorts to wear.

You’re dressed and sitting back on the bed when Billie comes back a couple of minutes later. You have your leg stretched out and you’re examining the growing bruise on your knee. Billie’s eyes widen and she hurries over to take a better look. She moves to sit next to you before resting her hand on your calf.

“Oh, Y/N. That looks like it hurts.”

You can’t deny it but you try to as you just shrug and mention that you’ve had worse. Which isn’t a lie, but that doesn’t make your knee throb any less. You think about what you could do to treat it before remembering how much you drank earlier tonight. So instead of medicine you settle on ice, and Billie is right there with you. She leaves you to clean the minor cuts as she hurries downstairs to get some ice.

You shift on the bed before trying to clean your knee, but you immediately realize that it hurts more than you thought it would. You just clench your teeth and bear it, and by the time Billie’s back you have it cleaned and covered. You smile at her before taking the offered icepack that Billie brought. At least you try to, but Billie shakes her head before motioning for you to sit back. You do as she says and lie back against a pillow so you’re more comfortable. Billie holds the icepack over your knee with a questioning look, and you just nod before tensing slightly. Your breath hitches at the cold, but you say nothing as Billie holds it to your knee with a sigh.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sweetheart?”

You smile before shaking your head. You’ll be fine, you just need to rest and not run around anymore. You turn at the sound of Milo running down the hall you wait until he pushes open the door before sighing again. You look him over and don’t see that he’s hurt himself, but you didn’t really expect anything else. He just ran a lot and then came to a very sudden stop when you managed to step on his leash.

“Milo, you little shit.”

Milo just wags his tail as he comes over to lick your hand. You scratch him briefly before looking to Billie with a sigh. You know it’s late and you’re tired, so you imagine that Billie is too.

“You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

Billie speaks up before you can, but you just shake your head. You had made sure that you didn’t and at the expense of tearing up your hands you’re glad that you hadn’t. You shake your head, not really sure if your headache is from the fall or the alcohol before patting the bed next to you.

“Want to join me?”

Almost half an hour later, you are surprisingly still awake. Billie fell asleep a while ago, but she hadn’t even made it under the covers. She slept with her head in your lap and you gently ran your fingers through her hair as your mind wandered to next Saturday.

The 10th.

You never really cared much about your birthday before. Sure, you liked cake and you didn’t complain about presents, but it wasn’t something you made a big deal about.

This year you were determined to do the same. It was honestly going to feel weird and different no matter what you did. It was the first birthday you wouldn’t be celebrating with family. The first one without your dad.

You quickly think of something else before that train of thought gets you in trouble. You sigh as you glance at your phone. It’s 12:30. You really should sleep. You stifle a yawn as you put your phone back and try to get comfortable without disturbing Billie. You’re almost asleep when you realize that you didn’t watch Billie’s interview.

You decide it’s probably for the best given how upset Billie was afterwards. Instead, you just lie down and pull Billie closer to you. The next interview has to go better for her, right?

Part 20

Tag list: @madamevirgo​, @illuminated-blue​

[utterlyinevitable]

After seeing ur explanation for that anon i really want to see a fic or a hc of ethan as a dad and becca as mom can u please do it??

omg okay ahhh my babys having babies. this is gonna be long and idk if it’ll make sense bc imma jot down everything i know about domestic e&b.  

[just finished and... this is long and broken down into 6 categories........... enjoy!]

Ethan & Becca as Parents

The Pregnancy 

They didn’t plan on having children, it just kind of happened. Becca and Ethan took a day for the news to settle before they jumped into excited, expecting parents mode.

The most exciting part was renovating the condo to make the most perfect nursery and shopping for decorations and mentally planning all the traditions and things they’d love to give to their little family. 

All of the happiness couldn’t mask the struggles of pregnancy. 

Becca hated being pregnant. She was sick and nauseous constantly, and her back and feet always ached. 

Throughout the whole thing Ethan doted on her; holding her hair back and learning how to tie it up in the way she likes, rubbing her back, running out to get whatever she was craving. 

He even made copious amounts of notes about her eating patterns. Enough to keep two of everything in the condo. 

If she was having a restless night, he would too; even if she was restless for non-human-growing reasons. 

They were in this together.

And even when she was huddled over a garbage pail, dribble running down her chin, she never looked more beautiful to him. 

There was just something about all this that made him feel all weird and fuzzy inside. 

When her symptoms barely settled throughout the second trimester she overhauled her entire birthing plan. There was no way she was making it to 42 weeks. She was absolutely miserable. So she made a c-section appointment for 40 weeks. 

She had an entire argument with Ethan one evening (she really was only yelling while he nodded his head). Her main points were:  “It’s my body and the baby will be fine. I was born 6 weeks early and I turned out fantastic!” and  “Once the baby’s out of me I’m still going to have to pee. Omg what if she rips me open!? How am I supposed to use the bathroom without worrying about my stitches?”  

All he kept reiterating was:  “I love you. I trust you and your instincts.” 

Becca felt better as he held her face in his large hands, his calming azure eyes boring into hers and letting her know everything will be alight. 

But deep down she spent the next few weeks since making the appointment wondering if she should have given vaginal birth a try. She didn’t want Ethan to resent her for chickening out of her body’s natural function. 

The Birth 

Becca made it to her c-section appointment. Happily rubbing her large belly and glowing:  “I can’t wait to not be pregnant anymore! Never do this to me again.” 

All Ethan did was chuckle. 

He was happy she was getting color back and that her symptoms finally settled enough for her to spend the last few weeks enjoying their daughters kicks. But oh my god was Ethan Ramsey terrified of being a father. 

He wouldn’t tell Becca though. She was emotional and worried enough as is. Any and all his concerns were saved for the short conversations he had with his father.  “Don’t overthink it, son. The moment you lay eyes on your daughter you’ll know what to do. It’s instinct. Biology. That was your best subject in school, wasn’t it?” Alan would joke.  

The surgery went off without a hitch. 

All of Becca’s hatred for the phenomenon of pregnancy vanished the second the nurse placed their daughter on her chest. 

Rebecca was in awe. She made that! This little person came out of her! This little pink person that looks like a plucked chicken with a tiny tuft of brown hair was here and she was beautiful. The perfect combination of her and Ethan. 

The embodiment of their love.   

Dakota Dolores Ramsey was completely unplanned. Unplanned but not unwanted.  

The first time Ethan Ramsey held his daughter time froze. The universe needed a minute to process the broad grin and full heart thumping rapidly from this stoic and reserved man. 

The earth was about to spin the wrong way but then Dakota opened her eyes.

Everything was the way divinity had planned it.  

At Home

Although Ethan and Becca lived a 10 minutes drive from Edenbrook, nearly a straight run, Becca forced him to drive as slow as possible. 

Dakota was asleep and she needed to keep it that way. 

Due to her stitches, Becca was forced to take things easy. No matter how many times she argued with Ethan that she was capable of menial tasks around the house. 

Ethan would not let her lift a finger. 

If Dakota needed a change he’d happily do it. if Becca was hungry he’d make her favorite. 

“You had her to yourself for nine months. Let me take the next few days.” Becca went to retort, all she wanted was to hold her baby for the rest of eternity. She’d never tire of looking at her scrunched up potato face and watching as her features changed every moment of every day. “I promise to share.” “You better,” she kissed him as he tucked her into bed for a much needed nap.

The only thing he was forced to share with his partner was feeding duty - Becca was adamant on breast feeding. A bottle would not touch their daughters lips for months to come. 

That in itself brought its own challenges. 

Most nights Ethan laid in bed with Becca curled up at his side in one arm and Dakota resting on his bare chest. 

Parenting was weird, but an exhilarating change. 

Ethan couldn’t diagnose what he could have possibly have done right in his life to be this wholly happy. 

The Second

Once Ethan and Becca had one child they were both itching for a second.

“You know what say: ‘if you have one you have to have two’.” “Is that so?”  “You don’t want Dakota to have a sibling?”  “I was an only child and look how I turned out.”  “Emotionally stunted and certified loner?” she teased. 

Truth be told, Ethan wanted another. He’s been thinking of giving his pride and joy a few siblings for weeks now. He just didn’t know how to tell Becca. 

Becca complained frequently about how happy she was to not be pregnant, and often about how her scar healed funnily. 

All of the signs pointed to her not wanting another. And Ethan was okay with that. He never expected to have one child. He’d cherish every moment of what’s been placed right in his fingertips. 

He’ll let his soon-to-be wife choose their path. She’s dictated everything else thus far. Ethan was elated she chose him to be along for the ride. 

After Dakota’s first birthday, when they made the decision to have another, they tried desperately to conceive.

“I really don’t want to have to deal with diapers for five years,” was Becca’s main reason for keeping the kids close in age.  “We can try surrogacy.” Ethan offered, knowing how much she hated pregnancy. He didn’t want to push her into anything.    “No. I have to do it. I’ll do it for our kids. But you owe me big time.”  

And 14 months later Caroline Marie Ramsey made her grand appearance. 

And Becca got her first push present. 

The Last 

It’s fitting that four years later Ethan and Becca were blessed with another surprise. 

Her pregnancy with James Jonah was the smoothest of them all. 

Of course that meant something had to go wrong. 

At 34 weeks Becca went into premature vaginal labor. 

Within six hours their baby boy arrived. 5lbs 2oz and looking like an alien. 

Ethan almost lost them both after the fact. 

Becca lost too much blood with the placenta and JJ was so tiny.  

But the Lao’s were fighters and they pulled through. Ethan cried at her bedside once the harrowing 24 hours were up. 

Becca stayed at the hospital for a week, Ethan and Alan bringing the girls to visit every single day. 

JJ had to stay a few days longer and Becca refused to leave until she could bring her son home. 

She went through her first experience with postpartum depression. Becca didn’t think anything could be worse than the mental toll her abortion had on her years earlier. But she was wrong.

She was so wrong. 

All their friends chipped in to help take care of the kids while Ethan devoted his time to helping his wife. The couple went to therapy, sometimes together, other times Ethan sat in the waiting room as Becca worked through her emotions. 

Months later, the parents were sitting at home. Ethan held their son and their daughters were curled on their laps: He muttered into his wife’s hair, “I’d like to have one more.”  “Not with me you’re not,” she scoffed. “We’re outnumbered as is.” 

JJ began to cry and the girls stirred. Dakota mumbling, “Tell the baby to shut up, I’m sleeping here.” 

They couldn’t help but laugh and pull apart to put their whole world to bed.  

Old and graying and spending more time at home with his kids, Ethan wanted just one more baby. Four was a strong, even number. He could have a whole daycare full of them - each one the best variations of him and Becca. 

Becca had spent a large portion of her 30s childrearing and she’s done. Done with diapers and formula, especially. She loves her children more than anything but they’re exhausting. She can’t wait for them to be in school full time and she can have some more alone time with her husband. It’s been so long since it’s been just them too.  

“Don’t hate me...”  “I could never hate you,” Ethan said as he brushed a few strands of hair from his wife’s face.  She swallowed and confidently said, “I want you to get a vasectomy.” 

He agreed without further consideration. She made a very compelling argument.  

Parenting 

Ethan is the doting helicopter dad and Becca is doctor drill sergeant. The kids get away with nothing under their mother’s watch. 

Ethan is very soft and adores his children. The grumpy attending could have a whole gaggle of them. He spoils his daughters rotten, picking up the newest doll and toy they’re obsessed with, and making them promise not to tell mommy. 

The women in Ethan’s life get away with everything and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the girls were born, Ethan stepped back at work letting the better Dr. Ramsey have her career defining moments.

He took half days to pick the girls up from preschool and would bring them to the park or museums. He’d even try to teach them to cook their favorite recipes on cold, rainy days. He’d tire them out so that he and mom could tuck them in after dinner.

Ethan’s afraid of his son. He’s afraid the tot is going to turn out exactly like him - he’s the spitting image, except that his hair curls like his mother’s. 

Instead of putting JJ in fulltime daycare, Ethan chose part time preschool. The girls were in primary school now and he’s taken a bigger step back from the hospital after the baby was born. 

He devotes all his free time to teaching his son about all he knows and learning all he doesn’t.  

Becca complains about the state of her vagina and stomach all the time. Never in front of the children but often enough Ethan knows the look on her face right before she says the same two lines.  

Her favorite activity is building forts and taking the kids to the beach. 

The holidays have never felt more alive with the full house. Ethan even became a Christmas and Valentines Day lover. 

Becca loved watching him change over the years. Every new first they celebrated with each child, every one of their kids passions, Ethan would adopt them all and make it his mission to be a connoisseur of every facet.

Dakota sat her parents down one day with a serious topic of conversation: “Mommy, Daddy. I’m going to be a fashion designer.” “Will you?”  “Yes. And I need to dress myself.” “As long as it’s weather appropriate, consider it done.”  “And we need to get supplies.” 

The conversation went on for 15 minutes with Ethan and Becca asking questions and Dakota making demands. Once they’ve settled on an agreement on how to make their daughter’s dream happen, Ethan retired to his office. He taught himself the basics of sewing.     

Even with all the struggles of raising three children in a suburb of Boston while balancing very demanding medical careers, Ethan and Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. The life they carved out of all their complications was worth it.  

All of this was inevitable. 

And they wouldn’t take a moment for granted.    

________________________________________

Um... this became bigger than intended... If you made it this far, thank you ♥

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble e @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart t @casey-v @ramseyandrys @peaceinmidstofchaos

[velvetthunder1999]

All the time on Earth

Part 31 - Lonely

Summary: Even though you and George are on good terms, you feel deserted and lonely. When you sneak out with Fred to get away for a bit, George is mad at you for risking your life

Warnings: Angst, swearing(?)

(Also, I’m sorry but I’ve decided not to tag people - it’s just too much work. Feel free to follow me; I only post this story and you’ll see every time a new part comes up :)  )

Word count: 5.5K

George Weasley x Reader // Fred Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist

It had been three weeks since George had walked out the door into the rain. For a good four days you had hoped that he’d come back and you could settle everything. But he hadn’t shown up. According to Bill, the twins were fine, their shop was always crowded with customers and they seemed relatively okay.

However, you couldn’t help but suffer. You kept replaying the whole awful conversation in your head, cringing and feeling ashamed. You knew you had rightfully become angry; George’s decision was just as insane as they come. But on the other hand, you also knew that you had made a mistake when you had started shouting at him. Both of you had been wrong, and now both of you were suffering because of it. Well… you hoped it wasn’t only you who had been suffering for the past few weeks.

You had to wait twenty nine days to hear the familiar pop again. You had been mindlessly flipping the pages of a book that you had read three times now, when the sound of someone apparating came from the garden. You looked at the clock; it was too early for Bill and Fleur to come home. You stood up so suddenly your chair almost fell over. You drew your wand and raised it so that it was pointing at the door.

Someone knocked. Then a voice, a voice that you had thought you’d never hear again spoke.

“It’s me. My name’s George Weasley, you call me ginger boy when you want to be cheeky. I call you witty, because you always have to have a comeback to whatever I say and because you’re never afraid to tell me when I’m acting like a true git —”

You opened the door and George fell silent at once. He looked skinnier than the last time you had seen him, and his hair was a bit longer as well. He was looking at you, his face stuck in an uncertain expression, his eyes in doubt.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

The two of you were staring at each other, not sure what to say. Then George casted down his eyes and cleared his throat.

“Can I… can I come in?”

“Sure,” you said and stepped to the side. As he walked past you, you could feel the scent of the shop on him. Fireworks. Your stomach clenched and you closed the door.

“I…,” he started, forcing himself to look into your eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”

“Why?” you asked, maybe a bit more coolly than you had intended. “Because you might be followed?”

“No,” George shook his head. “Because I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

“Oh. I see.”

Both of you fell silent again. You didn’t know what to say, where to start. You opened your mouth and then closed it. You were staring at your own two feet for at least a minute before you gathered enough strength to look up again.

“George —”

“Y/N —”

You cut each other off and met each other’s eyes again. You couldn’t look at him for long; his gaze was burning an aching hole in your soul. He looked lost, scared, uncertain; he looked like an abandoned child. He suddenly seemed much younger than he actually was.

You tore your eyes away from his face and saw his hands by his side. He was constantly making his fingers into a fist then releasing them again, clearly drawn by anxiety. You sighed. You were sure that in this moment both of you felt the same way.

He had hurt you. Yes. But you had hurt him just the same. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were… you wanted him to know that you had run after him into the rain… that you were still insanely in love with him and that fighting was stupid… You wanted to let him know that he was your everything and not having him around had driven you mad… and you just wanted him to know how much you’d missed him. But words seemed to fail you. You didn’t know how to say all those things… Not when you still had that miserable argument between you… Not when he had said he didn’t want to visit you in the future.

But you didn’t want to fight anymore.

You stepped forward, your eyes still fixed on his nervous hands. Slowly, very slowly you reached out, touching his fist, gently asking his fingers to loosen the fist and to hold onto you instead. And they did. With a sudden breath of air his hand welcomed yours and finally you were strong enough to look into his eyes again.

“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you whispered. He nodded.

“Me neither, I’m…” he was desperately looking for the words. “Witty, I didn’t mean what I  said —”

“I know,” you said reassuringly. “Me neither.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his head hanging low. “Really, I was… I was a horrible, disgusting prat, who —”

You stood on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck. Even though the last couple of weeks were rough, you didn’t want to hear him bashing himself.

“Let’s just… Let’s just figure out something, okay?” you said while hugging him. When he put his arms around you as well, the warmth left by his touch was coursing through your body like electricity. It warmed you. “Because I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” his voice cracked. You hugged him tighter. “These weeks without you… It was absolutely dreadful. Even more when I realized that it happened because of me.”

“That’s not entirely true…”

“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “You were right… about the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”

“Then let’s come up with something,” you said as you let him go, but stayed close while looking deeply into his eyes. “Let’s have a plan, let’s figure out a schedule… Anything. Anything is better than not having you around.”

He didn’t answer at once. You saw doubt on his face. Before he could had come up with anything, you cupped his cheeks and talked in a very gentle manner.

“Love… You saw how these three weeks were… Dreadful as you said. It’s clear that… we need each other. I need you…”

“And I need you, too, but it’s dangerous —”

“I know, love,” you said, still watching your tender tone. “But I think we’ve reached a point where we simply have no other option but to accept the risk. Because this… this isn’t a life. What you’re suggesting is going to kill us both.”

“I can’t loose you,” he said miserably. “If the risk is too high, I cannot…”

“So we’ll make it as low as possible. Seeing you once a month is still better than not seeing you at all.”

“Once a month?” he said. “That’s…”

“Awful, yes. It’s…” you were only now realizing what it meant. “It’s horrible, but… would you be okay with that?”

You stroke his jaw with your finger. He took his time, thinking.

“Or even Fred can come and visit me once in a while,” you added with a weak smile. “I miss him as well.”

George chuckled. You took it as a good sign.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be delighted.”

“So is that a yes?” you asked carefully. George kissed your temple and murmured against your skin.

“Yes. Once a month.”

Once a month. Even though it was more than nothing, your smile still wasn’t completely honest. When George left that afternoon, the promise that you’d only see him four weeks later made you want to burst into tears again.

——

And so, weeks had passed. The schedule seemed to be working, it didn’t draw much attention and George said the members of the Ministry and the Death Eaters (which were basically the same thing at this point) did not seem suspicious. If anything, it made you at ease at least.

Every two weeks one of the twins showed up to spend one hour with you, keeping you company, telling you everything that had been happening in the world. And every time they left, they took a piece of you with them, eventually making you feel deserted and empty. You spent almost all your time in your room, barely going outside, not seeing the point since you’d already knew the garden and the small segment of the beach inside the protective charms like the back of your hand.

When you were not listening to the radio listing all the names of people who had disappeared or died, you tried to sleep. Your idea was that if you woke up late and went to bed early, two weeks would pass incredibly fast. However, since you were doing nothing other than worrying, mostly you just lay awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to avoid your anxious and miserable thoughts. Oftentimes you grabbed your crystal necklace, letting George know that you were thinking about him; then, you waited to see the crystal turning its color, giving you small doses of relief that George was okay, too, and he didn’t forget you, regardless of what your damaged brain suggested.

Then the weather started to change; the wind was cooler, the days were shorter. December had arrived, marking the beginning of the fifth month that you had spent in hiding. You could count on one hand how many times you’d seen George. By this time you felt both physically and mentally sick. You had nothing to look forward to. Only one hour from George and one hour from Fred per month.

Today was one of those hours when you didn’t feel totally depressed, and it was only due to the fact that Fred was sitting at the table next to you, cutting up a blueberry pie that Mrs Weasley had made. He was rather cheerfully talking about something and nodged you with his elbow when you weren’t paying attention for the second time now.

“Oi!” he said, shoving pie into his mouth. “I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry,” you said and started picking your pie with your fork. You wanted to eat it but on the other hand you knew your nervous-all-the-time stomach couldn’t handle it.

“What’s gotten into you?” asked Fred, eyebrows raised.

“Am I a burden?”

The question burst out of you before you could had stopped yourself. Fred looked taken aback.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“I just… Never mind.”

“Hey…” he gently put his hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure, that’s why you just asked me if you’re a burden.”

“I meant…” you sighed and put down your fork. “I know I’m not good company. Nothing has happened to me in the last five months.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry if this obligatory visiting is starting to annoy you.”

“Merlin, Y/N, something’s really gone wrong in your head,” he said in disgust. “You really think I don’t like to see you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Blimey. Did you ask my brother the same thing?”

“No.” “Is it just me, then? Do you think I’m not your friend anymore?”


“It’s not that!” you snapped.

“Then what?”

“I… Forget it.”

“Tell me.”

He was leaning quite close, completely ignoring his pie before him. There was something in his eyes that let you know that he won’t judge you. You turned your head away, picking at your pie while you talked.

“It’s really hard, you know. I know that I’m lucky, and I’m grateful, but… everything is hell out there and I just really wish… I really wish I could do something. Help.”

“You’re helping by staying safe,” said Fred seriously. “By staying alive. I know it’s hard, staying here. I’d gone crazy, believe me. Not leaving the bloody house for months. I’m really proud of you.”

You snorted.

“For what, may I ask?”

“For holding on,” said Fred with a shrug.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Have you told George this?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

You mumbled something about not wanting to bother him. Fred frowned.

“Well, that’s just stupid. Why would you bother him?”

“I’d rather just enjoy the time he spends here.”

“Y/N…”

“So how’s the shop?” you asked. You didn’t want to talk about your issues anymore and Fred, after staring at you in doubt for a few seconds, let you change the topic.

“Yeah, the shop’s good. Lot of customers. We’re quite busy.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is. We’re working on some new stuff, they’re quite amazing, you’ll see.”

“I wish I could see it. Or just see the shop again. Or just go for a walk, really.”

“Well, take your coat, Y/N, I’m taking you out,” said Fred jokingly. You chuckled.

“Can you imagine? Would be kinda crazy.”

“Yeah,” Fred smiled to himself. “Crazy.”

You locked eyes, staring in silence. You knew you were thinking the same thing.

“It… It would be crazy, though… wouldn’t it?” you said, asking for reassurance.

Fred tilted his head from left to right, thinking to himself.

“Yeah… It would. Unless…”

“It wouldn’t.”

“It’s kinda dangerous though…”

“Yeah, we shouldn’t…”

“Or should we?”

“Well…” you started carefully. “I mean if… we’re careful and everything… disguise ourselves, maybe…”

“Stay only for a little while,” nodded Fred. “Find a nice place…”

“A muggle town, perhaps? Where no one knows us?”

“Yes… Yes I think…”

“That should be fine.”

You were staring at each other again. You dared only to whisper.

“Are you serious?”

“Y/N… take your coat.”

You jumped up from your seat with a sudden wave of excitement. You were going out. You were leaving the house! You were going to see something else than these walls and the ocean!

“We need to get back before Bill and Fleur do.”

“Yes,” agreed Fred. Then he drew out his wand. “Now, come here.”

He examined you from head to toe, then indicated at your face.

“Would you like your eyecolor to change? Or your hair?”

“Should we do both?” you asked. “And I think we should change you as well.”

Ten minutes later you stepped out of the house as someone unrecognisable. Your hair was pink as Tonks’s, your eyes a strange color of purple. You had told Fred about muggle contact lenses, he was only willing to change your eyes to an extreme extend after that. You were wearing a big puffy jacket with green boots, and a scarf that said “Oxford University”.

“I have never heard of this place,” said Fred.

“Well then, great. We’re supposed to be muggles, right?”

He was now blonde, his brown eyes changed to blue. It felt weird to look at him, but the way he talked to you made it obvious that he was still Fred.

“Well, then, woman,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready?”

You looked at the ground as if you could see the invisible border. Your insides were shaking with excitement. You took Fred’s hand and closed your eyes.

“I’m ready.”

He took one step, pulling you with him. Your boots barely touched the ground when you felt yourself twisting in the air, having your lungs begging for air, then it was over and you felt yourself standing on concrete instead of sand. You opened your eyes.

“Where are we?”

You were standing in a dark alleyway between the back of two shops. On your right were some dustbins, on your left lay the street, illuminated by the setting sun.

“It’s a muggle town, er, village more like. I forgot the name but I remember dad bringing us here once when we were little. He wanted to show us the muggles.”

“I see.”

“Ready?”

“Sure,” you said but you couldn’t move. It was so surreal. It was so exciting and nerve-racking. You couldn’t believe it. Fred chuckled, smirking.

“Come.”

He grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the main street. When you stepped onto the sidewalk, your mouth opened to the sight. The cars were bathing in the orange light of the sunset, a man and a woman were riding a bycicle on the icy road, laughing. Shops were all around the place, offering tea, coffee, bagels and scones. A nice little sidewalk with stairs led to a small lake across the road. Children were skating on its surface.

“You like it?” asked Fred, still grinning. His breath was like smoke in the cold December air.

“I love it. Thank you.”

“No problem, love.”

He bought two hot teas with honey, then you two started walking towards the lake.

“How come you have muggle money on you?”

“You never know when you’ll need it,” shrugged Fred.

You made your way down the stairs, now walking in the snow, sipping the tea. You found an empty bench not far from the lake, where the sun still warmed your faces but you could also keep your distance from the muggles.

“What are they doing?” asked Fred, indicating at the children on the ice.

“Skating,” you said. “You don’t know about skating?”

“Well, look at them,” he said with a funny tone. “Seems useless to me.”

You giggled.

“Just because it’s not quidditch…”

“It doesn’t make any sense —”

“It doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining!” you laughed. Fred frowned in mock outrage.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes, yes I am,” you rolled your eyes jokingly. “Wizards.”

He didn’t say anything but from the corner of your eyes you saw him smiling to himself and shaking his head. He then turned back towards the children. You took a sip from your tea.

“How does it feel being a blonde?” you asked.

“It felt normal until you brought it up.”

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

“Does it look strange to you?”

You looked at him. You squinted.

“It’s your eyes, more like. Not what I’m used to.”

“I’m still handsome I hope,” he smirked. You laughed.

“Everyone can dream.”

“You’re naughty,” he said. “I know I’m not as handsome as my brother.”

“Yeah?” you asked, quite surprised at his statement. Then he raised his head, closing his eyes with satisfaction.

“Now that I’m blonde, I’m more handsome.”

“Yeah, you are,” you said, then covered your mouth. Fred’s eyes burst wide open.

“Did you just —”

“No!” you squeeked. Fred nodded vigorously.

“Yes, you did! You said it!”

“No, I didn’t! I didn’t mean it like that!” you tried to save yourself but the damage was done. Fred laughed joyfully.

“Well, well, dear Y/N, the day finally arrived…”

“Oh, shut up…”

“The day when you admit the truth…”

“Oh, God,” you chuckled painfully.

“Oi, Y/N, what would George say to this?”

“Oh, shut up, you,” you said between laughs and hit him playfully on his shoulder. “You’re never gonna let me forget this, are you?”

“Never,” he said, beaming. “I’ll tell it to my grandchildren one day, let them carry on the story of this fine day, let the future know…”

“Oh, my God, just stay quiet now,” you laughed.

The sun was hanging low now, and the air was getting even colder than before. You’d drunk your last sips of tea and now you were playing with the paper cup, folding it in your hands. Fred was watching the children with interest, every now and then a small smile appeared on his lips whenever a kid did something funny. When the last beam of orange sunlight disappeared behind the hill, and the kids started to leave, Fred looked at you with a soft expression.

“I reckon it’s time to go.”

“I know,” you said. You’d been preparing for this moment the minute you two had sat down here.

“We can come again sometime,” he said gently, seeing your sorrowful face.

“When I’ll see you in a month?” you asked miserably. You turned your head away. You didn’t want to see his pitiful expression.

He didn’t say anything. Still staring at the lake, he put one arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a gentle hug. You let out a shaky sigh.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you whispered into the silence.

“I know.”

You raised your head a little, looking at him. He turned to you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Thank you, Fred.”

“You’re welcome.”

His lips curled into a sweet smile and even though he was blonde, even though he had blue eyes, you recognised him under his disguise. You recognised his mannerisms, the way he looked at you, the way he talked to you, the way he hugged you. All of it made you feel really melancholic.

“Take me back, please,” you said, accepting that there was simply no other way.

You stood up from the bench and walked back to the street, passed the shops and got back to the alleyway from where you started off. You offered your hand to Fred, but he refused to take it. Instead, he placed his hands on both side of your face.

“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N, all right? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

Seeing how intense he was, you nodded. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad.

“Okay,” you said, and offered your hand once again. This time he took it and you felt the familiar twisting and turning again.

You felt the salty air first, but you refused to look around just yet. Behind your closed eyelids you saw the village in the orange light, and the lake with the children. You wanted to hold on to it for as long as you could.

“Oh… Shit.”

Hearing Fred’s tense voice made you open your eyes. Every inch of your body winced in fear. In the backyard of the house stood George. He was facing you, staring, waiting.

“Oh, no,” you said. You couldn’t even imagine the scolding you were about to get. “Oh, shit.”

“It’s okay,” said Fred and gently grabbed your shoulder. “Come inside the charms.”

You stepped inside, keep staring at George in the garden. He didn’t move an inch. Fred saw your anxious face and leaned closer.

“I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll…”

“No,” you shook your head. “It’s… I’ll do it.”

You started walking, nervously biting your tongue. As you got closer, you could make out George’s expression. His face was pure rage and he was panting. You had never seen him this angry.

When you were only a few feet away, Fred stepped forward.

“George, before you start —”

“Shut up,” answered George, not taking his eyes off you. His voice was ice cold. Fred frowned; he didn’t let it end here.

“Now, listen —”

“I said,” George’s voice was shaking from the restrained anger. “Shut up.”

“It’s okay,” you said hastily, recognising that nothing could be done. You turned to Fred. “Go. Go home.”

“What are you —”

“It’s okay, Fred,” you said. “Really. Just go.”

Fred looked quite uncertain. He was staring for a few seconds, then he seemed to accept your request. He turned to George again.

“Don’t be so hard on her.”

“Leave.”

Fred fell silent, but you could see that he was about to say some nasty things to his brother. Instead, he waved his wand, turned back into his ginger self and walked towards the border. When he stepped outside, he disapparated at once. “What’s this?” said George in a cold tone, pointing at your purple hair. Your voice was really high as you answered.

“Disguise.”

“Disguise,” said George after you waved with your wand and turned back to your normal self. “You two planned this out nicely, didn’t you?”

“We…”

“How could you?” he yelled and suddenly the words got stuck in your throat. You wanted to disappear. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through?”

“I…”

“One hour! We agreed on one hour! What do you think was going through my head when Fred didn’t come back after one hour?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. His fury scared you.

“You don’t know? Try again!”

“That…” your eyes started to fill up with tears. “That something’s wrong.”

“Brilliant answer, Y/N. And how do you think I felt?”

“I d-don’t know.”

“Answer me.”

“W-worried.”

“Oh, worried is not even close. But let’s continue. When Fred didn’t appear another hour later, what do you think I thought?”

You shook your head in tears. George continued, cruelly.

“Nothing? Then how do think I felt when I came here to check if everything was all right but I saw the empty house instead?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. Tears started running down your face.

“I thought you were dead!” yelled George in rage. “I thought you were murdered! Would you like to be murdered, Y/N? Look at me! Would you?!”

“No,” you sobbed. George didn’t care.

“Then how could you be so irresponsible, Y/N? How? Do you have any idea —”

“We were c-careful!”

“I don’t give a damn!” he roared. “I would’ve never thought that you would be so careless, so imprudent to risk your own life! Don’t you listen to the radio? Don’t you hear how many muggleborns are killed? Or — do you think it’s just a game, do you think I come here only once a month as a joke?”

“No…”

“I was worried sick!”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same!” you shrieked. “The famous George Weasley would have just stayed put for months, wouldn’t he?”

“I am not the main target of the whole fucking Ministry!”

“That’s not my point!” you cried. Finally, you found your voice. “You have no idea what’s it like, being here, not doing anything all day but listening to the radio listing all the people who disappeared or died! You call that a life? I don’t have a life! I am locked up here, and yes, I should be grateful and I am grateful but I’m suffocating here! And I can’t feel anything but guilt, knowing that while others are on the run I still don’t appreciate enough to have my own room and sleep in a bed every night! You know what’s the worst? Everyone, every single person, you included keeps telling me to hold on until the end, until the good times come but… George, when will the good times come? For how long do I have to stay in hiding? A year? Five? Or ten? What kind of life is that? And I can’t do this anymore… I can’t… I don’t… I don’t know what to do and… I’m lonely, I’m so miserably lonely, I’ve seen you four times in five months and…. and… who says we’re gonna win? Who says it’s a guarantee that we’re gonna get our lives back? Who says You-Know-Who’s gonna loose and I won’t have to stay inside for ever?”

You sat down in the sand, trying to muffle your sobs. You couldn’t believe the amount of times you had cried in the past months. You felt yourself on the verge of insanity. Not because of the crying, no. Because of all the things that made you cry.

You felt a hand on your knee as George sat down, too. His voice was low.

“Why haven’t you told me this?”

“I’m telling you now,” you sniffled. You hid your face into your hands. George tightened his grip on your knee.

“You still shouldn’t have gone out today.”

“I know. Don’t punish F-Fred for it. It was my idea.”

“I’m gonna have a word with him, don’t you worry.”

“But it was —”

“I don’t care. Y/N…” he let out a groan. “Y/N, you have no idea what I felt when I saw the empty house. When I thought… I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

“I k-know.”

“Good. Now, listen to me because I’m only going to say this once. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Oh, shut it,” you sobbed. “You keep saying that but nothing’s all right.”

“I trust Harry.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s gonna succeed.”

“I trust that he will.”

He spoke with so much confidence, with so much strength that it made you feel even weaker than before. You knew you were only a shadow of your normal self and yes, while George was here, telling you all this, you could almost believe it. But he was going to leave as always, leaving you alone with your thoughts again only to appear a month later. You couldn’t handle it anymore. You needed him.

“Stay,” you said suddenly, barely louder than a whisper.

“What was that?”

Your lip trembled as you looked him in the eye.

“Please stay.”

“Y/N…” suddenly his face changed; he looked extremely remorseful. “You know I need to go back.”

“Please…” you begged, tears running down on your cheeks again. “I’m begging you.”

“Love…”

“Please…” you grabbed onto his jacket. You knew you looked absolutely pathetic. You didn’t care. “Just for tonight. Please.”

He gently wiped your face. His touch made you shiver.

“Y/N, I… I can’t…”

“Don’t…” you sobbed. “Don’t leave me alone…”

He was fighting an internal battle. You took his hand, desperately pleading.

“Please… Please, George…”

He took his time examining your face, brushing a piece of hair out of the way, then cupping your cheeks. His touch was so warm, and you missed it so much… Then he kissed you, gently and carefully and you knew that this was goodbye, that this was his way of letting you go without words…

“I need to go home,” he said and you cried. “But… But I’ll come back.”

“W-what?” you said, not believing your ears.

“I’ll come back tonight, okay? But I need to go home first. Talk to Fred, arrange a few things…”

“No,” you started shaking your head. “No, you… you’ll promise but you won’t come back…”

“I promise you I’ll come back,” he said, looking deeply in your eyes.

“No…”

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t answer. You shook your head in despair.

“Do you trust me?” he said again, more firmly.

You wanted to. You wanted to trust him so bad.

“Yes,” you lied.

“Trust me,” he said with another soft kiss. “Only tonight, okay? This is an exception.”

“Sure,” you mumbled. It didn’t matter. You knew he wouldn’t come.

“Okay,” he said and he stood up. He helped you up, too. “Go back into the house, all right? Don’t leave, you understand me?”

“Yes,” you said, barely audible. He cupped your cheeks again.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said again.

“Good. Now go.”

You kissed him goodbye, stretching the moment for as long as you could. Then you turned away without meeting his eyes again, and wiping yours, you walked into the house. You could hear the sound of disapparation and you knew that he was gone.

And you waited. Because even though you knew he wasn’t coming back, even though you knew that he had promised only to make you calm down, you couldn’t help but hope.

When Bill and Fleur came home and you had dinner, you stayed awfully quiet. You felt sick and tired, you were exhausted and drained. More than once you caught yourself staring out of one of the windows of the house with tears in your eyes. Finally, around nine o’clock you couldn’t take it anymore and went to bed.

And you waited. Constantly wiping your wet cheeks you waited. Being disappointed after every passing minute you waited. Every now and then you looked at your necklace but it wasn’t glowing. George wasn’t thinking about you. He wasn’t coming back.

Around one in the morning you felt the tiredness taking over your body; you could barely keep your eyes open. It was really hard to accept the truth. You kept dazing off and jerking awake again, just to realize that you were alone, maybe more alone than you had ever been. And this feeling travelled through your body, poisoning every inch of you, and you were hurting, more than you had ever been hurt before.

But then, something happened. You were on the verge of sleeping again, when you heard footsteps on the corridor outside your room. You didn’t dare to move. It was Bill. You were sure. Maybe it was morning already and they headed for work again.

Your door creaked. You raised your head at once and saw a tall, ginger figure entering the room. In the dark, only with the moon shining through your window, he looked like a heavenly presence. You weren’t even sure if he was real or you were dreaming already. But then you decided that you didn’t even care.

He moved. He kicked off his shoes, he took off his jacket. He moved the covers and he climbed into bed next to you. His firework scent filled the room, embracing you, filling up the hole in your soul. He wrapped his arms around you as you moved to rest your head on his chest. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Everything seemed to fall into place. You felt his fingers in your hair, gently brushing your face. And after four months of lonely nights you finally heard him whisper again:

“Sweet dreams.”

[pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 3

I’m back at uni so writing this is comforting. I really hope you like this chapter - anyone who’s following this.

‘Plot’ : reader lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers slow burnnnn

Warnings: none 🌚 yetttt ... except swearing as always

FUUCK. You’d been ill for a week and just as you thought you were getting better in time for Clint’s birthday party you took a turn. Most of Stark Tower had helped you out in some way, whether it was Bruce trying to find a cure using his 7phds or Thor keeping you company by thrashing you at Mario Kart. As you always did when you got sick you were grumpier and even more indecisive. On Monday you didn’t let anyone visit you and chose the company of your pillow and the fly that wouldn’t leave your window sill over seeing anyone.

Scott had visited you with Nat and Tony but only alone once and of course you had been asleep that day. When you woke up you weren’t being watched, which was a good sign you weren’t getting sleeping with the enemied, and you felt slightly less like shit. Your throat didn’t feel as assaulted by food so naturally you searched your room for snacks on all fours. Standing still made you feel hot and woozy, as if the floor was miles away but touching you at the same time. Your head felt screwed on upside down whenever you tried to stand so crawling was an okay second choice. The carpet was rough against your soft hands and knees.

As you crossed the floor on all fours with your eyes on the galaxy bar Thor had left, the door opened. ‘Ton-‘

‘There’s something I’m missing isn’t there? So this makes sense?’

Scott.

You didn’t need to look up to know what face he was pulling but you did.

‘Standing hurts.’ Was the explanation you gave (making sure to lay on your ‘I’m sick’ voice for effect and possibly sympathy). Everything was beginning to piss you off. Your skin felt so hot. Your brain filled with fast images of volcanoes, fires and anything else you were apparently as hot as. The carpets existence was irritating. Against your bare knees it was starting to feel like itchy shards of rock. You just wanted to go to sleep. Scott was blankly looking at you, probably regretting entering the room at all.

‘Hmm?’

You mumbled something incoherently. The urge to act like a grumpy child because you felt sick was incredibly strong. It was the driving force keeping your eyes open.

‘Not that your mumbling isn’t charm-‘

‘I said I want to sleep!’ Your interruption came out as more of a yell than you intended. Scott widened his eyes before laughing ‘Okay you big baby.’ On a normal day that wouldn’t have bothered you in the slightest but the needy, self pitying part of you was thriving off making itself sad and you did want to sleep. You really wanted to sleep. Scott walked backwards away from you until you realised you didn’t want him to leave. ‘Please don’t lea-‘

‘Ah! Y/N still feeling gross and generally... miserable and... well..not-good?’

Thor’s voice carried before you saw his enthusiast, slightly concerned, face pass Scott’s. Scott don’t leave. If you thought it loud enough maybe he’d stay. Wanda was so lucky, she could make people stop in their tracks to talk to them. Scott was sweet, he would have stayed if you had asked but you didn’t want to have to ask.

You decided it would be wise to stand up and you did. Slowly. If your grandmother could see you she’d think she was athletic kind of slow. It didn’t go unnoticed by your Asgardian friend. ‘Y/N?’ He frowned and closed your curtains making you sleepier. As you attempted to crawl into your bed which seemed to sigh at your return Thor asked if he should fetch Scott. Fetch Scott? Scott wasn’t a doctor?

‘Why?’

In a rare moment you and Thor were not on the same page and he knew it. The visible confusion in his face and the change from a powerful God like stance to an unsure one drove that home. He even tilted his head like the giant puppy he was and didn’t answer.

‘You can if you want but he left. I’m fine here, I’m gonna sleep.’

His face implied he knew something about you that you weren’t admitting to yourself. That wouldn’t fucking fly. ‘Thor,’ your voice became impatient as you shuffled under the covers. ‘If you’re not gonna bring me chocolate can I... jus-I-‘ but just like Scott he left. It was fine. You could finally try and lucid dream and get some rest.

You closed your eyes, despite it being 4pm, but of course trying to sleep was a criminal offence in Stark Tower because Scott’s hand was suddenly beside you. Even with your eyes almost fully closed you knew it was his hand. They were usually slightly dirty from repairing the Antman suits despite Hank’s advice against it (he wasn’t great at listening) and you’d wanted to hold them so many times you’d lost count.

You weren’t even sure if you could speak but Scott didn’t. For once the two of you were silent. No snarky remarks and no magic tricks or childish behaviour that made Stephen roll his eyes. It felt odd. The light that was managing to escape through the edges of the curtains barely reached Scott’s face. What you could see was the man on his knees beside your bed like you were in a hospital bed. As the thought was born you couldn’t help but wonder if Scott would be the person you’d want if something awful happened to you? Tony would take it personally, Thor would be hurt but he was becoming your favourite person somehow.

Did he expect you to speak? More than enough time had passed for him to comfortably speak but he stayed silent with you. It felt like something you shouldn’t discuss with anyone including Scott. It felt like the two of you were sitting in a sensory deprivation tank in the dark and your sleepiness was overwhelming. Your breathing became heavier as your eyes closed you heard Scott finally speak.

‘Goodnight Y/N.’

When you woke up you knew he’d be gone. It would be inappropriate for him to stay. Out of everyone in Stark Tower the closest you’d gotten to sleeping beside someone was with a very drunk and sad Wanda. But you’d really wanted him to stay. The light entered your window just as you let your brain become infected by thoughts about what that long silence could have meant? Had he wanted to grab your hand? You hated how high school and desperate he had unknowingly made you become. You needed to get your mind on other things.

After a week of sleeping for far too long and being made fun of by Tony and Clint your - whatever it was you were a medical mystery - had cleared up. Your master plan was to spend more time with the one person in Stark Tower who brought out your mature side. Who was an excellent distraction from torturing yourself over every Scott interaction you had.

‘Peter don’t chew with your fucking mouth open. It’s gross.’

You watched in disgust as Parker made every vile mouth noise a human could possibly make. In fact he’d probably surpassed a world record. Scott stopped buttering his toast just to gasp in ‘horror.’

‘Y/N! You can’t swear at the kid. It’s like swearing at a little bird!’

Stephen scoffed. The ‘sexy uptight magician’ ,as Tony had lovingly dubbed, had no patience for most conversations. Especially ones that didn’t involve him or how excellent he was at everything.

‘All I did was eat toast!’ The baby retorted and you almost felt bad for him. ‘You’re so mean.’

‘The fact that you two are only 2 years apart is shocking.’ You tried not to let Scott’s comment get to you but you felt smugger by the second.

‘Frightening.’ Tony added before smiling at Peter, like exhausted fathers do at their complaining kids. You smirked in Peters direction who scowled at you as if to say you’re not as grown up as you think you are. You finished your toast, listened to Tony and Stephen bicker effortlessly and watched Scott. He always ate while watching people like he was David Attenborough or someone in a documentary. Instead of ‘Blue Planet’ the title would be ‘Superhero’s and why you shouldn’t live with them’. He always ate stood up. He always leaned back onto the kitchen top and made it look casual instead of an effort to look sexy (which you suspected it was). He always left some food on his plate because it went cold while he was distracted and he often caught your eye when someone was being entertaining.

‘Atleast I know how to dress myself...Stark.’

You hadn’t been paying attention to their petty argument but Scott’s eyes locked onto yours. Amused and then a look of realisation hit him. ‘Y/N I haven’t even asked how you are!’ He crossed the kitchen towards you and Stephen and Tony shut up.

‘I’m fine.’ You laughed and raised your eyebrows at Tony, who was watching you and Scott like a snake. He was standing behind you, the scent of overheated electric wires and warmth reaching you. ‘Stopped sleeping for 13 hours,’ if no one played their cards right you would start rambling about your ‘health’ for an hour just to fill the quiet. Peter was distracted on his phone.

Without any hesitation Scott’s large but boiling hands reached your face. You leaned back so you were directly looking up at him. He was glowing with pride at his actions. ‘For fucks sake!’ You squirmed away from his hands. ‘Why are they boiling? Jeeeez!’ Of course he laughed at your overreaction but they really had felt like hot pokers on your already warm cheeks.

‘You didn’t need warming up?’ He asked quietly, sensing he was on thin ice, but knowing the answer. Tony laughed but Stephen seemed deep in thought and somewhere else. You knew how that felt.

‘You’re worse than Tony.’

With every ‘angry’ remark at Scott you felt yourself making everything safer. It was easy to argue with him like he was Tony irritating you or even like Peter. That silence the week before had not been safe. Sitting with him on the roof hadn’t been safe either.

Despite your anger, that maybe he just saw right through as the opposite, Scott stayed stood behind you. His fingers started to gently run through your hair and a loud exhale of breath left your chest. You wanted to sink into his touch like a needy cat. No one ever played with your hair and it would have felt comforting if it had been anyone but having it be Scott..

Peter started rambling which brought Stephen out of his head and back down to Earth to interrupt him. Tony, however, had his eyes locked on Scott’s fingers playing with your hair. He gave you a knowing look and you mentally shunned him. You didn’t want him in your head right then and there.

‘How can you agree with him?!’

Scott seemed to be listening to Peter and Stephen’s discussion but you couldn’t care less. His hand brushed down your neck and settled onto your shoulder. You suddenly felt tiny, sat in Tony’s egotistical table chair with Scott looming behind you. ‘What do you think Y/N?’ Shit. Did he know you hadn’t been paying any attention? Was he testing what effect his touch had on you? What a thought.

‘I think...’ you suddenly sat up so Scott’s hands had nowhere to go. The last thing you wanted was Tony deciding to point out Scott’s touchy feely behaviour in front of everyone. ‘That I want to see if there’s any Ben and Jerries left.’ What a save.

‘There’s not.’ Peter shrugged returning your his phone. The little shit.

‘Here we go.’ Tony and Scott chuckled because they knew what was coming.

Taglist: @supraveng

[the-hopeless-haze]

Rebel Rebel (Part 1?)

Pairing: Janis Sarkisian/reader

A/N: okay this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I have no idea if I’m gonna continue this but fuck it???? Sorry for all the people who followed me for Barba lmao (I am continuing that don’t worry) but idk I just figured I may as well post this??? I have more of this written and I know how I wanted it to end but the middle is just not working and that’s why I never posted. But I just listened to Dead Girl Walking and I was reminded how gay I am for Barrett sooooo 😂 here you go? You’re welcome?? I haven’t edited this or looked at it since March so this may be a mess but... yeah

It was eighth grade, nearing the end of the year and you were anxious, unsure of why. Would your friends still be your friends next year? High school was going to be a lot different, you could just tell.

You saw your two best friends, Regina and Janis talking to each other down the hallway, where their lockers were, so you headed down there. Regina was probably inviting Janis to the end of year pool party she’d been planning. It was going to be so great to at least be with all your friends one last time, even if high school might take them away.

As you got within earshot, though, you realized Regina was being anything but nice.

“But are you a lesbian, Janis? I can’t have a lesbian at my pool party,” you hear Regina’s high pitched voice chirp. “You understand that, right?”

“Regina... I—“

“What? So are you?”

“Why are you asking me this? Did I do something?”

“I need to know. Don’t you get it? You not wanting to answer is pretty suspicious.”

“I am a space alien and I have four butts!” Janis yelled and ran down the hallway, leaving Regina to laugh. She makes eye contact with you. “Wow, I dodged a bullet with that, huh?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Don’t you get she doesn’t fit in? I mean, she likes girls, first of all. Second of all... she doesn’t get this stuff. Don’t you want to be popular in high school? I can get you there. We’re on top here. Everyone knows us. But this is child’s play.”

“But that was mean, Regina!” you said, your tone accusatory.

She shrugs her shoulders. “Sometimes you have to be mean to get what you want. And we’re not going to get it with her.”

“But she’s our friend!”

“Was...our friend. Don’t you care that she’s a dyke?”

You sighed, defeated. You wanted to tell her, no, you didn’t care... but you knew she’d stop being friends with you too. And her talk of being popular and being on top of the world... it sounded good.

You had many regrets about this day, and if everyone has a couple turning points in their lives, this was your first.

——

Regina was right, though. She got you everything you had thought you’d always wanted, but you never felt good enough and a lot of the time, you’re miserable. You’re constantly worried about your weight, whether you got enough instagram likes on your 1000th picture with the plastics, as you’d been dubbed, and whether or not you were dating one of the hottest guys at school.

Who would’ve thought the hottest guys were so dumb? You didn’t like any of them, really, and the second they asked to get in your pants, you dropped them like flies. So you’d gotten a rep for being somewhat of a prude, which Regina would sometimes scold you for.

Regina just got meaner as time went on, and sometimes you regretted not turning on her the first day she showed her true colors, when she’d sharpied all over Janis’s locker “SPACE DYKE” and even included it in the burn book she made over the summer once yearbooks came out. Regina would flirt with boys that she thought you or Gretchen liked, just to show you she could have them. Jokes on her, you didn’t like any of them, but you had to pretend or there wouldn’t be any gossip or any of the infighting that Regina seemed to love. It was the beginning of sophomore year now, and it was beyond exhausting.

And oh, the parties that started now! You hated them, just an excuse for everyone to get shitfaced and girls to make dumb decisions that made boys so happy even though everyone was too drunk to really remember them the next day. Regina is hosting one tonight, and here you are, in your skimpy, skin tight blue dress that you had to buy with babysitting money— since there’s no way in hell your mother would buy that for you. A sophomore hosting a party was unheard of, but Regina has a huge house and her parents went on vacation for their anniversary. She’d use whatever she could to her advantage.

All she wanted was to climb that ladder, and she didn’t care who got hurt in the way.

But here you were, dancing with the hockey player you were dating now... or was it football? You didn’t even care. You vaguely remembered his name was Mike and you told him you needed to go to the bathroom. You headed to Regina’s room and locked the door, thankful you got there early enough that there was no one trying to hookup.

You got lost in your phone for a while, and you found Janis’s Instagram profile. It was private, but there was her profile picture. She was so pretty now, not the awkward girl who tried to dye her hair blonde and wear pink just to fit in. She wore dark makeup in the picture and she wasn’t looking at the camera, and it fit her so much better. Even her hair, which she had let just grow out from the blonde she’d dyed it, looked great. You nearly send a follow request and then think better of it.

You remembered having hobbies, painting at Janis’s house until your hands were covered in paint, and you remember laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

Sometimes Regina was a good friend. Sometimes she was a great friend. She was there for you when your grandmother died over that first summer without Janis, and she held you while you cried... and you cried a lot. But sometimes she was mean to even you and it was exhausting. You know she cares about you, but you know she’d turn on you, too, if you gave her what she deemed enough reason to.

You can’t remember laughing like you used to in a long time. You can’t remember being passionate about anything for a while, either. The only time was in your classes, really, you loved chemistry but you had to keep it under wraps because if it got out you were too nerdy... well, that’s social suicide.

The thing about being a plastic was that you couldn’t be anything or do anything too extreme. You had to just be a shell of human being, a shell of a hot girl, just to appease everyone. The money you spent, or had your parents spend, on your bleach blonde hair and your makeup and your hot clothes and your nails and your purses and your shoes... and the hours you spent at the salon and the mall with Regina and Gretchen and Karen, it was completely exhausting. And then you weren’t allowed to have a personality outside of all of this, it was just, clothes! Makeup! Shoes! Boys! Parties! Popularity!

All things girls were supposed to care about, but really, there was no girl left in you to care anymore. You slip off your heels and lie down on the bed, remembering Regina holding you. That felt nice, her slender arms around you, her chin against your shoulder, and she smelled so good, like a hair salon and vanilla and cinnamon and... you just wanted to cry. Why couldn’t she be like that all the time?

The pillows smell like her shampoo and you inch up to place your head on them, ready to fall asleep, the bass from the speakers downstairs lulling you.

You awake twenty minutes later with your phone blowing up from Regina. “Where’d you go? Party’s not fun without you 😘” her most recent text said. Your eyes burn from the makeup you fell asleep in and you blink a few times before replying, telling her you were in her room and not feeling well.

“Bummer! I’ll be up in a few xo” she texts back.

You answer the door when she knocks, and you smile when she hugs you immediately. “(Y/n)! I’m sorry you’re sick! Did you drink something Kevin made? Because don’t.”

“No... I just... I don’t know. I’m sick of the parties,” you grumble as you pull away from the hug and sit back on the bed. She follows you, her pink dress clinging to her every curve, riding up a little as she sits down.

“Why?” She laughs. “This is what high school is about! You’ve gotta have fun. You’re only hot once.”

“But this... it’s not fun to me. It’s not fun to get wasted and have guys try and get in my pants and watch girls throw up.”

“But we can get everything we want. It’s what I always told you,” she says, rubbing your back, but her voice is hollow.

“I don’t have everything I want! I don’t even know what I want anymore, but I’m not happy. Are you? What are you getting out of this because I don’t understand.”

“Respect. Love. Fear. It’s all I ever wanted, really,” Regina says. “People either love me or hate me but they think about me. They think about you, too. Everyone who’s a sophomore knows us, and most of the upperclassmen do too. Doesn’t it feel good?”

You sigh. “I guess, sometimes, it does. But most of the time it doesn’t! I don’t like it, feeling like I have to do everything perfectly because everyone’s watching. And it’s only going to get worse because next year we’re juniors...”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not entirely happy either. I don’t like Jack.”

“Then why are you dating him?”

“Because. Free popularity and all I gotta do is be seen with him.”

“But... doesn’t he ask for more?”

She laughs. “Sure he does! But you have to be strategic with that.”

“Right..." you say, slightly sarcastically. You didn't really know what she meant.

Regina places a hand on your knee. “I know it’s been hard for you. But it’s going to be okay.”

“Do you wanna... just lie for a minute? I know you have to go back to the party—“

“No, I can stay for you,” she says, smiling softly. There was the Regina you wanted to be friends with all the time.

You both lean back on the bed, and her arms wrap around you tightly, her chin nestling on your shoulder. Here, you were happy.

“It’s all worth it, all the fighting to just get to the top to sit like this with you,” she says quietly. “We could never be made fun of for this because we can’t be touched.”

“What?”

“Don’t you get it? I... I don’t know how to say it. Just... trust me, okay?” You nod, not sure what she meant, but then she’s leaning over and turning your cheek toward her and she’s kissing you.

Regina George is kissing you.

It’s a quick peck, probably because she’s not sure how you’d react but it’s still the best kiss you’d ever had in your life. You don’t make any rational thoughts in the next few moments and you’re not sure if she kisses you again or you pull her back in, but all of a sudden she’s on top of you and kissing you harder, and slowly, the confusion sets in.

It almost feels too good to stop, but eventually your brain starts working again. “Regina... I... are you okay?” you ask as you pull away. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No. I wouldn’t get drunk at my own party, what kind of slut does that? No, (y/n)... I want you. Didn’t that feel good?”

“Yes... but... you kicked Janis out of the friend group for being a lesbian. Why would you do that if you were gay? You always said she had a crush on you. Why would that have been such a bad thing?”

Regina sighs and flops over to the other side of the bed. “I’m not gay. I mean. I don’t know. I definitely didn’t know back then but I knew Janis just didn’t fit in even if we took away all of the gay stuff. But if we talk about the gay stuff... then yeah. I was confused. Super confused. I didn’t know if I liked you or her and I knew I wasn’t supposed to like either of you. And then I saw the two of you together and you just... you had something I didn’t have, just genuine friendship, and maybe she had a crush on you. Either way I was jealous. And I had to get the two of you apart.”

“Regina... that’s awful,” you say.

“But then I tried to be nice to you! I just wanted to be friends. I mean, I didn’t think I wanted to sleep with you or anything. I just wanted to be friends. Karen and Gretchen are just stupid and I just don’t feel comfortable enough around them to be like this. To let go of the persona.”

“You haven’t been entirely nice to me, Regina. Plus you started this off by ruining my friendship with Janis.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was so... angry whenever she was around. I just... we could pass for straight. No one would know.”

“Regina... I can’t,” you say, biting your lip and trying not to cry.

“Do you... do you not like girls? Is that it? I’m so stupid,” she says bitterly.

“No, Regina, it’s not that, I mean... I don’t know if I do. But it’s just... I’m tired of living like this and I don’t want to have this secret to worry about. All we need is for Gretchen to find out...”

“But she wouldn’t. And even if she did, do you think she’d cross me? Cross us?” She grips your wrists. “Please.”

You start crying and you know you’re not going to be able to stop. If the circumstances were different, you’d love to date her. You think. “Regina. I don’t want to be popular anymore, and for that to happen, we can’t be friends and we... can’t do this.”

“But—“

“If you want to drop it... then... if you want to give up being popular, being fake... then... then yes. Come out. Apologize to Janis. But I’m leaving, and I’m not leaving with baggage.”

She nods. “I... I understand. It’s okay. But I need this! They’d tear me apart if I came out and I can’t be... I can’t be outcasted. I’m exhausted, too, you know? But it’s... it’s better than the alternative. I hope you don’t come to realize that.”

“Regina...”

“No, it’s fine. I really get it,” she says, smiling. “But I’m going to have to spread a rumor, something so they don’t question why you left the group.”

“I know. Just say I’m gay. It’s your trick.”

She starts crying then, sobbing, really, and your heart lurches. You lean over to hug her.

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Yeah. I do. Because if I’m not it’ll turn around on me. My mom... she’d never understand! I just... okay. I understand we can’t... be seen together if this is really what you want. But can you at least text me once in a while? So I know how you’re doing?”

“Of course,” you say. You hug her one last time, and she kisses your cheek. You leave the house with your head held high but your heart sinks as you realize this is the last time you’ll step foot in there.

——

Regina is meaner without you. She is hostile to Gretchen and Karen, and you can tell if they adored her at all before, that’s completely gone and they follow her out of fear that she’d make their lives a living hell.

Maybe it’s because she did go on and start the rumor you were a lesbian. Fair enough. You weren’t entirely sure about that label yet but it gave you enough freedom to maneuver this without having lame guys hit on you anymore. That may have stopped anyway since you weren’t competing with Regina for hottest in the sophomore class... but at least it stopped.

“So... looks like she did the same thing to you after all, bitch,” a female voice says as you slam your locker shut. You jump and look to your left to see Janis there... and your breath catches. She was all the more beautiful in person.

“Yeah,” you frown. “But hey... are you mad at me?”

Janis scoffs. “Kinda. But I know you weren’t to blame now. I mean, she did the same thing to you! And I hate Regina more than I could ever hate anybody. Also Damien made me talk to you.”

“Damien?” you ask. “Wait... that guy in musical theater?”

“Yes...” Janis says slowly. “How do you know?”

“He’s really good! I’ve gone and seen every play. Like, and sat in the back. But I’ve gone.”

“Wow. That surprises me. But you did used to love that sort of thing in middle school.”

“I think I made you listen to the Mamma Mia soundtrack at least 80 times.”

“Oh yes. Wait... did you know that they’re putting it on this year? It's the spring musical."

“What?”

“Yeah. Maybe you could audition now that the plastics aren’t holding you back. You have like one day to make up your mind though. I do scenery. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Where do you sit at lunch?”

——

It was an awkward reintroduction and the words are never spoken. Is Janis gay? More importantly, are you gay, or bi, or something? Does wondering if another girl is gay make you gay?

But aside from the utter confusion of possibly having a crush on your ex best friend, you’re enjoying life as an ex-plastic. You’re auditioning for the role of Donna, but even if you don’t get it you’re going to get a part since so few people actually signed up to audition. You’re drawing again, too, even if you were never as good as Janis.

Regina hasn’t texted you yet, but you’re thankful. If she did too soon you’d get pulled back from the progress you’ve made. But you’re also worried about her, and your heart lurches whenever you make eye contact with her at lunch and she looks away quickly.

But this was how life was going to be from now on, so it was time to get used to it.

[innaminitus]

Mistletoe

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Request: Thomas Shelby smut where they’re friends, have to kiss under the mistletoe, and leads to admitting feelings and smut smut smut please!! (from @thomasfoockinshelby​)

Warnings: smut, smoking (it’s bad for your lungs, ok?) 

Word count: 1416

A/N: fun fact, everytime someone comments “i need a cold shower” under a smut fic, another smut fic is writing itself. that’s something no author wants you to know

You inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill you whole. Christmas party was loud and crowded, something that just wasn’t your cup of tea – you much more preferred calm meetings, with a handful of friends, not these big parties Tommy loved.

It was your fourth cigarette within an hour and you were worried that this excuse will soon cause you to feel sick, but it was the only thing allowing you to spend some time alone, in quiet and peace.

You wanted to stay home, but Tommy wanted you to be there for him. And you would do everything for him.

“Hiding again?” You heard soft voice and quickly turned from the view of what seemed like endless road. Tommy was leaning on the doorframe, picking a cigarette from the case. You just shrugged. There was no point in answering. “May I join you?”

“Always.” You tucked your fur coat tighter, to let him sit on the bench next to you.

He lit the cigarette and for one selfish second you let yourself watch him inhale, his chest rise and his cheeks hollow a bit. Just for one second, then you turned your gaze back to the dark road leading nowhere.

“You can just go to sleep, you know. Tell you’re feeling bad, or just disappear,” he said suddenly, piercing you with his sight. You dared to look at him. “It’s okay, I know you don’t like such parties.”

You shrugged again.

“You wanted me to be here, I would feel bad if I’d leave you now.”

“And I would feel bad to make you stick around, knowing very well how uneasy you are in a crowd.” He was looking at you in the manner that always made you feel like a child; with his chin pointed down and his eyebrows slightly raised, as if he was giving you a parental advice.

You played with the stump for a moment, stroking it with your thumb, considering what he just said. You would feel better if you just went to sleep, no doubt in that.

“Fine. But only because you said it so nicely.” With one last, deep inhale you finished the cigarette and stubbed it on the crystal ashtray. “I’ll just go to sleep.”

He got up first and offered you his hand. You took it with pleasure and got up as well, letting him drag you inside.

The smell of pine, gin and sweaty bodies hit your nostrils and made you feel dizzy. You stopped and sneezed suddenly, rubbing your nose. You heard Tommy’s laugh and sneezed again.

“Well, well, well! You have to kiss now!”

At first you didn’t realize the words were aimed at you, but when you raised your head you noticed everyone around staring at you.

Some odd faith made you stop directly under the mistletoe, hanging by the chandelier. You stared at it for a moment, then looked at Tommy, who was under it as well.

“Kiss, kiss! You don’t want bad luck, do you?” Ada was crossing her arms, looking at you with mischievous smile.

No, you didn’t want any more bad luck than you already had in your life, thank you very much. And even if you wanted to kiss Tommy it seemed somehow inappropriate. You were friends, and you made your peace with the fact that you would never be anything more than that. Kissing him would probably wake old feelings, and you weren’t sure if you wanted that.

“No, there is no need to–“ You tried to say, but his hand was already on your cheek, pulling you to his warm lips, tasting with alcohol and tobacco.

Well, it was more difficult for you than for him, apparently.

His lips parted slightly, and you were so close in sinking into that kiss, into giving him your whole self, into forgetting everything you promised yourself… But you pulled away, blushing.

“No bad luck for us, I guess,” you tried to joke miserably without looking at neither Tommy nor Ada, tripping over a bent carpet on your way to the stairs. You needed to bury yourself in sheets, right now. Or not the sheets, the ground would be better. You didn’t even need the coffin, just burying yourself alive seemed like a great idea.

To your horror Tommy followed you upstairs, right to the room you were sleeping in.

“Why did you act so–“

“Why did you kiss me?!” You stopped in the middle of the room and turned to him.

He blinked twice, raised one eyebrow and gesticulated with one hand. His wrist watch shone in the warm light.

“We were under the mistletoe,” he stated obvious. “That’s what you do when you’re under the mistletoe.”

“You can’t just…” You rubbed your forehead. “You can’t just walk around and kiss people, Tommy.”

“Why are you mad at me?”

You sighed and avoided his gaze. You were mad, because you wanted more than just that kiss, and that was something you thought was long gone.

“Because… Because you can’t just–“

“Walk around and kiss people, yes, you’ve said that already.” He walked closer, but you still didn’t look at him. “Ay,” he held your chin and forced you to look at him “listen, if I’ve offended you somehow, I’m sorry. But I won’t be sorry for kissing you.”

You just stared at him, not understanding a word.

What you’ve learned from working with the Shelby family was that actions spoke better than words, though.

You stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips onto his, shamelessly, selfishly. No time to think, no time to stop. All that mattered was his tongue sliding into your mouth, taking control over the situation, over your body, mind and your whole being.

He pushed you, forcing you to take a few steps back until you were locked between him and the wall. He pulled away, but just for a second, only to look into your blurred eyes and then smashed his lips onto yours once more. Heat has overtaken your body and soul, you wanted him, wanted him to rip your clothes off and just take you by this wall.

You let him roll your skirt, caress the skin of your thighs. Your sigh sounded in the room, silenced by his lips.

He wasn’t the one to hesitate. Your lacy panties were soon on the floor and his fingers dipped in your heat, pumping the moans out of your throat and causing your fingers to clench on his shoulders.

That wasn’t something you could just let him get away with. Your hands slid down his chest, right to the hard bulge in his expensive trousers, to the buttons. You freed his dripping member, half of you wanting to push it down your throat, the other half needing it to fill your pussy.

The other half won for both of you.

Tommy’s fingers left your core, his bog hands grabbed your thighs and forced you to jump. For a second or two you just breathed, hanging in the moment, in his icy blue eyes piercing you through with arousal and then, when the second has passed, he slid you down his length and every thought left your mind.

A moan echoed in your head.

He moved, thrusting once, then again and again until you were turned into a mess, consisting only of wild pleasure and Tommy’s name.

His cock was filling you deep and whole, his tongue danced with yours to the rhythm of your bodies, to the music of flesh smashing onto flesh, to the thoughts of how your friendship was definitely ruined.

You were firmly pressed onto the wall, his strong arms holding you in place, not allowing you to make one move. He fucked you like that, having whole control of what was happening, and you loved it, it was something you never suspected you’d need in your life. To have control taken away from you.

Your muscles clenched onto his member, he groaned in your lips, quickening the pace. With every move he was hitting just the right spot, rubbing just the right place, forcing a mind-shattering orgasm onto you, turning your moans to screams, then filling you with his load as he reached the top himself.

It took you a moment to realize what’s real and what’s not, and to your delight the fact that Tommy Shelby was lazily placing you back on the carpet and his cum was flowing down your tights, was marvellously real.

___

tag list:

💞: @taylorswiftloverforever13 @thomasfoockinshelby​ @kaylig02 @daddyloki @it-jinxed-us @themusingsofmany @randomlea @annakohanasworld @theunofficialduke @prismroot-starlight0 @deathofmissjackson @tricksterwinchester @villanellevi @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @forgoshsake-watchyourlanguage @grace-barnes-13 @starofthedawn

[connan-l]

Skeletal Doll

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationship: Michel Bollinger & Morgana, slight Michel/Giselle in the background

Summary: Michel had met her as a soulless skeleton, hated her as a witch, saved her as a girl — so of course he would do his possible to keep helping her even a thousand years later.

Content Warnings: Death mention and depiction of a corpse, slight trauma, vague allusions to child abuse and Michel and Morgana’s pasts.

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Michel and Morgana’s friendship means the world to me.

Takes place post-canon/Reincarnation, so spoilers for all the games.

______________________________________________________________

That place always smelled like death.

Whenever he would cross over the chapel, climb up those long, interminable stairs and open the door leading to the room on top of the tower, a suffocating odor of dust and mold and dried blood would flare up his nostrils.

To be honest, he didn’t really know what “death” smelt like, but if it had a smell it certainly would be this one.

This should be repelling — something that would make anyone run away with a grimace, but for some reason, it had the exact opposite on him. It drew him in.

The skeleton — the corpse — that rested there, immobile, at the bottom of the room had an unusual alluring attraction to it. An attraction that couldn’t help but makes him comes here regularly, once every few days.

He knew there was something deeply unhealthy about this routine he had created. Climbing a tower to spend time with a skeleton was deranged, creepy. Mad. In his darkest hours, he thought with irony that maybe his family had been right about his lack of sanity, after all.

Whenever he would go down the stairs and stir away from the tower, his stomach would turn and an urge to threw up would overwhelm him. He felt disgusting and unsightly. Taking comfort in the corpse of an abandoned mansion, how depraved was that?

And it was not a positive kind of comfort, either.

Even so, he still stepped forward towards the dead body. He stared at it in silence for a long time, then after some hesitation slowly sat next to it.

When he was a child, his mother would often gift him dolls. Pretty, girly little things, that were certainly made by skilled artisans and must’ve been quite expansive. He had played a bit with them when he was really young, but once he started growing up he began to actively hate them and to hid them away in their house, to his mother’s chagrin. He couldn’t help but think she seemed to love these dolls a lot more than he ever did.

At some point, he started to wonder what girls even found alluring to these — if he were to be honest, they looked more creepy than pretty to him. Those were miniature little girls who stared at you with glassy, vacant eyes without moving, without flinching no matter what happened to them. They were just like dead bodies.

He had came to hate dolls over the years, and yet, now almost an adult, he found himself playing with one, except the difference was that this one was a real dead body.

The skeleton wasn’t really all that different from a doll to him, he thought cynically. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing, wouldn’t flinch no matter what he would do to it. He played make believe with it, talking to it as if it could answer, embracing it as if it could understand his pain and loneliness.

He could pretend pitying the poor thing, look down on it for being more pitiful than him, and found some kind of sick comfort in it.

It was both his plaything and his companion, and the only thing in this manor that could bring him some sort of peace and solace.

Slowly, he extended his arm and brushed the dirty bones with his fingertips. They looked so frail, so feeble, that he thought he could break them just by doing so. Yet, when he reached out to the fleshless hand and hold it in his tightly, the bone stayed solid and firm.

It was cold, and lifeless, and rough. The doll didn’t flinch at his contact, like always.

He knew this was miserable and pitiful and creepy and insane.

But at this point he was just as broken and dead as this skeleton, and in the end it did not matter.

So he kept holding the bony hand in silence.

______________________________________________________________

Michel woke up with a start. Beads of sweat ran down his face, his messy hair clung to his skin disagreeably, and his chest struggled to get back a normal breathing.

In his upset, half-asleep state, his first reflex was to look around him, his eyes searching for Giselle — but she was just next to him, sound asleep, just like she had been when he first went to bed.

In the past year they had been together, he had noticed Giselle was a pretty heavy sleeper, unlike him. She never seemed to wake up in the middle of the night, or to have nightmares, for that matter. A part of him wondered if she slept so much to get back at all those centuries she had spent without experiencing tiredness.

Either way, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now. He looked at the clock on his bedside, which indicated ‘02:17’ of a faint red light, and sighed. He gently kissed his fiancée on the forehead, then got out of the bed as silently as he could so as to not wake her up.

His legs were still trembling when he stumbled into the kitchen, the emotions of his nightmare fresh in his mind. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t really remember what the dream had been about — his past life, definitely, but which part of it precisely was unclear… Usually it was those miserable months he spent suffering Aimée’s abuse, or his brothers’ betrayal, or the way his corpse had been crucified. Sometimes all of those blended in together and he couldn’t make any difference between the events anymore.

Having memories of his past life was odd — sometimes they felt like fibers of his imagination, something so far away he made it up himself and could almost forget it at any moment, and at other times it felt so vivid that it was almost like he was back there again. Dreams were when he had the most palpable experiences, almost as if he revived those moments in real time, but nowadays they weren’t all that frequent and happened rarely. He wondered if Giselle or Morgana felt the same too, though he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

His mind still a fuzzy mess, he grabbed a mug and turned on the machine coffee, which purred softly as it started to work. The sound felt reassuring somehow, grounding him in reality and reminding him he was in the 21 th century and not lost in a cursed mansion in the middle ages. When his coffee was finally ready, he felt the need to get some fresh air, so he snatched a vest and his mug and headed towards the door.

Michel stepped into the building’s courtyard and breathed the cold air of the night. The sky was still dark outside, but he couldn’t distinguish any stars, as per usual in Paris. That was something he missed from the mansion — being able to see a beautiful, black starry sky, which was impossible here in such a big, polluted city. He hadn’t cared at all about the sky or the stars during the ten years he’d been locked inside the cursed house, but when Giselle arrived this changed, and from times to times she would drag him outside in the middle of the night so they could watch the stars together. Michel had found this annoying at first, but little by little he’d started to secretly enjoy it, though he never admitted as such to her. So he was sad this was a habit they couldn’t reproduce here in their new home.

As a sad smile rose up on his lips, he was about to take a sip of his hot coffee when suddenly he caught sight of something moving. His first thought was that it must be a stray cat or a dog, but quickly his imagination began working and he got worried. What if it was a thief? Or worse, what if the building was actually haunted and it was a ghost? Honestly, among the worst parts of having his past memories returned to him was that now he knew that stuff like ghosts and curses were real, and so sometimes he couldn’t help but be a little paranoid. He certainly had his fair share of bad spirits for the next hundreds of centuries.

Michel quickly surveyed the area, then tried to look for something to defend himself with — unfortunately the only tool he could find was an old broom Giselle must’ve forgotten here the day before. It certainly wouldn’t be very effective against an actual threat, but it was better than nothing, so he grabbed it tightly, slowly advanced towards where he heard the noise while brandishing his made-up weapon… and then a scream resounded.

There, he didn’t see a criminal or some supernatural creature… but just a young girl who looked at him with two wide golden eyes.

“M-Morgana?”

“Oh my God! Were you going to hit me with this thing?”

The girl stared at him with disbelieved eyes which quickly morphed into a glare, as Michel stood there with the broom still up in the air.

“I-I thought you were a thief!” Or a ghost — but that, he wasn’t going to tell her. He shook his head and quickly put down the broom. “A-Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” the girl replied dryly.

“Morgana. You’re pacing in the courtyard at two A.M.”

“So what? Is that illegal now or something?”

“No, but most people don’t do that. Most people sleep at two A.M.”

“Well, clearly, you’re not sleeping either.”

Well, she had a point, he supposed. But he wasn’t that much of an obtuse fool to not notice this was a way to try to deflect the conversation and put the matter on him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“Why is that the conclusion you’re jumping to?” Morgana replied defensively, but somehow, Michel instantly knew he was right.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently.

“I did not have a bad dream. Good grief, do you even listen to people when they talk?”

She sighed in an annoyed way, then began to play with one of her long red lock with her finger. Her hair was let down and she was still in her nightgown — a strange sight to Michel, as he wasn’t used to see her without her braids like that. It made her seems a bit more vulnerable than usual somehow, an understanding he had caught her at a bad time he chooses to be considerate enough to not press the topic any further — he knew well enough that trying to make her talk would only close her off even more, anyway.

“Well, I had a bad dream.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. “I’d guessed as much. And?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at Morgana’s cold indifference. “Usually when people tell you they had a nightmare, you ask if they’re all right and what the bad dream was about, you know.”

The girl eyed him from head to toe, then crossed her arms. “You seems fine. And I am not interested in knowing what your dream was about.”

Michel smiled wryly. “As expected of you.”

“I have always thought it was stupid to ask someone what their bad dream is about. They said ‘talking about it make you feel better,’ but it’s a lie, I have never felt better after talking about a nightmare. It is not going to erase it not matter what, so why bother?”

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about yours?”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to though, Michel already knew what she was thinking.

“It’s not the first time you wake up in the middle of the night because of one either, right?”

“And how would you know that? Are you stalking me?”

“No, I have ears, and I do notice you seem to make quite some noise while the sun isn’t up yet.”

Morgana seemed a little surprised at that. She probably didn’t know Michel was aware of her nocturnal walks — and to be fair, it did took him a lot of time before noticing them, given she was as discreet as a cat. It was only when he himself had sleep troubles he would remark that his neighbor wasn’t as asleep as she should be.

“Well,” the girl said after regaining her composure. “Again, I’m not the only one, am I?”

“That’s true, but I am not trying to hide it.”

“Me neither. That’s just none of your business to start with. Also, are you really not trying to hide it? I wonder if Giselle knows about these, hmm?”

Michel frowned, as the provocative voice tone of the teenager in front of him started to get under his skin. “She does know, actually.”

“Oh really? Then you don’t mind me asking her tomorrow?”

His frown deepened and he had to muster all he could to not glare at her. Most of the time, the three of them were getting along perfectly fine, but if Michel were to push Morgana a little too much about a topic she didn’t like, she would resort to some of her manipulative tactics from when she was a witch. Michel wondered sometimes if she did it in purpose or if it was just a habit hard to kill for her. Either way, he still didn’t appreciate her doing this, at all.

“In case you weren’t aware, after everything that happened I swore to not keep any secrets to Giselle anymore. You can ask her if you want, but I already told her all about my nightmares, so I’d rather you’d stop threatening this kind of underhanded blackmail, would you?”

“Then stop putting your nose in my business, and when I told you I have no bad dreams then that mean I have no bad dreams.”

She glared at him coldly, then turned around and disappeared inside the building, before almost slapping the door behind her.

Michel winced and let himself fall on the bench in front of the house, before staring at the sky with exhaustion. Morgana could be so annoying, but still he hadn’t meant to anger her — he genuinely was worried about her, and had thought that there was maybe a way he could soothe her nightmares. That certainly wasn’t healthy to wake up in the middle of the night so often.

He took a sip of his coffee — which was now lukewarm — and kept gazing at the pure black sky, trying to find any glimpses of some stars or of the moon.

But he couldn’t find any.

______________________________________________________________

“—and then she told me I didn’t need it! Can you believe that? How on earth does that makes any sense?”

“Hmm.”

Giselle was spacing around in the living room agitatedly while Michel stared outside the window and nodded vaguely to every sentences she uttered without actually understanding their meanings. He wasn’t sure what his fiancée was upset about — and he knew that he should listen to her, but somehow her words couldn’t manage to pierce through his thick skull that was currently engulfed by other worries.

“I mean, I like to think I’m a rather patient person, but there are still some limits, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, Michel. Are you listening to me?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Michel, this morning I went out and killed your father so that we could eat him for dinner. Does that sounds good enough to you?”

“Hmm, perfect.”

Giselle suddenly placarded her hands on the table brusquely, almost knocking over the water pitcher and glasses that were on it. Michel jumped and practically fell off from his chair, before blinking with incredulity at the frustrated woman in front of him.

“I’ve been talking to you for at least half an hour!” She exclaimed, offended. “Did you even realize I was here at all?”

“Y-Yeah, of course… Sorry, I was… lost in thoughts.”

“Well, obviously,” Giselle said dryly before crossing her arms. “May I ask what’s worrying you so much that you’d dare to ignore your beautiful, lovely future wife?”

Michel smiled a little in an apologetic way, but thankfully Giselle didn’t seem all that angry. Maybe screaming in the void about what had frustrated her had been enough to soothe her mind, even with her partner not paying attention to her at all.

“Really, I’m sorry,” he added. “I was just… well, I didn’t sleep well last night, you know, so…”

Giselle hummed pensively, then took a seat at the table and sat in front of Michel, her face now serious.

“Another bad dream?”

Michel sighed and nodded vaguely, his gaze falling once again outside the window next to him.

“What was it about?” Giselle continued gently.

“I don’t really remember it… It felt too blurry and far away… I just know it wasn’t a good one. But that’s not actually the thing that’s bothering me right now, not really.”

Giselle arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s Morgana.”

She narrowed her eyes at this, and her expression became unreadable. Michel wondered if that meant she had been expecting it, or if that was something else entirely.

For all the time they’d known each other, Giselle still felt like a mystery to him sometimes.

What he had told Morgana yesterday had been the truth — in the past year they’d been together, he had always tried his best to be as open with her as possible, even with things he’d rather keep to himself.

He just didn’t feel like Giselle tried her best to do the same in return. In fact, it felt like she would often actively shut him down and tried to hide things from him.

But that wasn’t an issue that mattered right now.

“I came across her last night after I woke up from my nightmare. You know how I told you I noticed she often wandered around in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. Well, her having nightmares wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I tried to talk to her then, but she just ended up getting angry at me.”

“Not surprising here either. Is that what’s bothering you?”

Michel sighed. “It might not be surprising, but that’s still worrying me. I wish she could be… more open about her problems, at least with me.”

“She might have said she wanted to move on with her life, but you can’t expect her to suddenly act like a whole new person. It’s only natural for her to want to keep some things to herself.”

Giselle’s jade eyes shined of an odd glow as she said this, and her mouth formed a tight line. Michel couldn’t help but vaguely wonder if she was talking about herself more than Morgana, but quickly chased the thought away.

“I’m aware, but still…”

“Well, if it bothers you that much, just go apologize to her the next time you see her and try asking her more subtly. Just don’t pressure her, or she’ll shut down completely again. She trusts you more than anyone, Michel, so I’m sure she’ll talk to you when she feels like it.”

Giselle smiled at him — the same kind smile that always managed to make his heart beat a little faster — and he slowly felt the knot in his stomach untangle itself. It was amazing how just a simple chat with her managed to instantly make him feel better.

“You’re right, I’ll do that,” he said while returning her smile. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe next time do the same thing with me when I’m angrily complaining about clients.”

Michel grimaced. “Uh, right… Sorry about that.”

Giselle giggled and winked at him. “I forgive you. I still feel better now that I got to yell in to the void, even if you didn’t listen to a single word!”

Michel smiled again as he watched her head towards the kitchen, then heaved a sigh. He might also feel a bit better now, but Morgana still preoccupied his thoughts. He felt that he’d be unable to accomplish anything until he was able to see her again, so he decided to go talk to her as soon as possible.

Morgana was still at school at this hour, but her classes should end in two or three few hours. Michel didn’t know her exact schedule, but she generally came back around four or five in the afternoon. He could just wait for her here, but somehow he felt unable to stay put while doing nothing, so he had the strange impulse to go get her to her high school directly.

He didn’t realize how bad of an idea it was until he reached the building and saw the groups of teens hanging out all around. Michel had pretty much only bad memories of his high school years. He had been an awkward, introverted and solitary kid uncomfortable in his own skin — and this added to his growing body and newfound gender identity had created a lot of issues both at home and at school. His parents were thankfully decent people in this era, so there was no abuse, disownment or forced confinement involved, but it didn’t mean it had been easy for them to understand and adapt themselves to the situation. And that was without even including the weird dreams and flashback that sometimes plagued him from his past life, which at the time, without his full memories, he had no idea what this had been all about and was quite disturbing. Yeah, it had not been a fun period at all for him.

So somehow, setting foot once again near a high school and hearing some teenagers’ laughters and teasing revived some dreadful recollections and anxieties he hadn’t felt in about a decade, and it instantly made him feel like wanting to turn around and run away.

Don’t be ridiculous, he started to tell himself. You’re a twenty-eight year old grown ass man, why would you feel anxious approaching a bunch of high school kids?

He took a big inspiration, then got closer to the school’s gate with firm steps. He felt some the kids’ eyes fell on him questioningly, probably wondering what this weird, tall white-haired dude they’d never seen before was doing at a high school, and Michel couldn’t really blame them. Still, he tried his best to ignore them and his gaze darted left and right, desperately looking for some familiar red braids that would pop up at a corner. He kind of had the sensation of being like a father waiting to pick up his kid at the school’s gates, except Morgana wasn’t his kid and she wasn’t an elementary school child so it just felt doubly ridiculous and embarrassing.

He waited patiently for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. After twenty and still seeing no trace of the girl he was looking for, he started to question whether Morgana was actually finishing much later today. Or worst, maybe she had finished earlier and had already left. Michel bit his lip, and looked around at the group of high schoolers. At this point, he really couldn’t feel dumber than he already was, so he decided he might as well try to ask.

Trying to bury his nervousness about having to talk to some teenagers — except for Morgana, he hadn’t talked to one in years — he slowly approached the nearest group, constituted of two girls and three boys. The kids stopped chatting as soon as they realized the weird white-haired man wanted to talk to them, and they exchanged a confused glance with each others.

“Um, sorry to bother you,” Michel started, and he hated how awkward he sounded. “Would you happen to know a girl named Morgana? She’s short, with long red braided hair, and she kind of always have a glare that make her seems like she wants to kill you.”

At first, the kids’ faces scrunched up in bafflement, but one of the girls’ face lit up in understanding.

“Oh yeah. She’s in my class.”

Michel sighed in relief, then continued: “So are your classes finished already? Do you know where she is?”

The girl, Morgana’s classmate, tugged at one of her blonde locks while staring at Michel suspiciously. “We finished an hour ago, yeah… but, uh, who are you?”

“I’m—”

Michel opened his mouth, then realized suddenly he wasn’t sure what to answer. Her friend? He certainly was, but it sounded off to answer this somehow. Her landlord? True, but here again it didn’t sound like a good answer. The poor guy who found himself dragged into her thousand years revenge scheme against his will? Yeah, right.

“—her uncle,” he finally concluded. Right, that’ll do it for now. “I was supposed to meet her after she was finished, but…”

“Uncle?” One of the boys repeated in a joking tone. “Wow, so that weirdo isn’t some kind of cursed ghost and has an actual family? Ow!”

“Shut up, you’re not funny,” the blonde girl curtly replied while elbowing him in the ribs.

Michel looked at them and arched an eyebrow. “Are you friends with her?”

The boy chuckled. “Friends? No, we just see her from time to time.”

“She’s alone most of the time,” Morgana’s classmate added, shrugging. “I’ve never seen her hang out with anyone here. It’s not like we didn’t try to include her when she first came here, but… she either refused or ignored us. So, well, we left her alone.”

She added this in an annoyed tone, which meant Morgana’s cold behavior had slightly peeved her. Michel smiled wryly at this. It wasn’t really a surprise, as this was something he had kind of suspected already. Morgana never told them anything about her school life, but knowing her it wasn’t hard to guess she wasn’t especially looking for friends at her school. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but be a bit sad about this. As someone who had also been pretty much friendless during high school, he hoped Morgana would’ve been able to get at least a normal teenage life this time around.

“Either way, if you’re looking for her you won’t find her here. She left a while ago already,” the blonde girl continued.

“I see… Would you know where she went?”

The classmate winced. “Well, I’m not really sure, but… if I have to give it a guess, she’s probably at the graveyard again."

Michel kind of felt his brain shut down. "G-Graveyard...?"

He heard some of the boys snickering again, but they didn’t add anything when their friend shot them a glare.

“Yeah. There’s a small cemetery not far from here. From what I’ve seen, she goes there regularly, at least once a week.” She shrugged. “Gotta admit, it’s not a very common hobby. I think she gets along well with the graveyard caretaker too.”

Michel felt too stunned to say anything. Why on earth would Morgana go to the cemetery? And regularly, on top of that?

The only reason for that would be if someone she used to know was buried there… but Michel knew that both her mother and stepfather were still alive, and that she knew nothing about her birth father. So, her grandparents, maybe? She never talked about them. It was possible, but even so, it seemed a bit off for her to go visit them so frequently given how… distant she had seemed to be with her family.

“Well, uh… I see,” he finally added once more. “Thank you.”

He asked the teens where said graveyard was, and after they gave him directions he waved them good bye and finally left the high school. The place was indeed quite close from here, only about fifteen minutes of walk, right after a little church. Most of Paris’ cemeteries were quite big and carefully taken care of, but this one seemed to be the opposite of this; it was small, appeared badly maintained and almost abandoned, really. Michel stepped inside, and while looking for any trace of red he couldn’t help a shudder to spread through his body. It was desert and quiet, and almost felt like penetrating into some kind of eerie parallel world.

When he walked through the forest of large, gloomy tombs, a wind of nostalgia submerged him. He had only been to a graveyard a rare few times in his life, and the last was probably at least five or so years ago, when he went there with his mother to take care of his grandparents’ tombs. He had already lost all four of them — the last one was when he was three years old, and he had only brief, vague memories of the funerals. Even in his previous life, he had never known any of them either, as they all died long before he was even born — even before Georges was born, actually. Only Didier had known them, but even then he had been so young he had no recollections of them, according to what he had told him.

Lost in his own thoughts, it took him some time before realizing there was something off in his field of view. The place was completely empty, not a soul seemed to breath around, but then a few meters away from there he spotted what looked like a silhouette squatting on the ground. It was shaking and breathing heavily, as if hyperventilating, and curled up very tightly as if they tried to disappear. It would’ve been worrying and Michel would’ve intervened regardless of who this person was, but once he noticed the long burgundy braids falling behind the trembling shoulders his concern went up a notch and he ran towards the curled up girl.

“Morgana!” He exclaimed, his voice filled with panic as he kneeled down next to her and grabbed her shoulder. “Morgana, are you okay?”

However, the girl didn’t react at all to his questions, didn’t even glance at him. It was as if he wasn’t even here. Michel hesitated a moment, then tried to shake her gently and call her name once again — but nothing managed to get a response out of her. Her golden eyes were vacantly staring into the void, as if her soul itself had left her body, and an unpleasant feeling ran down Michel’s spine as the horrifying memory of that instant he had found the young girl dying on top of the tower flashed back into his mind. The sensation of her livid body in his arms felt as vivid as it had back then, and it unconsciously made him tighten his grip on her shoulder.

“Morgana!”

Finally, the girl tensed, and then she turned her head towards him. Her eyes very slowly regained some life and shine.

“You…” She uttered. “Ah…”

Michel wanted to feel relieved he’d managed to get her back, but… something felt off. The way she stared at him — it was like she was seeing a ghost or something. She didn’t seem to be here, even now.

“Morgana? Can you— Are you okay?”

“Um… I— Yes. Yes.”

All while talking, she eyed Michel from head to toe, then drifted her gaze on his hand on her shoulder, as if trying to analyze the situation bit by bit. Then she slowly started to get up, but her legs were trembling and she was clearly struggling to gather her strength, so he grabbed her arm firmly and helped her stand up. He didn’t let go until he was sure she stood steadily on her own two feet. She turned her head towards him, and then Michel thought he was the one hallucinating this time. Because she offered him a small smile, and gently uttered “Thank you,” as if it was the most natural thing in the world and not the most abnormal reaction he had ever seen. Since when Morgana could smile so sweetly and thanked people in such a genuine way?

“Morgana…? Are you okay?” He repeated once again, really doubting his eyes and mental health.

The girl tiled her eyes and looked up curiously at him.

“Yes? I am fine now. Thank you for asking.”

Once again, Michel felt a deep sensation of wrongness overwhelm him, but before he could open his mouth Morgana squinted her eyes and brought her hands to her head, as if her skull was suddenly aching. She stayed that way for a few long seconds, then rubbed her temples and shook her head. Finally she narrowed her eyes at him, and frowned.

“Michel…? What… What are you doing here?”

“What?” He replied, dumbfounded, because he really didn’t see what he could say much more.

“Since when are you here?”

“Since when…? Are you serious?”

Her frown deepened, and she stared at him as he was the one being unreasonable here.

“Of course I am. Have I never been anything but serious?” She asked coldly, and at least Michel was relieved to get back the normal Morgana he was used to. “So what are you doing here? Are you really stalking me after all?”

“Ah… no, um, I was… I wanted to talk to you, and some classmates of yours told me I could find you here… M-More importantly, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” she said annoyingly, in a tone of voice that clearly showed that she wasn’t, in fact, fine at all.

But Michel felt he couldn’t press any further the topic without her snapping at him, and angering her was the last thing he wanted to do. She turned around and started to walk slowly among the tombstones, her feet steady despite the fact she was still trembling a little.

“You wanted to talk to me?” She brutally cut off the silence.

“Yes… I wanted to apologize for yesterday. Um… you were right, it was none of my business, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—”

“You didn’t. No need to apologize.”

Silence fell back between them again as Michel just kept on following her silently. Morgana didn’t seem to have a destination in mind, she just crossed the graveyards while her eyes wandered aimlessly among the silent, motionless tombs, and he wondered why she might be thinking about.

“Can I ask you a question?” Michel finally asked.

“Since when do you need permission?”

“What… What are you doing here? Did you come to… visit someone?”

“No. I don’t know anyone buried here,” she answered. “In fact, I’ve come to this cemetery for the first time when I moved in at your building.”

“What…? Then… why are you coming here regularly then…?”

Morgana heaved a long sigh, then finally came to a stop. They were in front of a particularly tall, elegant tombstone, which Michel guessed must belong to an old and wealthy family. But it also seemed to not have been maintained for quite some years, which made it seems lonely.

“Maybe that’s going to sound odd,” she finally said after some time. “But I… love graveyards.”

Michel blinked and looked curiously at the young girl next to him. She was staring at the old tombstone in front of them, but no expression crossed her face and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“I’ve loved them ever since I was a child. There was one not far away from my old home, and for as long as I can remember, I would sneak out of the house and go there, take care of the tombs and stuff.” She snorted. “Of course Mother hated it when I was doing that. She thought it was creepy and scolded me about it a lot of times, but I never listened when it came to this.”

Her eyes fell on the ground, and she mindlessly put one of her red locks behind her ear.

“That’s also where I went whenever things got too tough at home. Guess it’s a bit like my secret base. I always feel at peace and safe when I’m here. Dead people are easier to deal with than the living. At least I felt like I was doing something useful for once, by taking care of them. It felt… comfortable.”

She marked a pause, and then added, in a much smaller voice, almost a whisper:

“To be honest… I’ve always felt more at home in cemeteries than in my actual house.”

Michel stayed quiet. It was a very rare moment for Morgana to talk so freely about herself, and he felt that if he were to say something back to her, it would break the instant and make her shut down all over again. Furthermore, it wasn’t like he really know what to answer to what she was confessing to him right now.

“Of course, back then I wasn’t sure why, but now that I remember my past life it makes sense. You know it, don’t you? That when I was still living at the brothel as a child, I made that… makeshift graveyard for all the nameless corpses we found in the slums.”

He didn’t answer, but yes, he was aware of that. He hadn’t witnessed a lot of Morgana’s past, admittedly, but he could still remember that moment when he saw Jacopo’s memories — of that disfigured little girl crouched down in front of those rough graves, taking care of them meticulously.

“Back then, I started doing that because… well, I felt it was my duty, as a saint. These people had no one else, so I couldn’t bear the idea of their souls not being able to reach purgatory. I couldn’t use my blood anymore, so I felt like I had to do something, at least. But, when I think back on it now… this wasn’t really out of selflessness. It’s just it made me feel… better about myself — it made me feel not so useless. In a way, maybe it was really pretty egoistical of me.” She smiled bitterly. “I was pretty pathetic, wasn’t I?”

“You were just a little girl, Morgana,” Michel replied gently. “A severely traumatized little girl, at that. And even if you doing that wasn’t absolutely out of selflessness, I don’t think it is something pathetic at all. In the end you still gave those people a proper burial and took care of them every day, right? I think it is more than worthy of respect.”

Morgana sighed. Michel knew his words probably wouldn’t do much to change her mind, but he still felt the need to say it.

“In any case, doing this became a comforting routine to me,” she said. “I guess it just stayed with me even all those centuries later. And I like doing that.”

Michel took a deep breath, and nodded. “Somehow, that does sound like you,” he simply added with a slight smile. “If you feel comfortable doing so, then that’s good.”

Morgana didn’t reply. Her eyes fell back once again on the tombstone erected in front of them, standing solemnly.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? A lot of things changed in a millennium, but cemeteries are always the same. They’re constant.”

This was certainly true. No matter the time period or culture, humans were always faced with death and grief, and had the need to honor their lost loved ones and gather around a place to think about them.

That was, unless they were bestowed with a particularly cruel fate where no one would bother to give them a proper burial, like it had happened with Morgana a thousand years ago.

Her body and soul had been left abandoned, and that entire cursed mansion had become her graveyard and prison.

None of them uttered a single word, but Michel instinctively got closer to Morgana and gently wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him.

For a long time, the girl didn’t react, before finally slowly let her head fall on his shoulder.

And for what seemed like an eternity, none of them moved, lulled by the sound of the wind and the company of the dead.

______________________________________________________________

Things went relatively back to normal after this. In the following days, Michel got really busy at work and came back home pretty late, so he didn’t get the time to see Morgana much or have any more conversation with her. He also didn’t get any nightmares, which meant there was no secret night meeting with her either. In fact, the only time he got to really see her was the tomorrow of their graveyard encounter, when she burst out into their apartment angrily and wanted to know why on earth her classmates were now questioning her about her “weird, tall, white-haired uncle.” He tried to justify himself that this was the less odd explanation he could come up with, but then she retorted he should not have come to her high school to begin with — and, well, she actually had a point here. Giselle watched their argument from afar while giggling quietly, and then she teased him about being “Morgana’s weird uncle” for the next few days.

In any case, despite the heartfelt conversation they managed to have at the cemetery the other day, Michel’s worries about her still hadn’t decreased at all, at the contrary. From time to time, he thought about maybe visiting Morgana to her graveyard, but in the end could never bring himself to do so. After all, she had told him herself that this place was like a ‘secret base’ to her, so it felt wrong, somehow, to trespass this place without her consent.

However, these peaceful days came to an end about two weeks later when the phone suddenly rang one afternoon.

Michel was completely focused on writing an important email about an upcoming project to his superior, so it took him some time to realize the ringing, and when he did he caught sight of Giselle heading towards the phone before he could even get up. As her hands were already occupied with what seemed to be a big cardboard — maybe something from the café? — she hurriedly put on the loudspeaker and wedged the receiver between her ear and her shoulder in an elegant movement. Michel had always been in awe by the way she was able to take care of multiple things like that as if it was the most natural thing in the world, whereas in her place he would’ve just let the box fall on the ground.

“Hello?” Giselle asked, her voice politely playful.

“Hello, sorry to bother you,” a courteous, feminine voice resounded faintly from the phone. “Um, I would like to speak to Mr. Michel Bollinger… Are you Mrs. Bollinger?”

Michel frowned slightly upon hearing his name — the person’s informal and serious tone made him wonder if it was something work-related — but Giselle seemed unconcerned and only giggled.

“Um, well, not yet! Why?”

“You are the guardian of a seventeen-year-old girl named Morgana, aren’t you?”

Giselle blinked curiously, a little confused this time.

“Um, well, we do live with a girl like that but we’re not… Wait, what is this about?”

For a short moment, there seemed to be a bit of hesitation, before the person finally answered by saying something that made Giselle’s smile fell from her face.

“This is the police. We got her in custody. Could you please come pick her up at the station?”

______________________________________________________________

Michel had only went to a police station maybe two or three times in his life, always for trivial, unimportant things like retrieve lost objects, so that was why, when he stepped inside the big building and was greeted by a bunch of solemn-looking officers in uniforms, that he couldn’t help but feel a little anxious.

The woman on the phone hadn’t told them much about what had happened, just that apparently Morgana had gotten into trouble and that she had told them he was her legal guardian, so he was the one who had to come to get her. To be honest, Michel felt a bit annoyed by this and didn’t understand why Morgana had claimed such a thing given he was far from being her guardian, but he certainly couldn’t refuse to help his friend if she had problems.

So he headed towards the reception, trying to make himself as discreet as possible but as usual it wasn’t very effective, as his appearance always attracted looks wherever he went. When he presented himself, the woman at the desk sighed, and with tired eyes she lead him to a nearby room. The moment he opened the door, he heard angry yells fly out at him, and distinguished three persons: a police officer, a middle-aged man, and Morgana.

“Do you realize that this is all your fault to begin with, right?” The man shouted exasperatedly. “You’re the one who assaulted me! Stop playing the victim here!”

“I’m not playing the victim,” Morgana replied coldly with annoyance, before rolling her eyes. “And ‘assaulted’… No need to use such words. You’re oversensitive.”

“Oversensitive?” The man screamed in disbelief. “Are you saying that this—” He showed up his hand that was wrapped up in bandages. “—is me being oversensitive?”

Morgana eyed him, then shrugged. “Well, you still have your hand and it still moves, right? Not sure why you’re making such a big deal about it.”

The man’s face became completely red, and Michel honestly thought he was going to strangle the girl here and there if the cop hadn’t instantly stepped in, putting a strong hand on the guy’s shoulder and separating the two of them.

“All right, please keep your calm, sir… I see that her guardian has finally arrived, so let’s settle this peacefully.”

While saying this, the officer looked up at Michel, and suddenly all the attention was reported on him. A look of relief spread on Morgana’s face upon seeing him, while the middle-aged man’s face hardened and glared at him.

“You certainly took your sweet time! I swear, what kind of father are you, raising such a brat and letting her hang out in a police station for hours?”

“Um… that’s—”

“Well he’s not my father,” Morgana cut in annoyingly, and when she saw the questioning gazes of the two other men she quickly added: “He is my guardian, but we’re not blood related.”

“Well, fine, in any case could you all please sit down?” The cop asked, his voice straining and Michel could tell he had been taking care of this issue for a while now and was starting to get quite frustrated at it.

“Uh, I’m sorry but, we still didn’t explain to me what had happened? What did Morgana do?”

“Why would you instantly assume I’m the one who did something?” Morgana retorted while glaring at Michel.

“Because you are!” The man shouted yet again. “That kid, I swear…! Here’s what happened: your girl stabbed me in the hand!”

Michel had to admit, he was expecting a lot of things when he heard Morgana was at a police station, but this he still wasn’t prepared for that. He frowned in confusion, and threw a questioning glance at the concerned girl, who just sighed as if this was none of her business.

“So, wait,” Michel started, massaging his temples. “She… stabbed you? With a knife? Do you just walk around transporting a knife, Morgana?”

“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t a knife, it was a cutter,” she argued, as if this was a very important detail.

It doesn’t make it any better! Michel almost burst out, but did his best to control his temperament.

“It doesn’t matter what it was!” The man resumed. “I was just walking in the street when I saw she dropped her wallet, so I tried to tell her, but then when I grabbed her arm she suddenly pulled out that thing and stabbed me with it!”

“I thought it was a thief or something, so I panicked.”

“And when you panic you stab people?” Michel interfered.

“Well, that was just a reflex. Seriously, you should not accost young girls like that without warning. It’s your fault this ended up like this, really.”

The man seemed so taken aback by Morgana’s flippancy that he couldn’t even seem to be able to yell at her anymore. He just stared at the girl, eyes and mouth wide open, until Michel let out a sigh.

“Okay, I think I got the situation. I am genuinely sorry for what Morgana did to you. It wasn’t her intention, she’s just a very cautious person—”

“It was absolutely my intention,” Morgana cut him off. “And you don’t need to apologize to that man. I certainly won’t. He’s the one overreacting over nothing.”

“You’re not helping me here!”

The man stared at the both of them, then shook his head as if giving up protesting. “I don’t care about apologies at this point. “But I certainly won’t stand for that. She stabbed me. I want to file a claim and you owes me at the very least the treatment fees.”

“File a claim? Treatment fees? As if I would—”

“That’s understandable,” Michel interrupted in a serious voice. “I’ll make sure to see through that.”

“What? Michel—”

“Just let me take care of this and try not to make matters worse, please.”

Michel’s voice was not severe, but still firm enough to make the girl understand it was best to let him handle the situation from now on. Morgana sighed, then finally after a few moments of hesitation, she nodded, although she clearly wasn’t satisfied with this.

What followed was a very egregious, long hour of trying to salvage the situation somewhat despite Morgana’s icy jabs and the man’s punctual anger. Michel felt much more exhausted at the end of this than at the end of a heavy week full of work. When they finally managed to get out of the police station, his head was still full about the future appointment with his lawyer he’ll have to make and the treatment fees he’ll have to pay.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” Morgana said, and Michel really hoped this was her way of saying ‘thank you’ because he didn’t feel like dealing with any more jaded cynical retorts.

“You’re the one who told them to call me to start with. Actually, why did you say I was your guardian?”

“Well, I didn’t want to at first… but I’m not yet eighteen, and I didn’t want them to call my parents. If my stepfather had showed up, it would have gotten ugly.”

Michel suddenly felt a bit stupid for not having realized this by himself, and softening a little, he sighed. Morgana was pretty secretive about her family situation, but he knew she had a bad relationship with them — so it wasn’t hard to imagine that if her stepfather had been called because she was at a police station it would’ve indeed not ended well.

It truly was a cursed fate that this girl had ended up again with bad, uncaring parents in this era. She deserved to have an actual loving family… In a way, although he still felt a bit annoyed with her for this, he also was kind of happy she had not hesitated to rely on him when she was in trouble.

“All right, fine… Still, what a mess… Now I’ll have to talk to Giselle about all of this and organize our finances, huh…”

“Like I said, you don’t need to do this. I’ll take care of it.”

“And how, exactly? If you don’t want to contact your parents, then I fail to see how you’ll be able to deal with this… Is the association you’re in contact would really take care of something like this?”

“Oh, no, I would never ask them that even if they could help me. I’ll just call Jacopo.”

Michel stopped walking.

“Uh, what?”

“I’ll ask Jacopo to pay and handle this for me.”

“But, you… I thought you hadn’t talked to him since you came back from your trip in Italy?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“And you’re going to call him now just to ask him for money?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… Did you keep in contact with him just to extort him?”

“Is that a problem? He has to be useful for something, at least. Furthermore, he’s pretty rich, you know.”

Michel sighed deeply and put his face in his hands. “You’re impossible… Are you really serious?”

Morgana stopped in her trail brusquely. She turned around to face him, and her eyes suddenly turned cold.

“In case you forgot, I shall remind you it is the man who killed me we are talking about. So no, I have no problem at all in taking some of his money. I believe it is actually a pretty low price to pay for ruining my life. He owes me at least that much, don’t you think? Plus, he’s also the man who indirectly ruined your life too, so I’d say he really do not deserve your pity.”

“I wasn’t pitying him…”

And you had more of a hand in ruining my life than he did, is what he restrained himself from adding. Certainly, Jacopo was basically the cause of the whole mess that had happened in the cursed mansion, but Morgana had still been the one who spent all those years tormenting Michel. She’d been the one who had enslaved Giselle in the mansion until she broke her and destroy her very identity. Even if Morgana had been a victim and that some of her actions were rooted in rightful pain and anger, no one had forced her to do those things.

Michel had forgiven her and had a lot of deep affection for her now, but he still didn’t like the way she sometimes glossed over the very real harm she had done to instead push all the blame on her killers — and specifically on Jacopo.

Still, he didn’t want to have that peculiar argument with her right now, and on top of that… Even if Morgana had never been at the mansion, even if the place had never been cursed, unfortunately Michel’s life would have still likely ended in tragedy… This thought made him pause, though.

He wondered… what would have happened if he had never met Morgana?

If there had been no cursed witch at the mansion? No skeleton to hug and makes him feel better about himself — about his pain and loneliness? No mean spirit to abuse and drain him? How would he have spent those ten years completely alone? How would he have reacted to Iméon and to Giselle without a witch to whispers in his ears?

Things would have been… a bit different, maybe, but in the end it would still have ended up with him being pierced by his brother’s spears.

The biggest difference would have been… that Giselle wouldn’t have become the Maid. They never would have reunited centuries later as lost ghosts in this dark haunted mansion, and maybe they wouldn’t even have reincarnated together in this era at all… But that also meant Giselle wouldn’t have had to suffer during all of those centuries, so wouldn’t have been better…?

Or maybe there would have been no mansion at all, and he would have been sent in exile elsewhere. Maybe he wouldn’t even have met Giselle at all. He had no idea.

What he did know was that if none of that had happened, he wouldn’t be walking next to this young girl right now.

______________________________________________________________

The wind was raspy and the sky gray when he finally reached the cemetery, which made it looks even more gloomy and eerie than last time.

It looked the exact same as it did before, as if he was back a few weeks prior in time. The place was just as abandoned as ever, and it made Michel wonder if anyone even ever bothered to come here. Except for Morgana, that is.

He wouldn’t have bothered to come either, usually, but as strange as it may sound, it was actually Morgana herself who had asked him. He had tried to talk to her yesterday, but she evaded him before slipping “I’ll be at the graveyard again tomorrow after class,” and promptly disappeared. Implying, “You can come to me there to talk to me.” Well, that was how Michel had interpreted it at least, but with Morgana he was never sure of the exact meaning of her words.

“Oh, you’re here.”

He brusquely turned around, and Morgana was there, holding a pretty big watering can in her arms.

“Right in time,” she said. “See this tombstone? I’d need you to water the flowers next to it. I still have to clean those two others in the meantime.”

Michel arched an eyebrow, but didn’t have the time to ask anything that Morgana pushed the heavy can in his hands and headed towards another grave.

“What— Wait, what do you mean?”

“I don’t think I’ve said anything all that complicated?”

“No, what I mean is— why are you doing this?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him.

“What? Did you think I just spent all my afternoon looking melancholically at those gravestones? Sorry to disappoint, but generally I actually take care of the place.”

“You… take care of the place?”

“Yes. You know, I clean up, arrange the plants, all that. That’s a small graveyard, but it still actually takes a lot of time.”

Michel felt more and more confused. Indeed, now that he thought about it, it seemed a bit weird that Morgana would spent hours hanging out in a cemetery just walking around the tombstones despite knowing no one buried here. But the idea of her cleaning up the place was even weirder.

“What are you, the graveyard caretaker?”

“No, though I talk to him from time to time.”

“He’s okay with you doing that?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

Well, Michel supposed it did remove some work for him, so of course he wouldn’t complain. “But why would you do this?”

She shrugged. “It relaxes me.”

“Taking care of a graveyard relaxes you?”

Morgana turned around without answering and kneeled down in front of a tomb a little further away. Michel sighed, looked at the water can in his hands — which was starting to feel pretty heavy — and decided to do as she said for now. While watering the daffodils and begonias that littered the ground, he threw slight glances at the girl behind him, who was very meticulously concentrated on her task, and that’s when their talk from a few weeks ago came back to him.

Right, Morgana had spend a good chunk of her time as a child taking care of a graveyard in her past life. With this in mind, then her behavior did makes sense. Maybe it’d seems odd from any other person, but Morgana loving to take care of such place wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re holding the can badly. You’re not used to gardening, are you?”

Michel got startled as the girl appeared by his side and grabbed the can, carefully bending it with expert hands.

“I don’t have much occasions to do this,” he admitted.

“Don’t Giselle loves gardening? At least she did back then.”

“She does, but… we’ve never done it together. Plus her family lives in an apartment…”

“Is that so…”

“I didn’t know you loved gardening, though?”

“I don’t really like it. But it’s necessary when taking care of a graveyard.”

Morgana kept arranging the flowers, and Michel’s mind wandered back to the roses Giselle had grown in the mansion, centuries ago. They didn’t have a garden in their current house, only a courtyard, but maybe he could arrange himself to make one… It would surely make her happy.

“Ugh, stop that.”

“S-Stop what?”

“Thinking about doing something ridiculously cheesy for Giselle. I hate when you do that.”

“How do you even know what I was thinking about?”

“Because you always make that stupid, disgusting face whenever you think about her.”

Michel sighed. “Well, do forgive me for being happy while thinking about the woman I love. I’ll try to do it discretely from now on.”

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, and almost retorted another jaded reply before he just remembered that he had a reason, actually, for coming all the way here today, and it wasn’t just to bicker with Morgana.

“Did you call Jacopo?”

“Yes. He was kinda annoyed, but he’ll pay. I don’t have any worries about it.”

Michel grimaced, guessing she probably did her best to remind him all the horrible things he had done to her to make him feel as guilty as possible. Then again, a part of him couldn’t entirely reprehend her for that, because, like she had said before, it wasn’t much compared to what he had actually did to her. He couldn’t reproach her anger, but at the same time he didn’t like at all this unhealthy relationship she had started in this era with Jacopo. Maybe he’ll have to talk about it with her. Later.

“So, um…” Michel started, then hesitated.

He did come all the way here to talk to her, but now that he was actually there he couldn’t bring himself to find the right words. He was afraid of setting her off if he brought this in the wrong way. As if reading his thoughts, Morgana brusquely stood away from the flowers and turned towards him, brow burrowed.

“Yes?” She pressed on. “Stop beating around the bush and tell me already.”

Michel took a deep breath in, and nodded.

“All right. All right, um… So, I talked with Giselle about this for a bit, and I was wondering…” He paused, and eyed Morgana cautiously. “What would you think about going to see a therapist?”

Ar first, it seemed as if she didn’t understand the question. Then, as it sunk, her shoulders slumped, her mouth formed a tight line and she uttered the following with so much disdain it almost made Michel choke:

“What?”

“I, er… To tell you the truth, that’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while… but the recent events decided me it was, probably, really necessary.”

“What recent events?”

“Do you I really need to remind you your visit at the police station?”

“That has nothing to do with this, and it’s already solved.”

“That’s not the issue. And it’s not the first time something like this happen, either.”

There was the episode that happened the first time he came at this graveyard, and the frequent nightmares, but those weren’t just isolated incidents either. There were moments where Morgana would just stare off into the distance and didn’t seem to… respond to anything. As if she was just cut off from reality. And even without all of this, Michel thought it’d do her a lot of good to see a specialist, even just to talk. However, Morgana visibly thought very differently.

“I’m not crazy,” she dryly cut out, her eyes shooting daggers.

“It’s not about being ‘crazy’,” Michel replied patiently. “It’s about talking to someone about your problems, which you obviously really, really need.”

Her reaction was pretty ironic, Michel thought, given how many times she had tempted him to “just go insane” or to “join her in her madness” during their time at the mansion. But maybe she just didn’t remember that.

“No way,” she continued, her tone sharp. “I’m not going to see a shrink.”

She spat out the last word with so much vitriol Michel actually wondered if a ‘shrink’ had done something to her in the past or something.

“I’m not saying this to piss you off, Morgana,” Michel resumed in a more concerned, serious tone. “It’s because I’m worried about you. A therapist could actually help you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like hell they could. What would I even tell them, anyway? ‘Oh yeah I remember by entire past life where my life was a miserable hell and where I was killed horribly which turned me into a witch and made me curse my killers for centuries.’ How good they’d take that, you think?”

“Obviously, I’m not saying you need to tell every single details… You could start with your modern life, I believe there’s already enough things to work with here.”

“And with what money would I pay that? I certainly can’t ask my parents, and the association already do enough for me.”

“I could take care of that if you want. That’s not a problem.” Or you could extort Jacopo again, he almost said, but he thought it wasn’t a good idea to encourage her in this kind of behavior, even for a joke.

“Oh please, stop acting like you’re my father or something, it’s extremely annoying.”

Michel groaned. Of course he had expected her to react this way, but it didn’t mean it was any less annoying that she just completely refused to listen to him.

“Morgana. You are not okay. You realize that, right?”

“How am I not okay?”

“Oh, I don’t know, to me stabbing some guy’s hand in the street because you ‘freaked out’ is not something a person who’s perfectly okay would do.”

“It was just an accident. It never happened before, and it won’t happen again.”

“But how can you know? Do you really realize how serious what you did is? You’re lucky you ended getting away with it this time, but maybe the next you’ll get in trouble with a much more dangerous person. What would you do then?”

Morgana lifted her head and grinned at him. “I’ll kill them and dispose of their body, obviously. See? That way, no problem.”

Michel stared at her blankly. Morgana stared back.

“I’m joking! Oh my God, you didn’t actually think I’d do that, right?”

“I mean… With you, I can never tell for sure.”

Morgana snorted. “Then what about you? Are you seeing a shrink?”

“Yes, I do, actually.”

Manifestly, Morgana wasn’t expecting this answer at all, because she just stared at him with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

“W-Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been in therapy since I was around fourteen, I think.” As Morgana was still staring at him with a confused look, Michel added, “Ever since I came out as a boy to my parents. They insisted because they… weren’t sure how to deal with this.”

“Oh.”

“And you know what? I thought like you at first, but I think it really helped me in the end. It still does.”

“Well, I’m not you. And again, you’re not my father, you can’t force me to do anything, so the conversation stop there.”

And as if giving more weight to her words, she turned around and started walking towards the back of the graveyard with steady steps. Michel sighed for what was probably the tenth times since he entered this place.

Dealing with Morgana was always a real headache, but he wouldn’t give up on her just yet. He hadn’t given up on her back when she was a cruel witch who had tormented him and Giselle, and he wouldn’t do it now that she was just a stubborn teenage girl.

“Morgana.”

He didn’t even had to grab her hand or to hold her back — the tone of his voice seemed to be enough to make her understand it was important, and she stopped.

“I am not going to force you if you really don’t want to,” he continued, then smiled wryly. “Like you said, I am not your father, and even if I was I still wouldn’t force you.”

This time, it was Morgana who sighed, and he could see her shoulders drop, in what seemed to be more tiredness than annoyance.

“When we met again in this era, you said… that you wanted to take your life back into your hands. Were you lying?”

The girl turned around and glared at him, her gaze shining determinedly.

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you so afraid of living and trying to be happy?” Michel took a step forward, ruby eyes not letting go of the golden ones for a second. “You have a life full of opportunities in front of you, but somehow you prefer to stay stuck in your suffering. Like you did back then.”

Morgana opened her mouth as if wanting to say something, but her lips trembled and no words could get out.

“You’re not locked up in that cursed mansion anymore. You can go wherever you want. Taking care of a graveyard is nice if that makes you happy, but… it’s not by staying with the dead that you’ll take back your life. It’s by being with the living.”

It hurts, sometimes, to look at the girl in front of him. It was a similar sensation as to stare in a mirror and seeing the reflection of a painful past self he had managed to overcome.

A child playing pretend with dead dolls when they were too old for that.

Morgana had done this since she was a little girl, but unlike him she had never let it go. He had left this behind in the past, but she was still desperately clinging to it.

Michel advanced once again, and stopped only a few centimeters away from her. Morgana was small and only barely reaching his chest, and the way she seemed to intensely stare at the ground in this moment made her seem even smaller.

He put both of his hands on her shoulders, making her look up at him, and when her eyes finally crossed his, he smiled softly.

“I love you and want you to be happy, because you deserves it. You don’t have to treat the entire world like it’s your enemy, so let people help you and love you. That’s all I really wanted to tell you.”

Morgana’s eyes widened as if not believing he had actually said this, and Michel had to admit he kind of felt the same. The words were like ashes in his mouth, and he had never been good at being open with people, not even after all those centuries. It was hard and uncomfortable and awkward, but he meant every single one of them, and he hoped Morgana could sense that, too.

Before the girl had the time to recover, he leaned in and gently kissed her forehead affectionately. He didn’t hear her gasp, but he could feel her shock and her body tense through his hands. He pulled away slowly, smiled one last time at her, before turning around.

He didn’t need to face her to know she was completely motionless and inert, but this was in a good kind of way this time.

______________________________________________________________

The odor of death was the thing that remained the most vivid in his dreams.

It wrapped and clung to his sense of smell and made him want to wince and gag. Even after he’d wake up, it would still linger with him, stuck to his skin. He had to really struggle to get it off and to fight the blurry images of the dark tower and of the soulless, dusty skeleton sitting next to him.

The unmoving, unbreathing dead doll.

But the doll wasn’t here when he came back to him, only the warm body of the black-haired woman he was going to marry in a few months. Her chest was slowly moving up and down, her lips ajar and eyelids closed. She was smiling and breathing and living, a far cry from the corpse that had been his only companion for years and years a long, lost time ago, and that was enough to bring him back in the present.

As he had often the habit by now, he stood up and headed in the kitchen, preparing his mug of coffee almost mechanically before getting outside. He noticed with regret as he sat on the courtyard’s bench that still no stars sprinkled the dark sky.

“Seems like meeting down there is starting to become a routine for us.”

There she stood in front of him, the skeletal doll.

But she wasn’t skeletal or unmoving or unbreathing anymore — with her golden eyes and long red hair slightly illuminated by the moon, she looked more like some sort of unworldly nymph.

“Seems like it,” Michel said quietly.

Morgana grimaced slightly in disappointment. “And here I thought I’d manage to pay you back and startle you like you did with me last time. Were you expecting me or something?”

“Something like that, I suppose. Maybe a part of me can always sort of tell your presence, like when we were in the mansion.”

“That’s not possible. You’re joking, right?”

“What do you think?”

Michel smiled mischievously at her, and the girl rolled her eyes, before simply sitting next to him. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

If he closed his eyes, maybe he could feel like he was still that barely adult young man in the tower seeking comfort from a corpse.

“That was kind of unfair, what you did at the cemetery,” Morgana finally said in a soft, quiet voice. “Leaving me all alone behind after saying something ridiculous like that.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous. I meant it.”

“I know. That’s what makes it ridiculous.”

She was staring at her feet now, and while there wasn’t any expression on her face, her voice was barely a murmur. Michel felt that Morgana wanted to talk for once, and it was a rare enough occasion that he kept his mouth shut as much as possible.

“You shouldn’t love me. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?”

“Not after… I don’t know. Everything.”

“Hmm… Could it be some backward way trying to apologize for what you did to me and Giselle? That’s quite something, coming from you. Did you hit your head or something?”

“It’s not. I just don’t get it. I don’t get you. You don’t make sense, that’s all.”

Michel sighed. It didn’t really surprise him. Forgiving Morgana and becoming her friend made sense to him, but it certainly was understandable that it wouldn’t really from her perspective. The sad thought of how a part of her probably would not believe anyone who’d say ‘I love you’ to her regardless of who it was crossed his mind…

“I did felt a lot of ways towards you during these years,” he finally said. “I hated you, and resented you, and pitied you. You did a lot of heinous things to me. But I think I myself did a lot of bad things to you. Though, well… you already know that, don’t you?”

No response came, but he didn’t need any, so he just let his eyes wander at the starless sky.

“My point is, that when I really started to see you as a person, when I really started to emphasize with you and wanted to save you, I’ve stopped resenting you and started loving you. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but that’s how it is. I hope you’ll be able to understand it one day.”

Morgana sighed, and also raised up her head. “I… will not make any promise,” she finally said. “But…”

She bit her lips. Looked away.

“But I’ll… I’ll think about it. The shrink.”

And then Michel couldn’t help but chuckle, because in this moment she sounded so much like the stubborn teen girl she was supposed to be and not like the centuries years old cruel, vengeful witch, and it was how things was supposed to be.

“You know, Morgana… some time earlier, I got myself wondering what would have happened if I had never met you.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“How would that work…?”

“Well, I don’t know… Maybe if you never had died the way you did, and never put a curse on the three men. Maybe if Jacopo had never locked you up in that tower.”

Morgana snorted. “That indeed would have prevented a lot of annoying events, yes. But that would mean counting on the fact that this idiot can possess anything resembling human common sense.”

“Well, regardless… I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“Hmm… Well, if I had indeed never been killed that way… for starter, the mansion itself would have never been cursed. So maybe you would not even have been sent at that mansion at all. Or maybe you would have, but either way I do not think it would have changed much about what happened there, or changed anything about your death.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

“However, Giselle… would have never become the Maid.”

“Indeed…”

Morgana’s gaze seemed unfocused as she looked into the horizon, and Michel wondered what was going through her head. Maybe she reminisced all those centuries she spent in company of the Maid.

“Maybe… it would have been better for her,” she finally blurted out.

“That’s… also what I thought. But then… that might sound selfish of me, but… if she had never become the Maid and stayed in the mansion, then we likely… would have never been reunited. The both of us getting reincarnated here was principally thanks to your wish.”

“Heh, I’m not so sure about that. That’s going to sound cheesy, but I think your bond was strong enough for you to meet again.”

“Maybe… It’d be nice if it is the case…”

Michel put his gaze inside his cup of coffee, that was probably cold by now.

“But you know… while I do wish Giselle hadn’t gone through so much suffering during her time as the Maid, and that I would do anything to take it back… I still… do not regret meeting you.”

He turned his head towards the young girl sat next to him, and stared straight into her eyes.

“Despite everything, I am still glad to be your friend now.”

Michel smiled gently at her, and put a hand on the top of her head, gently ruffling her red hair. Morgana sighed and rolled her eyes. “I am not a child,” she grumbled, but even so she did nothing to put off his hand. So Michel chuckled, and despite her reluctance, Morgana joined in his laugh soon enough.

Years, decades, centuries ago, she was just a lifeless doll he’d shared an abandoned mansion with — a convenient plaything to make a desperate, broken boy feel less lonely.

And then when she started talking as a witch, she became an annoyance and he wanted nothing but to get rid of her.

But he was glad to not have given up on her in the end, so that he could now see into what kind of woman she would grow into.

And just like he had done an eternity before, he extended his arm and grabbed her hand, holding it gently but firmly.

This time, those were not cold, dusty bones that met his fingers, but warm, smooth skin.

This was not a skeleton sat next to him that he could play pretend with like a doll, but a dear friend he had pitied, hated, resented sympathized with and loved all at once.

[gingersimasnaps]

I'm not even sorry for this one 💁‍♀️

Vera is AGAIN OOC as fuck because obviously I don't know how to write canon Vera, English is again horrible, and it's angstyyy! 😁

@bakulka @fanfics-she-wrote @everythingabouthatship - I won this one. 😘

Angsty Vermish fic ❤️

This has to be some kind of a fucking joke.

Because no way this situation is happening seriously.

Vera Stone, Grand Magus, is standing in front of new Massachusetts Temple Magus and this just can't be true. She really waits for someone to jump from behind the door, laughing, and telling her it's just a joke, but it doesn't happen.

With almost sheepish smile, Derek Johnson is standing in front of her. Her ex boyfriend. Father of her dead daughter.

"Vera..." He says quietly. "Hi."

She wants to do three hundred things right now. She wants to run, to yell, to claw his eyes out, to hug him, to kiss him, to call Hamish-

Hamish.

The thought of him stops the madness in her head.

"Hi, Derek," she answers simply and tries to hold the cold tone of voice but failes miserably.

"I... Haven't seen you for a long time."

"Not exactly my fault, is it?" she snaps.

"I know, I know, and I'm incredibly sorry, Vera. I really am. I wasn't ready to be a father back then."

She scoffs. "Because I was so ready to be a mother."

Derek holds his hand up as a sign of peace. "I know I was the grand coward," he sighs.

"Yeah, you were. Now, back to the work. You were selected by your Massachusetts chapter and by the Gnostic council as the new Temple Magus. It won't be easy, I warn you. You have to be careful. You have all of your chapter's acolytes under your wing now so listen to me carefully. I don't want to hear about one single unnecessary death from your temple."

She dips into explaining him his duties and tries to ignore his body warmth when he stand closer to her to see what she's showing him in some book.

"I would love to be a part of our child's life if you allow me," Derek says when they're done and after they agree he will stay here for a week or so, to observe her work. Vera tenses up.

"She's dead."

"WHAT?!"

The next thing she knows is she's crying, and Derek rushes to hug her. He doesn't let her go when she sobs out what happened.

Suddenly the door are flying open, and Hamish is standing there, with a drink in his hand. Of course, it's 4 PM. He always brings her drink at this time. And she's still in Derek's embrace.

Hamish watches how she pulls away from the man and how he doesn't want to let her go. He watches his lingering touch while Hamish is setting the glass on her table.

"Your drink, Grand Magus," he says blankly, and turns his back to them.

"Thank you," Vera calls softly, which makes him to turn back again. Her eyes are wet. And so incredibly vulnerable. He wants to hold her. But, obviously, there is someone else to do it now.

"You don't have to thank me, Grand Magus," he answers, and goes away.

Derek stays for more than a week. It's been over a month now. He spends all his time in the Temple. With Vera.

Hamish is just tired and sick of all this. He tries so hard to maintain everything in his life and he feels he just reached the bottom of his strength.

His pack kind of excommunicated him. Randall is mad at him because he's 'not acting as the leader should act', and Jack doesn't care enough, as he's consumed with his relationship with Alyssa. Lilith is the only one who seems to care, but she has her own life. And yet, he's still trying to keep them all safe because excommunicated or not, it's his duty and he needs to do it.

He teaches fucking big bunch of classes now, because Krowchuk is on long term sick leave. He's still Magistratus, so he works for Order as well.

And the most painful thing is the fact Vera is spending all her free time with a man she swore she hates to the guts. And she enjoys it.

The last blow is delivered when he works on the drink for her (yes, he's so stupid he still does that) and hears her loud, genuine laugh from her office, where she is with Derek. After a few seconds, the door opens, and the man walks to the bar.

"I'll take it to her, Magistratus, thank you," he says with a smile. Sly smile. "She will never be yours, young man. I was the first and I will be also the last."

Hamish stands there for a few minutes, feeling completely empty. This has happened only once in his life so far - when Cassie died. Vera is still very much alive, but he lost her also.

Fuck this.

Hamish almost runs from the temple, hops in his car and drives to his parents' cabin, about an hour from Belgrave. Once he turns the engine off, he fishes his phone out of his pocket and types a single message to her.

Derek is telling Vera some story and she listens, of course, when he phone chimes, announcing new message.

"Leave it," says Derek, but she reaches for in anyway.

Hamish [5:26PM] I quit.

"Wait," she silences Derek. What does Hamish mean by quitting? His TA position? The Order? He can't exactly quit Knights. Or does he mean he's quitting them? She dials his number. It rings and rings and rings, but no one answers.

"Fuck," she grits between her teeth and furiously types a message. Then another and another.

Vera [5:30PM] What do you mean?

Vera [5:31PM] What are you quitting??

Vera [5:31PM] Answer me!

Vera [5:32PM] Hamish, please, tell me what's wrong?

Vera [5:35PM] This is not funny.

Vera [5:48PM] Hamish where are you? Tell me where you are.

Vera [5:54PM] MAGISTRATUS, COOPERATE!!!

Derek watches her attempts to contact him and of course he doesn't like it. Vera is his. She shouldn't give a fuck about the BOY when she has *the* MAN next to her. He tries to bring her attention back to him, but with no success. Vera tries another call, and this time the person answers.

"Ms. Bathory, do you happen to know where Hamish is?" she asks immediately, to hell with Mr. Duke.

"Why do you suddenly care?" asks Lilith back in her typical 'Kilith' way.

"Ms. Bathory-"

"Because to me, you didn't seem to bother with Hamish during the past month."

"Can you please tell me where he is?" Vera's voice is soft and if Lilith wouldn't know her, she would say she's almost begging.

"I don't know," she gives up. "But I would check the cabin. His parents own it, we crashed there once or twice for holidays. I'll send you the address."

"Thank you, Lilith," Vera says and ends the call. After a minute, Lilith really sends her the address.

"What's going on?" Derek asks for like 108th time.

"Hamish, the man who makes all the drinks texted me 'I quit' and I need to find him," Vera answers. "Whatever is happening, I'll help him to find a solution."

"Well if he wants to leave then let him leave, no? After all, it's gonna be better for you."

Vera turns to him with disbelief. "Excuse me?!"

"It's more than obvious the boy is in love with you. He's so bad at hiding it he could tattoo it on his forehead. Poor kid no way reaches your limits, not even with some branch two meters long. And I already told him now that I'm here, he doesn't need to bother anymore. Let him leave. It's for the best."

Grand Magus feels pure rage flooding in her veins. "What LIMITS are you talking about, Derek?! Who the fuck gave you the right?!"

Derek smiles. "Honey, we both feel we're the right match for each other. Don't deny it." He tries to reach for her, but she yanks her hand from his grasp.

"Oh my fucking God, I can't believe I was so stupid! I really thought you want to learn about your work, but all this time, you were just trying to get into my panties! And how do you even dare to talk to Hamish about him bothering or not?!" she's literally screaming on top of her lungs.

"If you need to know it, we were a thing long before you came here. Me and Hamish, and I was the one who iniciated it. I never want to have anything with you again, because it's you who can't reach HIS limits. Hamish would never- fuck this. You don't deserve to know him at all."

"Now who's running from who?!" Derek yells when she gathers her belongings, ready to chase Hamish to the other side of the planet if she needs to.

"I'm not running from you. I'm running TO him. And I'm not leaving you knocked up at 16 with words 'I don't fucking want to be dad, God knows who you fucked with!'" Vera hisses, and magically throws - literally - him out of her office.

She's driving fast, violating the speed limits, but her heart is pounding painfully in her chest and her mind is screaming at her to go even faster. What had she done? What had possessed her that she almost dumped her source of happiness and joy for Derek?! How could she hurt Hamish so much, when she promised to herself multiple times she never wants to hurt him?

Suddenly, her hands grip the steering wheel with such force her knuckles turn white.

Please, please, oh God please, he didn't think he's quitting his LIFE, right?!

She feels bile in her throat and swallows forcefully. The image of his lifeless body is in front of her eyes and a sob escapes her. No. No, no, no, no, no, NO. He wouldn't do that, not because of her, she's not worth it!!!

Vera drives even faster.

When she arrives, it's 6:47PM. Normally, she would be impressed she managed to get there so fast, but now, everything she needs is to know Hamish is alive.

Vera doesn't bother with knocking or whatever, she just bursts through the door.

Hamish is sitting on the couch, in front of TV that is switched off, and just stares at the black screen.

"Hamish-" Vera manages to breathe and he looks at her. There is so much pain in his eyes she almost cries out.

"What do you want, Grand Magus," Hamish sighs, and she drops her purse in the floor and runs to him.

"You," she says. "I want you and I want us, forever. I'm so sorry, Hamish, for everything I put you through. For the past month. I'm so sorry, can you forgive me? Please... I don't know what to do without you. I don't know how to breathe right when you're not next to me."

"You have Derek now, don't you?" he says, and she puts her hands on his cheeks.

"No. I don't even wanna know what he told you but it's not true. I never wanted him back. I have to admit it was interesting for me to have him around again, but I never wanted him back as my boyfriend, or partner, or lover or whatever connected with feelings. I have you for all of these things. And you have me, Hamish. You have all of me." She climbs in his lap and feels so relieved when Hamish wraps his hands around her waist.

"I love you, Hamish. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you, and I never will. Can you forgive me? I'm not asking for instant forgiveness, but someday?"

Hamish leans in and kisses her, and Vera kisses back, with all the 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' and 'I want you' and basically every emotion she's feeling.

After their century long kissing (and yet it's not enough, it never can be enough), Vera hugs him tightly, presses his face into his neck, and Hamish is swinging them slowly and gently from left to right. Neither of them says a word, and they don't need to. Vera just wants to spend rest of her life engulfed in his embrace, and Hamish never wants to let her go. They both came home today.

Home is where the heart is.