#you don't understand I love everything about her

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[redeemingvillains]

the apothecary's rebel - mattheo riddle

summary: hogwarts' bad boy can't seem to find a way to stay out of the infirmary where you're working to become a healer, but as the stakes get higher, you struggle to understand if you're simply a means to an end, or something much more.

word count: 4k

warnings: mentions of severe injury, broken bones, blood, etc.

a/n: this is so tropey and i'm not sorry about it! credit as always to the lovely @pizzaapeteer who has definitively determined that mattheo's favorite quidditch team is the falmouth falcons, which i will faithfully honor in every fic that i write.

The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, he had rivulets of blood pouring from his nose, crimson and amber; it stained his white collared shirt and seeped into his emerald tie and dark robes but despite it, he was smiling, laughing actually as his eyes glinted at Professor McGonagall who was dragging him alongside her into the infirmary.

"Please, Professor" he implored, "I can't help myself when someone runs their mouth like that, I can't, it's like a curse or something, my fist just flew to his face, what was I supposed to do?!" He was smirking as he looked at her, but she ignored his gaze as she yanked him before you.

"Enough, Mr. Riddle!" she said shrilly.

He tugged his arm out of her grasp. "I don't need the infirmary, m'fine" he huffed, rolling his eyes.

"You're dripping blood on my floor" she retorted, pointing to the maroon spots at his feet.

He glanced down and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood further across his face.

"Ms. YLN!" McGonagall said, making it clear that he was your problem now as she squeezed her eyes shut in aggravation then spun on her heels and left.

You stood from your desk at once startled and awed by the situation, but Mattheo's gaze followed McGonagall out of the room.

"M'fine, I don't need anything" he repeated as he continued to swipe at the blood that wouldn't stop running.

You begged to differ as you took in the gash on the bridge of his nose, and the early signs of a black eye. You handed him a cloth which he stuffed under his nose halfheartedly, barely glancing at you, and before you could do anything else, he jogged back to the doorway, peered around the corner and disappeared.

Your week went by without anything nearly as exciting occurring beyond the normal bumps, bruises, and burns from spells and potions gone awry before you saw him again, this time of his own volition.

He caught your eye as his large framed graced the doorway. He was dressed for quidditch, still in his shoulder pads and Slytherin practice jersey. His dark curls were windblown and his cheeks were flush with exertion; sweat glistened on his brow and you thought fleetingly to yourself that no one had the right to look that sweaty and that good at the same time.

You stood from your desk to approach him, eyebrow quirked when he held up his hand by way of explanation, where two of his fingers were bent the wrong way, clearly broken. You motioned wordlessly for him to sit on the nearest cot.

He sat and immediately focused his attention out the window, peering like he was hoping to see the quidditch pitch from his vantage point.

You gathered a few supplies and approached him and he thrust out his hand, eyes never leaving the window.

"Go on then, get it over with" he said shortly. "I wanna get back to practice."

Unbeknownst to you, he was no stranger to broken bones, nor the sharp, relentless pain that came with the healing process and he was doing everything he could to steel himself for it.

Your touch was warm and tender as your fingers gently examined his hand.

"What position do you play?" you asked.

"Beater" he said simply.

You handed him a dose of healing and numbing potion, which he chugged in one go, thinking briefly that it tasted much better than he remembered.

"Are you any good?" you continued as you took the vial back from him and continued your work on his fingers.

"Are you joking?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.

You shrugged innocently, a sly smile on your lips, though you never broke your focus.

"Yeah, I'm good" he said. "Best Slytherin has seen in a while. We might actually have a chance at the cup this year if Flynt can keep his head straight and Goyle can stay sober long enough to sit on his broom."

"A daunting task" you teased.

He laughed genuinely this time, your humor enough to garner his attention and break his gaze from the window as his eyes fell on you instead, and you could feel yourself flush under his notice.

"Harpies or Cannons?" you asked, trying to guess his favorite team.

"Falcons" he said, smirking at your knowledge of quidditch.

"My brothers root for Ballycastle, but I'm partial to the Magpies" you replied.

Now he was flat out impressed and had about a million questions for you, but just as he opened his mouth to ask them, you step back and smiled.

"You're all set!"

He thought you were joking until he looked down at his carefully bandaged fingers.

"You should be able to grip your broom just fine. Put some ice on it after practice if you can, otherwise it will hurt like hell when the potion wears off."

You were gathering your supplies as he wiggled his fingers with trepidation. He felt a dull ache, but nothing more, and he could easily grasp his broom despite his mended fingers with the unique way you'd wrapped them; it'd felt better than any mending he'd had before and whether it was your talent or the deft way you'd distracted him, he couldn't stop himself from muttering "S'bloody brilliant."

"Thanks" you said genuinely, feeling the heat return to your cheeks as you shot him a playful smirk of your own. "Best Ravenclaw's seen in a while" you teased, echoing his words from earlier before you walked back to your desk.

The rest of the afternoon you found your thoughts wandering between the books you were trying to study and the boy with dark curls and a smirky grin who seemed magnetized to mischief, how even the brush of your fingers against his strong, calloused hands had had you struggling to focus on healing, the very thing that came most naturally to you.

You were both happy and disappointed that you didn't see him soon thereafter, glad perhaps that he was keeping himself out of trouble and in one piece. You caught glimpses of him occasionally in the busy corridor between classes or in the Great Hall surrounded by his raucous group of friends, but you tried your level best not to stare, in turn missing his equally ardent attempts to catch your eye.

It was perhaps three weeks later that you awoke late on a Saturday night to a muffled pounding on your bedroom door. Bright moonlight shone through your curtained window as you struggled to get your bearings and the pounding relented, heavy and urgent.

Occasionally, Madam Pomfrey summoned you in an emergency and your heart trilled as you pulled a large sweater over your lace and silk pajamas. You moved quickly to open the door, only to find Mattheo slumped and leaning against your doorway.

He swung his head to look at you with noticeable effort and you couldn't hold in your gasp as you took in his face, scraped and dirty with a large cut on his eyebrow that you were already calculating would need stitches, and a smaller but sizable cut to match on his lip. His mouth was bloodied and the gash on the bridge of his nose was back.

"Gods, Mattheo" you whispered as you reached for him. "Let's get you down to the infirmary."

"S'four inthe mornin' m'not gonna explain to them why I looklike this" he said, his speech slurring as he moved to brush past you into your room.

"Can'tyou fix me n'here?" he asked, as he swayed and you moved to support his weight.

"I-I don't have what I need, I don't have any numbing potion..." you tried to say.

"Can't hurt more'n it already does" he huffed as he sat on your bed.

The sight of him there, rumpling your sheets caught every last word in your throat and you busied yourself grabbing what you could to buy time to still your racing heart.

"What happened?" you asked, finally.

"Me'n the boys got into one" he said, not offering more in the way of an explanation as he glanced around your room, making you feel exposed.

"And where are they?" you asked, glancing for a moment back at the door like they might follow him in.

"I wasn'about to drag five ofus n'here" he said with a smirk.

I wanted you all to myself he thought as he tried with significant effort to focus on you as you came to stand between his spread legs. Your sweater was falling off of your shoulder to reveal thin, silk pajamas that covered next to nothing; your hair was rumpled and wavy with sleep, giving you a relaxed and tousled look that had his mind racing with the image of you tangled in your sheets.

You held his chin softly in your hand, turning his head slowly to the right and to the left. You could smell firewhiskey on him, and could see the pupils of his eyes blown wide as they looked unwavering at you in a way that made your legs feel like jelly.

"You might have a concussion" you said quietly, focusing on the facts instead of the fantasy in front of you.

"Probably" he agreed, his voice thick and raspy.

Your eyes shifted from his strong gaze to focus on his hands, attentively wiping away the dirt, gravel and blood from his knuckles, your fingers running down his palms. His eyes fluttered, thinking you had no right to make him feel this good by touching his hands, and then immediately he thought about your touch anywhere, everywhere else.

You leaned further into him to attend to the cut on his eyebrow, softly whispering the spell to mend it, close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin and he closed his eyes in earnest, letting your words wash over him, calming him from what had been an intense and violent night; they didn't flutter open again until you gently touched his lip.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" you asked.

"S'other ways you could make it feel better" he said, smiling widely in way that set a twinkle in his eye.

"Very funny" you said, redoubling your efforts, without realizing that for once he wasn't joking.

He reached out a hand to grab your waist, attempting to pull you into him, but you mistook it for an effort to steady himself and set a hand on his shoulder.

With the amount of alcohol in his system you thought, there is little to no chance he remembers any of this.

Mattheo woke with a throbbing headache and for the life of him he couldn't piece together why his friends visibly looked like they'd lost a brawl, while he looked...fine; his hands and face were clean and his split lip and eyebrow were reduced to small cuts and scrapes, nearly healed.

He had a foggy memory, like a dream, of you tracing your fingers over his lip, a touch he retraced now like he could feel you on his skin, could feel your warmth from being pulled out of bed, and then he remembered how good you'd smelled, like vanilla and amber... Had he really gone to your room in the middle of the night? He would almost be embarrassed if he didn't feel so fucking smitten about it.

The group dragged themselves to breakfast, hoods drawn; Theo even sported an oversized pair of sunglasses, whether to cover his black eye or to abade his hangover, no one was sure. They were talking in rasp whispers about the night before when Mattheo caught sight of you leaving the Great Hall with a few of your friends, his feet moving on autopilot towards you before he knew what he was doing, breaking rank to his friends' bewilderment.

"Hey" he said, catching your attention. "I-uhh, thanks for last night, I guess" he smiled, even as he carded his hand through his hair, a bit abashed.

"I am genuinely surprised you remember any of it" you said, laughing.

"F'course I do" he said confidently.

"So, you'll keep your promise then?" you retorted as you cocked your head expectantly.

Promise? What fucking promise?

"Yeah, of course I will" he said, even as his mind drew a complete blank on what you were referring to.

Your eyebrows shot up as a wide smile graced your lips and you crossed your arms, ready to challenge him before you were interupted.

"—Wait, is this her?" Theo barged in, pushing Mattheo aside, the others following closely behind.

"Can she look at my nose?" Draco tried. "I think that fucker broke—"

"—No. Stop, stop it." Mattheo said, dragging them away from you gruffly as you laughed, waving to Enzo who was waving eagerly to you despite Mattheo's efforts to contain him.

Your cheeks were crimson. He'd told his friends about you.

That giddiness carried you throughout your day. You felt like you were floating from class to class, like a fifth house ghost, your spirits high even as you resigned yourself to the infirmary that evening while the rest of the school made their way to the quidditch pitch for the final game of the season, the House Cup: Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

A dark storm had settled over the mountains and the last of the sun disappeared behind large, black clouds that brought with them torrential wind and rain that you watched cascade in sheets against the windows. You were disappointed to be missing the game, missing the chance to watch Mattheo play, but you were also happy to be inside, dry and warm.

You settled into your book, trying your best to enjoy it, but you found yourself reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to clear your mind from the night before, the way Mattheo settled effortlessly on your bed in a way that even now had your stomach clenching, the way his dark eyes followed you in the white moonlight, the way he smiled under caked blood and the warmth and softness of his skin and his lips under your fingertips; and finally the way he'd grabbed you, perhaps stronger than he'd intended, fingers pressing into the thin silk that covered you, leaving imprints on your skin. Your heart was racing and you felt warm at the memory as you set your book down and exhaled shakily.

It wasn't a moment later that you heard a commotion in the corridor, loud voices and shuffling feet before a large group burst through the doors, professors and students crowding around two quidditch players, the sight making your heart constrict in your chest, until you noticed a red jersey on one and the flash of Draco Malfoy's bright blonde hair on the other. You scurried to help guide him to a cot as he groaned, his eyes squeezing in pain as a gash on his forehead dripped blood down the side of his face.

"What the hell happened?!" you asked Professor Sinistra who had a deep frown set on her face.

"The storm is making it impossible to see anything, they should have cancelled the damn match" she said. "These two collided and there's another one coming - he tried to grab Malfoy and took a bludger straight to the knee before falling 60 feet to the ground."

Draco continued to writhe in pain in front of you and Professor Sinistra was still talking but she sounded distant, almost underwater, because dread and fear had settled over you. Somehow you knew before you turned around that the third player was Mattheo, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him being supported between Theo and Blaise.

He was limping on one leg as the other dragged uselessly beneath him. He was soaked through, his hair stuck to his forehead and his jersey stuck to his skin. He was covered in mud and his face was like stone, marble white as he stared sternly at a spot on the ground, jaw clenched.

You dropped what you had been doing, rudely brushing past Professor Sinistra and rushed to his side.

"Here, put him here" you said to Theo and Blaise, leading them to an empty cot.

"Nahh - fuck - get someone else" Mattheo said sharply in a way so cutting and raw that you froze, like his words had struck you like a charm.

"W-What?" you said as the boys lowered him to the bed, exchanging glances.

"You heard me YLN. Get someone else!" he said angrily, almost yelling.

You turned to face the rest of the infirmary which was in a state of utter chaos between the nurses, students and professors running back and forth; the raging storm outside cracked and boomed, setting you further on edge.

Tears welled in your eyes at how overwhelmed you were and how angry Mattheo was. Your head was spinning. Clearly he didn't care about you at all, you had been a convenience, a means to an end, someone who could patch him up when he was too drunk to go to the infirmary, and he'd used his good looks and charm on you like he did everyone else to get what he wanted. You had been an utter fool. Now his injuries were serious and he wanted someone with experience, not some girl to exchange flirty banter with.

Your eyes scanned the room again and you swiped angrily at your cheeks as several tears escaped.

"Well, there isn't anyone else, Mattheo" you said, the realization hitting you simultaneously that you were responsible for him.

He groaned in annoyance and threw his head back on his pillow, which Theo and Blaise thankfully took as their cue to go. You drew the curtains behind them, struggling to calm yourself, to get a semblance of control.

"You took a bludger to the knee?" you asked. "What else, where does it hurt?"

He was silent, face grimaced, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"Suppose I'll just have to undress you and find out for myself then?" you tried. But even that didn't work as he remained quiet and shame and embarrassment set over you.

You took a steadying breath and quickly wiped another errant tear away before approaching him cautiously, moving to unlace his boots as gently as you could, but even that caused him to tense. Delicately, you began to cut his trousers from the bottom and within three snips could you see a sicky swelling letting you know that this was bad....very bad. He'd well shattered his knee and likely broke his fibula and tibia too, his entire leg was a disaster. You had no idea how he'd remained so calm despite it all and you were worried that this might be too complex for you to mend.

You mixed him a strong healing and numbing potion and he took it from you wordlessly, gruffly. Gone was his bashful smile from this morning, the twinkle in his eye, it was like he wanted nothing to do with you, downing the potion in one go, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Mattheo, I can't imagine how painful this must be, but I'll fix it, I-I promise" you said.

His eyes shifted darkly to you for only a moment, anger and distain clear in his gaze before he looked away again, never saying a word.

You applied just about everything you'd ever learned about mending bones, tendons, muscles and sinew and within moments of taking the potion, Mattheo had fallen into a deep sleep, allowing you to work without fear of hurting him further. It took the better part of two hours, by which time the rest of the infirmary had settled and Madam Pomfrey came to check on you. She was difficult to please, but she scrutinized your work with a sharp eye before complimenting you thoroughly, you had done it.

You were depleted, exhausted, both physically and emotionally but you didn't stop as you wiped the caked mud from Mattheo's cheeks and gingerly cut away the rest of his wet clothing, fearful he'd catch a chill, thinking you deserved some sort of medal for your level of professionalism as your fingers traced his strong muscles, veined arms and faded scars. You pulled a blanket over him, charmed to stay warm before you finally slumped into a chair at his side.

Your entire body was tense, and your muscles were sore. You let yourself catch your breath as your emotions finally caught up with you and you bit your lip to keep from crying at how foolish you felt.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head through the curtain. "You're free to go" she said quietly.

You glanced back at Mattheo before turning to her. "I think I'll stay...just in case" you whispered.

She pursed her lips knowingly before nodding curtly and walking back to her station at the far end of the room.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but eventually you fell into a fitful sleep riddled with nightmares of falling into deep darkness with nothing and no one to catch you.

Mattheo came to in a haze, enveloped in a soft warmth that brought a smile to his lips; for some reason, it reminded him of you, and it smelled like you, like warm vanilla and amber spice. As if in a dream, a memory came rushing back to him, of another time he was engulfed by you, of feeling your gentle touch on his lips in a way that made them tingle even now.

"How'sthis" he said. "I promise if I'm ever this'fucked again, and you haveta take care o'me, I'll take you ona date?" Your eyes shot to his, shining against the moonlight streaming into your bedroom and he clocked the twitch of your lip, the rose of your cheeks, Gods how he loved to make you blush. "Yeah?" you said jokingly. "Yeah" he said, feeling confident. You refocused your attention on his lip, your touch soaking through him like sunlight. "Well, for your sake, I hope that doesn't happen, you're a mess" you chided. Then, quietly, "But for mine, I look forward to it."

His heart soared and he reached for you only to come back with empty hands. He continued to grasp for you until his eyes fluttered open and he realized where he was. The memory of the game came rushing back to him, the flash of thunder and lighting, the fear of seeing his best mate falling off his broom as he raced to grab him, and then the crunch and splitting pain of his knee shattering, the scream he'd let out that was drowned by the storm.

His stomach roiled as he relived the way his friends had dragged him back to the castle, how every bump of his foot felt like torture. He tensed now, waiting for the pain, nearly nauseating himself with the memories, but he felt...nothing. A dull ached radiated from his knee and it felt stiff, but the sharpness was gone, replaced with a pulsing warmth.

His eyes blinked in the low candlelight, coming to rest on you, curled uncomfortably in a chair next to his bed, and he realized he should have known, should have recognized that you were the constant peace on the other side of his pain.

You were asleep, but your face was scrunched in discomfort, in concern and he clocked the smudge of your eye makeup, the loose strands of your hair falling on your face, and the fact that you were wearing the same clothes from earlier this morning, when he'd made you smile. Now, you looked distraught, upset and his stomach clenched as he remembered the way he'd spoken to you.

He had been in so much pain and pain is weakness he could hear in his head over and over again as he'd tried unsuccessfully to fight it. She's going to think you're weak, pathetic. He didn't want to be weak in front of you, he didn't want you to see him that way. He was proud when you mended his busted knuckles, his split lip, or even his smashed fingers, you didn't need a weak, crying git. But then he remembered the crushed look on your face as he'd yelled at you, and he realized he'd been a git all the same.

"Hey" he said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended, scratchy with sleep.

"Hey" he tried again.

You woke, startled. "Are you alright?" you asked, bolting upright in your chair, setting a hand on his arm. "Here, let me check your—"

"—I'm fine" he said, laughing. "More than, actually."

"Oh" you said, settling back down. "Good."

A moment of tepid silence passed between you.

"Look, m'sorry about earlier" he said, his sleep ridden voice coaxing your eyes to meet his as he opened his hand on the bed beside him, stretching it out for yours.

You hesitated, pursing your lips, and he could tell you were hurt.

"Can you keep a secret?" he tried.

You nodded.

"That fucking hurt, a lot" he exhaled as he let his vulnerability show.

"That's not really a secret. You shattered your knee, fibula and tibia, Mattheo, and you also have three bruised ribs and two more broken fingers" you said, pointing to his other hand.

"Well, would you look at that" he said smartly, twiddling his fingers back and forth.

"Draco cried harder over a hairline fracture, you'd have thought he was dying" you laughed quietly as you rolled your eyes.

Mattheo let out an earnest laugh at that before he grabbed his side.

"Do not tell him I said that—"

"—I am absolutely telling him you said that!" he said cockily as you both laughed until you fell into silence again.

He opened his palm again and you moved closer, setting your hand in his, which he enveloped in his warm grasp, gently rubbing a thumb over your fingers.

"I didn't want you to think I'm weak" he said finally, the truth settling over both of you like a blanket.

"Pain isn't weakness, Mattheo" you said simply, and the fact that in one instant you had understood exactly what he had meant had his dark chocolate eyes locked on yours.

"And anyway" you continued, "you don't have a weak bone in your body, your pain tolerance must be through the roof."

He didn't have the heart to tell you he hurt just like everyone else, he'd just had more practice with it, so he shrugged.

"Well all things considered, I feel great... thank you" he said, twirling your fingers together before tugging them gently, pulling you to sit on the bed beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between you. "I do have a couple of complaints though."

Your eyebrow quirked, suddenly serious.

"You got me nearly naked here before I could take you on that date I promised, hardly seems fair" he smirked.

You blushed, opening your mouth to defend yourself. So he did remember after all you thought.

"I'm kidding" he said lightly. "But start thinking about where I can take you. A promise is a promise."

You couldn't hide the smile on your face even as you tried, glancing into your lap, your cheeks Mattheo's favorite shade of blushed red.

"And what else?" you asked, trying to deflect.

"You missed something. I think I fucked my lip up, real bad" he said.

Your eyes twinkled as they looked at him, glancing briefly at his perfect lips, free from any mark or mar.

"I don't know, I don't see anything" you said, jokingly, taking his face in your hand, pretending to examine him.

"C'mon, c'mere you've got to get closer" he teased, pulling you into him, so your noses were nearly touching, your heart pounding in your chest.

He paused, relishing the moment, letting his fingers trace a line from your cheek to your jaw, letting your lips hover a breath away from his before he cupped your face and closed the distance between you.

He kissed you tentatively, softly, with a tenderness that made every inch of you feel like melted honey but it was only a breath before his restraint broke, intoxicated by you and every moment he'd daydreamed about the way you'd feel against him, the way you'd taste as he cupped both sides of your face and pulled you further into him. You grasped for purchase as the blanket between you slipped revealing his bare chest and you wound your arms around his bare shoulders, tangling your fingers into his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from deep within him. You nibbled his lip playfully before you pulled back, and he grasped you harder, fighting the distance.

"How's that?" you asked, breathlessly.

"Still unbearably painful, gorgeous, keep trying" he smiled against your lips before kissing you again.

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[iwashie]

Sevika, and reader on her period headcanon...

Sevika is in her late 30s and probably doesn't suffer with her period-or do-, but dating a younger woman, at the peak of hormones and period, makes her think about her time and asks herself how she handles you and all your versions during it.

She knows your period is coming by just seeing your breasts swelling, some complaints about your back hurting, and mood changing during the day as you always do but never remember it's that time of the month.

She always has a lot of pads, your favorite food stockpiled, medicine for your various pains, always ready to massage your back, legs and belly, brings you a lot of water and a hot water bottle for cramps.

"Doll, it's normal to have a period. Don't be angry or disgusting for it. I know you don't like having pains, and all that stuff period brings on, but it's normal. And you have me by your side."

Your mood swings are a challenge for her, but she handles somehow. Just like the day you two were walking around Zaun, enjoying a street food you begged her to buy and then she notices you're not by her side, looking back to see you stuck in the place, your eyes on the ground, on your food on the ground. She immediately ran back to you, soothing you as your eyes filled with tears and mumbled that you haven't even bitten. "That's alright, doll. Have mine and everything is fine."

Or the day she made a joke at the wrong time and wrong place, making everyone at the table in Last Drop alternate gaze between you two just to look away when you lashed out on her and left the place without her. Or the day a woman looked at her for too long, and you had to show that woman that your woman was your woman. Or tried to throw punches at every man whistling at you- Ran had to stop you and Sevika at this one.

She thought your period cravings were something else. Why so much sugar?!? It's was possible worse than pregnancy cravings. "Are you on your period, or are you pregnant?

"I'm craving something sweet, like really sweet." You said, searching for something in the cabinets. "Have some sugar." You looked at her with fire on your eyes, and she felt a cold sweat run down her back. "What about some chocolate cake, ice cream, or some food deep-rooted with sugar? I'll buy it, doll."

She can't keep up with your energy, always accepting whatever you want and following behind you everywhere with a scowl, but making sure you're good, safe, and happy. She doesn't understand how you have so much energy left after doing a lot of things during the day to her about your day and plans, just to fall asleep suddenly.

She also handled you crying over everything and making traps for her, like asking her if she'd love you if you were a worm, or her worst nightmare: "Would you love me if I was from topside?" and her long silence was answer enough for you to start weeping. "Doll, it's just a dumb thought. Of course I'd love you and gonna be with you forever. I promise!"

She prefers to handle you when you are calmer, too sore to handle the world on your back, and stays in bed, being doted by her. She always cuddles you, her human hand on your belly to warm it up, whispering sweet nothings or watching a movie with you, both wrapped in the blankets. "I love you too, doll."

Maybe the best thing about your period is the much horniness you have during it. Your wild side is always showing up at this time of the month; always teasing her with dirty whispers, handsy. She loves fucking you, making love to you, making you cum and all. But, damn, you've come three times already, and you're looking at her with those eyes again, and she isn't young anymore, she needs to catch her breath. "Please, Vika. Just one more. You can use your fingers on me this time. Pleaseee."

She loves it when you are horny and take the lead, playing with yourself, teasing her until she does something about it and makes slow, tender, sweaty love to you. "Fuck, doll. Your pussy is so wet and creamy for me, gotta fuck it properly, huh. Do you want this? Want my cock deep inside your pussy? Good girl, doll..."

Your crazy ideas always caught her by surprise. She is sure that these ideas are made up before your period, and you only come with them to blame on the "period hehehe"

"You know what? I really want-" "Please, a normal thing for once." "You to impregnate me." A silence in the room. "Impossible, doll." "What do you mean it's important? DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!?" "It's biological Impossible to get you pregnant with my babies." "Well. We gotta keep trying, vika!"

Your low self-esteem is the biggest problem, like how she's gonna put inside your head that you are the most beautiful person in Zaun? The prettiest woman she's ever laid eyes on! "Your body is completely fine! Your skin is normal! You're not fat, square, or I don't know! Your clothes are completely fitting, you're fucking beautiful and perfect. The only woman for me, doll!"

At the end of your period, she would be exhausted, needing vacations away from Zaun, but glad to have you surviving another period without trying to kill her and every other Zaun citizen. She would be so glad to have her girl back, not that you're much different but still.

@iwashie 2025, please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[zepskies]

Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞

(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)

First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.

What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.

honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍

lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙

my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍

I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞

now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.

And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.

everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3

It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓

a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖

Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕

I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞

Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.

This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞

(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)

Smoke Eater - Part 11

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.

Part 11: “Heart of the Home”

You sat very still.

Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.

You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.

But your life had never been quite that easy.

“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.

He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.

The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.

George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.

“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”

George thanked him.

And you sat very still. 

A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.

His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.

“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”

You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.

Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.

Your fault.

When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.

“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.

“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”

George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.

“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”

“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”

George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.

You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.

“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.

“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.

He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”

“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”

“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.

“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.

You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”

“Is there something going on?” he pressed.

You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.

“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.

You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.

“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.

Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”

You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.

You could no longer be still.

Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.

Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.

He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.

“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.

“Normally?” you echoed.

“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.

George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”

“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”

At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.

Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”

“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.

Benton met the other man’s gaze.

“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”

Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.

Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.

“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.” 

You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”

“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.

“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.

Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”

And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.

He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.

“Okay,” you breathed.

“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”

“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”

Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.

“That you do, Lieutenant.”

You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.

Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.

“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.

“Come ‘ere a sec.”

Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.

“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.

George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.

“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”

Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.

Dean’s lips quirked.

“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”

Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”

George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.

She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.

“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”

Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.

“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”

He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.

Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.

Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.

Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.

“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”

“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”

“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”

“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”

“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”

Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”

“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.

“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.

Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.

So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.

Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.

However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.

While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.

“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.

“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.

“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.

It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.

On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast. 

“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.

However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.

“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”

She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”

You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.

“Nothing.”

Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”

“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.

“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.

Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.

“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.

“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”

Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.

“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”

“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”

By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”

“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”

You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.

Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.

All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.

She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.

But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.

By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.

Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.

He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.

“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”

Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.

“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.

“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.

“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”

That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.

Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.

George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.

“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.

“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.

“Just some water,” the older man replied.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”

“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.

“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.

When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.

“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”

Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.

“Tell me,” he said.

“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”

Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.

That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.

But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…

He realized that he only had one answer.

“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.

George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”

And that night, an agreement was made. 

In the morning, your grandfather was gone.

Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.

In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.

This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.

But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry. 

He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.

So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.

And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.

“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.

He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.

Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”

You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.

“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”

Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”

You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.

“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.

“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”

Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.

“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”

You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.

“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.

Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.

Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.

“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.

You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.

You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.

“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”

“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part. 

“I’m not leaving you with this.”

Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.

For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes. 

He’s not leaving you. 

Not like everyone else in your life.

You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.

When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.

It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.

“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”

Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.

“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”

“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart. 

“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”

You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.

Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.

Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.

He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.

Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.

But he couldn’t leave you. 

I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.

“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”

A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.

“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”

You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.

Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”

With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.

“That matters to me,” he told you.

You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”

Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.

“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”

You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.

“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand. 

“For what?” he asked.

“For staying.”

AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.

But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.

Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙

Next Time:

The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...

You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.” 

Dean smiled.

“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”

You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.

“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.

Keep Reading: PART 12

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[miedei]

hii, i saw your requests are open, so i was thinking how about spencer and reader have a fwb thing going on, but he always told her not to get attached, so she breaks things off and spencer seems fine with that, until he realizes that she goes on dates with other people so maybe they fight about it and they confess their feelings

YES i love this concept nonnie my love this is amazing

not jealous

wc: 1.2k

ex-fwb!spencer gets jealous, but he doesn't have any feelings for you... right?

cw: a little suggestive i think, i can't be held responsible for the things i think ab spencer reid, wrote this in a fugue state that's the only way i can explain this

(PS: reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

mlist

Penelope Garcia is one of Spencer's favourite people in the world, but at this very moment he feels the shameful urge to tell her to shut up.

"Honey, you'd love him! He's a doctor at the hospital a few streets down, so he understands the whole married-to-the-job thing, and he's smart! Just one date, my love, please? You can totally ghost him afterward if you hate him, though I don't think you will," Garcia is perched on your desk, right across from Spencers, so he can't tune this out, despite his repeated attempts to.

You can't help but sigh, staring up at Garcia as she continues to speak. She means well, you know that. You never told her what happened, but she can tell that you've been lonely, and she's doing everything she can to help.

You can't tell her, you know that, but it doesn't stop you from wanting to.

"It's probably best if we stay like this. We can be coworkers, friends. It'd be easier if we stay unattached."

The words Spencer said to you months ago are still fresh in your mind. You'd agreed, drunk on the feeling of being wanted, and you were aware that feelings would make things more complicated. You knew that, and yet-

"Spencer, we need to stop. I can't do this no-strings-attached thing anymore."

"Then we can- we can stop. We'll stay friends, right?"

"Right."

Months of stolen moments, hotel room beds, and tangled limbs had gone to your head, and cutting it off had been the best thing to do. Spencer had made it clear that your arrangement was only viable when both of you didn't have feelings, and you knew that.

Getting over someone is hard enough, but Spencer Reid is worse. He's always there, soft smiles and rambling conversations. He seemingly hasn't been affected by the end of your situation at all.

Snapping back to reality, you look up at Garcia, who's looking at you with a hopeful smile. You can see Spencer out of the corner of your eye, staring at his monitor like he couldn't care less who you date.

It's infuriating.

He's over it! He was probably never as attached as you were, why would he care if you date?

"You know what? Give me his number."

"Yes!" Garcia pumps a fist before swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. "You won't regret this, I swear!" She grabs a business card out of her pocket and hands it to you, squeezing you one more time before flouncing off.

You fondle the stiff cardboard once, before placing it down on your desk.

Spencer hates him. James Lee. The cursive scripture on the business card stares up at him, mocking him as he tries to work. Your desk is always neat, knickknacks all in their proper spot, so the card is out of place, that's why Spencer can't stop sneaking looks at it.

He's a doctor. So is Spencer. Three times over! If you wanted to date a doctor, why not look for him instead of James Lee, MD.

A PhD's much better than an MD anyway. More effort.

He sighs. He's being petulant, he knows that. You're allowed to date people.

Even if Spencer's the one that knows the way you stretch when you've just woken up. Even if he's the one that's felt your skin under his hands. Even if he's the one that's learned how to elicit those sounds from you.

He can't take it any more, rising abruptly from his desk, stomping over to the kitchenette. The coffee pot is nearly empty, and he pours the dregs into his cup, spooning sugar into it with barely restrained movements.

He can hear Emily humming, Morgan tapping his pen against his desk. He can hear you, typing away at your phone.

He can't take it any more.

Stalking over to his desk, he picks up a random file, and stands by your elbow.

"I need to talk to you about this file. Can you help me find the other report?" He all but melts with relief when you set down your phone, following him to the storage room readily.

Being in close quarters like this causes memories to come rushing back, and you can't help the blush that comes to your face. Shaking your head slightly, you look up at Spencer, resolutely shutting out the images in your mind.

"What report are we looking for?"

He looks sheepish, but his eyes are intense as he looks down at you.

"There's no report. I need to talk to you." You tilt your head in confusion, focusing entirely on him. "Don't go on a date with him."

"What?"

"That guy." He nearly spits out his words. "Garcia's friend. Don't go out with him."

What? He's acting weird, completely still as his eyes blaze into yours.

"Why do you care if I go out with him? Garcia said he's a good guy, I trust her."

He shakes his head. "I'm- I'm sure he's normal. Nice. But you shouldn't go out with him."

He's infuriating, dancing around whatever he means.

"Why, Spencer? I think this would be good for me! I want to have fun."

"With him? You don't know him! Why not go out with someone you-" He cuts himself off, his hand flying to his hair in frustration. "Why this guy? Why not someone you know?" If it weren't Spencer, you'd say he was growling, his eyes dark.

Is he angry at you for going out with this guy?

"What? Are you seriously mad at me? For what?" His eyes flash at your words.

"Why date him? Why not-"

"Who would I date? You? Are you angry at me for dating someone else when we never dated at all? Spencer, you wanted no feelings! I did what you asked, I ended- whatever we were, because you said we shouldn't involve feelings!" Your chest tightens, looking away from him.

"What are you saying? You ended it because... Why didn't you tell me?" He ducks his head, trying to meet your gaze. You've had enough. Enough of his maddening words, making you feel bad for doing what he asked of you.

"Spencer, you're being unfair. What more do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to tell you that I wanted more? I ended it because I caught feelings, and you didn't want that, so I told you we had to stop because I couldn't hide it from you, not when we were always together, and-"

You're stunned into silence when his hands come up to frame your face, impossibly gentle as large fingers trace your jaw.

"You're right, I said that." A hand travels higher, cupping your cheek. "I shouldn't have, though. I should've... should've told you."

You can't help but whisper, the intimacy of the moment blanketing the small room in quiet. "Told me what?"

As if in answer, he ducks his head towards you, and you instinctually crane your head upwards to meet his lips.

It's practised, even if it's been a while. Your hands travel up his sides, bracing your palms on either side of his jaw as his come down to grip your waist.

His lips are soft yet insistent, pressing against you like he's trying to impart a message. Lips part, breath stolen, and it's minutes before either of you pulls back.

Your forehead presses against his, chest heaving. His eyes are light, and a breathless giggle leaves his lips as he looks at you.

"Don't go on that date. Please."

"You're going to have to take that up with Garcia."

[lost-romantique]

Blitzø's Maturity in Sinsmas

One of my favorite parts about Sinsmas, aside from everything, has to be the amount of maturity Blitzø displays in Sinsmas, or specifically in his conversation with Stolas.

This conversation really goes to show how one of Blitzø's best features is his ability to always say the right thing, when he knows the people in his life truly need it.

He did it with Moxxie and Millie:

"Look, I'm hard on you, because I know what you're capable of, Mox. You care too much about what everyone thinks except for... me, because, y'know, my opinion is correct, but just... keep doing a good job. 'Kay? You shoot 'n kill good, you escape things easy... you can be strategic and cold-blooded when you need to, aaaand don't expect any more compliments; I'm maxed out."

"Millie, I have spent too much of my time, energy, and holes into setting this up for us to entertain your bullshit. I brought you into this company for a reason, okay? You're tougher, smarter, and frankly more capable than anyone I've ever met in any ring..."

"Mind if I steal?" "Today was a lot wasn't it?"

Blitzø starts the conversation with an ice-breaker to lighten the mood because he can tell Stolas is on edge right now.

"I-I- I know you can't see your kid. And I know you did so fucking much just to save my life-"

There are three things I want to point out:

Blitzø makes it very clear that he knows what Stolas just lost, he knows he can't see his daughter.

Blitzø also states that he understands the huge sacrifice Stolas had to make in order to save his life.

Blitzø knows that what happened is a serious situation, he knows how much Stolas loves his daughter, and he doesn't downplay that loss.

"It's okay. Saving you was the right thing to do. And you have risked your life for mine in return. You don't need to feel any guilt for my situation, it was my choice. It was all my choice. I caused all of this."

"She'll understand eventually. You just gotta give her time."

Stolas is mourning the loss of his daughter, and is reflecting on the times he's failed her as her father. And I love how Blitzø states that the simple fact that what Octavia needs right now is time to process things, the same way Stolas needs time to process things as well. And I love how Blitzø says that, "...she'll understand eventually," because it's true. Octavia will understand, eventually.

I think one important thing to note is the fact that Blitzø also doesn't undermine Stolas' statement: "It was my choice. It was all my choice."

Because it's true, Stolas did make a choice...

Stolas chose to give Blitzø the book, thus starting their transactional arrangement.

Stolas chose to give up his own life to save Blitzø from execution.

Stolas chose love, and that is not a bad thing.

"Blitzø, she's gone. For one hundred years, she's gone. And after all that time, she'll never forgive me. I'll be a stranger to her."

"Y'know, my twin sister... She hates me too. For something that I did. And I miss her, every day. We were so fucking close, y'know, we- It's a shitty feeling. But, you just gotta keep trying."

Blitzø, right now, is willingly being vulnerable with Stolas and I think that's beautiful. He encourages Stolas to keep trying to reach out to Octavia, to not give up all hope just yet.

And I love how Blitzø decided to talk about Barbie, and not Fizz, and the reason is simple...

Blitzø can't guarantee a happy ending between Stolas and his daughter, he can't promise any of that. Blitzø states that Octavia will understand him, but he can't promise that Octavia will forgive him.

If Blitzø were to share the fact that he recently rekindled his friendship with Fizz, than that might be giving Stolas a false sense of hope.

And Stolas, right now, doesn't need a success story, he doesn't need, "Hey, I was able to fix my relationship, so you can too". What Stolas needs right now is reassurance that he's not alone, that there is someone out there that understands his pain.

"Sounds likes, uh... they want me back in there..."

"Go enjoy your Sinsmas, Blitzø. I'm fine, you don't have to stay here with me... What are you doing?"

"Well, I can't fucking dance with you without- come here, getting inventive."

I love the Full Moon parallel of Blitzø choosing to stay with Stolas instead of going back to the party. Blitzø knows Stolas is not fine at all.

And while Blitzø can't magically make all things better, Blitzø can at least give Stolas a moment of happiness, a chance to momentarily forget all the pain he just went through, a chance to be with him and him alone.

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[d-oie]

well since she blocked me after begging me for a reply i'll write my reply here, im sure her defenders will send her a ss of what i said. first the comment :3

no one is hating on you nor is anyone saying youre not creative, ive said multiple times that i use to defend you myself and that i love your moodboards.. the original ones that is. i think you're a very talented person liia, but that doesn't take away from the fact you stole/copied/were heavily inspired. this whole thing was blown way out of proportion, you pretend you did these things like finding the images online and somehow it looks the same as someone elses saying that its just inspo but that is NOT what inspo is, ive seen you tag creators like n-americano when you're inspired by them, but what about these? and what about the images you take from others moodboards and have "images edited by me" in your moodboards knowing some arent, if you can credit yourself you can credit others. my post wasn't to turn the whole world against you nor was it to make you seem like a bad person, if thats how people interpreted it then so be it, i have an actual life and don't care if a bunch of people attack me online when i can just power off my device. my main objective was to wake you up. to make YOU realize you're in the wrong, sure it was also to bring light to the situation and let the creators you copied see what you were doing which I dont think is wrong. this whole thing couldve been avoided if you were apologetic, if you just said "hey, i see how these moodboards look very similar along with some of my others, i apologize and this will never happen again." instead you and many others dragged it. i was genuinely willing to hear you out and talk to you in dms but since you blocked me i can't.

my response to your dm

you never clarified you didn't steal from others, those past accusations never came with evidence so you could have easily brushed it off, you saying that you were just inspired and that these images don't belong to anyone isn't what your situation is, inspiration doesn't compare to what you're doing, what youre doing is plain plagiarism. you want to sit here and tell me "i didnt mean to copy" when i can clearly see y-unjins moodboard in yours. i tried to give you my respect since i'm also a "content creator" but you keep giving the same excuse when you know youre in the wrong, then you assume i want to start drama like i live on it, sweetie no, not everything is to attack you, if someone believes you've done wrong and you're not taking accountability for your actions you will be called out. why should i turn a blind eye when i know the hard work someone went through in order to make their moodboard just for you to take the images? im not saying its illegal for people to use one or two of the same images from another moodboard but youre on a whole new level, you're mad i'm posting about this but imagine the creator's you've stolen from. the thing im mostly confused about is why, why would u steal from others creators when one, youve been called out for this before, and two, you're moodboards and dividers are beautiful, so you have no reason to steal from others when YOU yourself dont want people to steal from you and you have your own form of creativity. and again its you talking about how "if taking inspo is copying then everyone would be copying" ... like do you not understand the situation youre in? you know youre in the wrong and this trash ass excuse aint getting you nowhere.

im not even gonna go in on this, if you cant reply to your ask truthfully why would you reply to my dm truthfully? if you were mature enough to admit your wrongs instead of going on a whole rant about why your friends hate you then this post would have never existed. how hard is it to admit your wrongs and start anew? i get it, everyone makes mistakes, but everyone can always own up to and fix their own mistakes.

i guess im evil for bringing the truth to light, if this were to happen to me ID OWN UP TO MY MISTAKES. yes taking inspo isnt bad but if it gets to the point i get called out for copying when i personally believe i was just being inspired by others id apologize and see what i can do differently, since ya know, im at that point in life where i can admit my wrongs, you on the other hand did not do so and tried to pretend it wasnt an exact replica. my post wasnt to bring hate or spit on your name, if anyone sent you aggressive comments then you have the action to report or block them, i cant control what people say, damn i can rarely control what i say, and i dont know where youre getting the idea that i hate you when i never once said that and i actually said this not only once, not twice, not thrice, but multiple times that i use to respect you, you were one of many creators that i would defend with my life, you use to inspire me, now i feel nothing, just disappointment which is what a lot of people feel, that doesn't give you the right to guilt-trip your mutuals, like what your "defender" said, moots are like real friends, once you lose their trust its hard to gain it back, if you really cared you wouldn't have allowed this to get blow way out of proportion and would have just admitted your wrongs, hell when you dmed your entire following list you should have explained the situation to them rather than trying to make them feel bad for how THEY feel about the situation. then you have the audacity to say "dare to tell me to my face rather than being a coward" as if youre not one? you escalated the situation, youre the one who's been sitting on your ass feining for my reply, crying to your moots how they're bad friends for believing this even though theres full blown evidence. im not a coward, i had the balls to post this knowing you'd see it, you're acting as if i was leaving you in the dark, like i didnt think you would ever see this post, like i was plotting on your downfall behind a secret account. "think before acting" how about you follow your own advice before trying to give advice to others. thanks.

i didnt want this to go this far, i believed that once i posted this you would admit your mistakes and change for the better, i didnt unfollow you because i wanted to see you continue to grow and continue to be the amazing creator you are without the copying, but i guess that was just a fairytale and i have to face the reality of randos on the internet not being able to take accountability.

Hi guys, it's come to my attention that someone in the moodboard community known as lil-liaa has been copying / taking heavy "inspo" from other creators like @y-unjins and @iluvrei view more for more info + evidence + my opinions on the whole situation

before i start, i'm not trying to run lil-liaa off the platform nor am i trying to stur up drama, this is just to bring light to the situation as not many people know and many people (including myself) defended her when this first happened, i also want liia to realize that what she's doing isn't right and that she shouldn't just brush off "accusations" like these when there is evidence.

proofs

you can see the similarities as lil-liaa used 3 of the exact same pics as iluvrei's including one edited by the original creator without adding credits to the post.

2nd

here you can instantly tell that the moodboard was copied (lil-liaas on the right being an exact replica of y-unjins), only changing 2 pics excluding the idol change and

3rd / last

lastly, you can see how one lia used the exact same divider (+ didnt give creds), two she uses the same images not only in the moodboard but also in her gif (same pics from y-unjins moodboard including the png)

now, lil-liaa was sent multiple anonymous ask from last year and one recently accusing her of stealing moodboards, although a lot of people defended her last year including me due to the ask having no sorts of proof of moodboards being stolen and no one else speaking on it but now the recent ask she has received included proof and her response to it was very (in my opinion) rude and just sounded like she didn't care.

in my opinion, i don't believe this was just a draft she had premade and i don't believe she somehow got the same exact photos from y-unjins moodboard recommended, i believe since this isnt the first accusation and now there's proof of this i believe she has been copying moodboards since last year when she was accused. i don't believe lil-liaa cares about this, the fact she's stealing from other creators and when she gets called out for it she pushes it off with the same excuses

tags

@miujo @rkkuri @lvioung @ciestial @aeraras @sugarish @gyareii @i-kyujin @daddldee @i-mmaculatus @haerinism @chaeryeos @bloomqi @h-yeoni @p-oisn @bitchey @yeritos @yonkiibums @y-vna @y-urios @fairytopea @shuaver @yeoniis

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Epilogue: Part One [Boulevard of Broken Dreams]

Summary: You received a call you and Bradley Bradshaw have been waiting on for what felt like a decade. Jakes mother causes a scene as worry consumes you. And does Jake want the very thing that put him in the hospital in the first place?

Warnings: Jake Seresin Whump. Mentions of Religion. F!reader x Jake Seresin. Angst, Mother-in-law issues. F-18 crash. Bad Medical representation.

Word Count: 6.2k

Author Note: EEEPPPPP we're almost there. this is the chapter EVERYONE has been waiting for. Just what the hell is going on! Please don't forget to let me know what you think.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

December 23rd 

Your genetic makeup, the genes that you inherit from your parents, determines who you are biologically. They’re your blueprint so to speak. Everything from your eye colour to your height to your laugh. Even some diseases like asthma, diabetes, and various cancers. 

But who you are at the core of it all goes far beyond your genetic makeup. Who you really are is the result of many, many things: How you deal with fear. Who you surround yourself with. And how you show up when it matters most. 

The sea breeze was a gentle reminder of how quickly life could change in the blink of an eye. As you walked along the sand with small, barely there waves lapping at your ankles, the sight of families running after beach umbrellas and holding down sandy towels after the sudden gust of wind came through and caused a disturbance, really made you smile. Smiles were a treasure that was few and far between. It had been for months. 

The somewhat sunny day was shrouded in the unknown. Chronic winds continued to wreak havoc on unsuspecting families just trying to enjoy their weekend. A storm was brewing off the coast. But for you, something much more life-altering was wreaking havoc. Something all-encompassing and certifiably depressing was eating away at your soul. 

Your boyfriend and the love of your life had been severely injured in a work accident just over two months ago. His mother is certifiably insane and clearly doesn’t like you even existing on the same planet as her son… and his best friend hasn’t left you alone in what felt like a century. 

But who were you to compare tragedies on this fine, sunny day? 

“There you are!” The second you heard that agitating, grading voice, you rolled your eyes so hard you could have fallen into the shallows. The flightless bird you knew as Bradley Bradshaw was racing after you, making his presence known along the shore as he ran to catch up. “God, you had me worried for a second there. I was talking to Sue for like five seconds and you were just gone.” 

“Some bodyguard you are,” you huffed as Bradley finally caught up to you. It wasn’t that you didn't like Rooster, it was more about the fact he felt obligated to keep an eye on you given the circumstances. “How is Sue anyway?” 

“Uh–” Bradley looked back over his shoulder hesitantly to see the woman he’d been dating for the last few weeks walking away. “I don’t think we'll be seeing Sue much anymore.” It was all the explanation you needed. And if you were to be completely honest you didn’t blame the women. Who wants to fight for attention with a man whose sole responsibility these days was to keep his best friend's unborn children safe? 

“You should be paying more attention to the women you’re trying to sleep with you know,” you replied as you kept walking down the pristine beach. The place that had become a home away from home. “I’ve told you, I don’t need a babysitter. We’re good, I promise.” 

It had been an unspoken understanding since meeting Jake’s wingman that Rooster would look after you if anything were ever to happen to Jake. It went both ways for the two aviators from hell. Although at times the pair couldn’t be in the same room as one another without starting World War Three, it was a given that they would always be there for the other’s loved ones. It was brotherhood in its finest and rawest form. 

But it was driving you mad. 

“Jake wouldn’t–” Bradley tried to explain, but you’d heard this explanation too many times by this point. So much so you could finish Rooster’s sentence for him. 

“‘Jake wouldn’t forgive you if something were to happen to me’, I know I know,” you huffed again. Your right hand came down to rest across your growing bump. Two little souls were currently using your internal system as their personal development grove. Two little Seresin babies that were as unexpected as they were blessed— or at least, to you. “But you– for as much as I appreciate everything you have and will continue to do for us Rooster– are driving me insane.” 

“Too bad,” couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled you into his side. His arm slung over your shoulders before you could even protest his actions. “You’re Jake’s girl and Jake’s not here so therefore I gotta do what I gotta do and that my dear Y/n–” Bradley paused for a second before he continued just like the small waves that lapped at your ankles. Fear threatened to overcome Rooster’s nervous system. Yet, fending off fight or flight mode, he continued. Playing the role you needed him to be: Caregiver brick wall extraordinaire. “---Is to be right here, by your side, until that idiot wakes up.” 

They say time heals most wounds. And for the majority of people that saying is pretty spot on. But for Jake Seresin, that hadn’t been the case. Jake had been in an induced coma for weeks after his near-death accident. The experienced aviator was no match for the panic attack that took him hostage mid-training exercise. His body currently lay battered, burnt and bruised in the Miramar Base Hospital in the intensive care unit. His soul remained trapped inside the mind you sometimes hated to love and loved to hate. 

And when Doctors tried to wake him from the state they’d put him into in order to heal…he didn’t wake up. 

That was back in November…It was now approaching Christmas Day and still, there was no sign of Jake waking from his coma. He’d battled and fought what seemed like everything the world could throw at him: Broken bones. Third-degree burns. A swollen brain. Organ damage. Pneumonia. You name it and Jake had battled it. 

He was a fighter. Someone who was going to fight until he had nothing left. Doctors assured you there was brain activity. A good indication of a recovery.

But when he would wake was entirely up to him…

“Some idiot huh?” you teased playfully at your boyfriend’s expense. But the reality of the situation was that with every passing day, with every complication or turn of events, you missed Jake more and more. “He’s coming out the other side of the phenomena though, which is a good sign.” 

Bradley walked by your side as the two of you debriefed about what the day would bring. First, you needed to shower and change into something that wasn’t kissed by the salty air of the beach you liked to walk along every morning. It helped you clear your head from all the noise. Since Jake’s accident, your head hadn’t been quiet. Voices echoed all day long inside your mind about what you could be doing better, more of. What you could have done differently.

Sometimes those voices would grow louder and stronger the longer you tried to avoid them. However, averting your gaze and pretending the voices didn’t exist was a harder task than first thought…especially when the voices that escaped your mind were coming from Jake’s mother. 

That self-proclaimed holier than thou mother fu—

Next, you needed to eat something. You hadn’t had much of an appetite your entire pregnancy. Bradley liked to think it was because of the additional stress Jake’s hospitalisation had caused. You knew he’d say something if you didn’t at least try to consume something of substance. 

And finally, to you, the most important part of the list of to-do’s, was to get over to Miramar Base Hospital and see the man who’d captivated your entire heart. The goal every day besides growing two human lives was to be by Jake's side. 

Even if at the end of the day the result of all this turmoil and trauma was a breakup you knew his mother was already actively praying for, you’d still be able to say you weren’t the one who walked away. 

“Come on,” Bradley gently placed his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get outta here. I’m sure Jake’s waiting for us.”

“His mother will be there,” you said without hesitation. There was a frustrated sadness in your voice. A longing for privacy. A declaration for peace. You knew Bradley was aware of the hostile relationship between the two of you, he'd been present for a few altercations. But you also knew he was right and Jake would want you there if you could be.  And it was a could-be day. For both you and Rooster. “I was thinking maybe we could go a little later in the day, give her some time alone–”

“Y/n?” 

Yeah?” You knew what was coming, it felt like the two of you had had this same exact conversation every day for the past four weeks. 

“You’re the mother of Jake’s soon-to-be twins. He’d want you there more than Janise.” 

“It’s Janeen, Roo,” you grinned to yourself as you looked down at your growing bump with a loving hand resting over your belly button. “And Hell would probably freeze over before she realises that.” 

“I thought you weren’t a religious person?” Rooster frowned momentarily as he searched his brain for any conversational remarks he may have missed in passing that would have led him to forget your religious values. He wasn’t a God-loving man himself, but there had to be something out there, right?

“I’m not.” You had never followed a religion or its practices, but the longer the love of your life remained in a coma after sustaining life-threatening injuries, the more you were open to whatever religious being extended a helping hand first. Including but not limited to Satan. You’d sell your soul in a heartbreak to bring Jake back. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?” 

Your non-religious self-awareness was the deciding factor when it came to Janeen not accepting you. Ever since Jake had brought you home to his parents one winter break back in your college days, you knew it was a battle not worth fighting. 

You were the girl who got away. The rogue agent. The true crime writer with an appetite for knowledge and literature. Jake was the aspiring college football star turned Naval Aviator. 

Jake broke it off in the spring before he went to basic. You wanted roots and stability he at the time couldn’t offer. He was off to see the world and the world would be his oyster. You couldn’t stand in the way of that no matter how much you believed Jake Seresin was the one for you. 

You knew Janeen was over the moon with joy and delight that her precious boy had come home to his faith and exiled the woman who was leading him down a road of treacherous sin. 

Get the fuck outta here. 

It wasn’t until about a year or so ago that you and Jake reconnected after he’d come back from a mission that had him staring death right in the face and questioning what he had to look back on. 

All he saw was you in that library at college smiling across at him while explaining that Christmas was fake. Something his mother would have burnt him at the stake for believing. 

So, Jake called. And like a love-sick loser, you came running from across the country. Rhode Island was your home, but wherever Jake Seresin was in the world was where your heart would be. 

“I bet she cries herself to sleep at night more over the fact you and Hangman are having children out of wedlock than she cries over the fact he nearly died,” Bradley growled. 

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” you replied as a gust of wind picked up a beach umbrella in the distance. “I’m something straight out of the book of the damned, Bradshaw. The idea of us having a child together, let alone twins, took twenty years off her life.” 

“Jake would have loved to see her face when you told her,” Bradley chuckled. Then he cleared his throat and did his best to steer the conversation back on track. “We still have to go to the hospital.”

Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine, but you’re taking me to get a muffin from Bells Bakery first,” you said all the while Rooster rolled his eyes. You knew he couldn’t say no. How do you say no to a pregnant lady who just wants a sweet little treat before spending hours in the same room as your comatose boyfriend and his overbearingly religious mother? You don’t. You don’t say no, you simply nod in agreement. 

*************************

Every disease has its unique course it takes in the body when left untreated. The process begins with exposure to a root cause that sends a ripple effect throughout the body. The disease then progresses, ultimately resolving in one of three possible outcomes…

You get better, you stay chronically ill, or you die. 

The weather had taken a drastic turn since you and Rooster left the beach earlier that morning. The slightly overcast and windy day brought in a nice north-easterly storm. Rain was the only thing that filled the silence as you sat waiting patiently. You caught yourself thinking of what you’d give to hear Jake’s voice before the new year. 

The carefully cultivated interior design of Bradley’s Bronco was something straight out of every single bachelor’s wet dream. This car was what you expected the inside of his soul to look like. And if you were to ever become anything like Jake’s Mother, you’d think this car would be Bradley’s version of a perfect heaven. 

Then, like a premonition, your phone rang, splitting the quiet like lightning through a dark sky. 

"Hi, Y/n,” Doctor Hughes sounded rather cheerful as you sat in the passenger seat of Bradley’s Bronco. 

“It appears that our dear friend is waking up," his voice was urgent but steady. For a moment, your mind stumbles, caught between disbelief and hope. Then you’re moving — grabbing keys, kicking on your sandals, heart pounding louder than an engine roaring to life.

“Rooster?” you whispered as you clambered out of the parked Bronco. The curb hated to see a Bradshaw coming. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!” You awkwardly spoke into your phone before hanging up without hesitation. There was no time to waste on small talk. Jake was waking up. 

The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow as you walked as fast as you could, each passing second stretched thin by desperation. Memories flashed — hospital visits, whispered promises, tear-soaked prayers, or whatever bullshit Jake’s mother insisted on mumbling. 

“Rooster!?” you yelled as panic, fear, and anxiety overcame your nervous system. “Bradshaw?” you yelled once more as you entered the small locally owned bakery..

“Hey, what’s wrong? I just ordered a coffee to go and your apple cinnamon muffin.,” Rooster could tell by the look on your face and how sickly you looked that something had happened. “Is the Bronco okay?” 

The fact that was the first thing his mind jumped to angered you to no end. “Yes, the fucking Bronco is fine, you idiot,” you sighed as your belly felt heavy with two Seresin children, a nervous shit, and impending vomit. “Jake’s waking up.”

“No way, who called?” Bradley kicked into fifth gear before your eyes as he ushered you out of the cafe without his coffee or your muffin. 

“Rooster, our order?” you protested as he barrelled out of the cafe with your shoulders in his hands. “Hold up!” 

“We gotta go, you wanna be there when he wakes up, don’t you?” Rooster asked, thinking the answer you’d give him would be a straight-up “yes”. There shouldn’t have been any other answer. But the longer you stood still not answering, Bradley knew something was eating away at you. “Y/n, why are you being weird about this? He’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright.” 

“What if he doesn’t want this?” your eyes welled with tears in the middle of the walkway. “What if he doesn’t want me? What if…what if he doesn’t want the ki–our kids?” 

Surgical intervention doesn’t always work when it comes to disease. Sometimes, despite best efforts, the disease wins. It takes over our cells one-by-one…until the damage can no longer be reversed. When that happens, all you can do is take the loss and move on. But when you can change the course of someone’s disease, you can change the course of their life. It’s enough to make you want to come back for more. 

“Oh, Y/n, no,” Bradley cooed as he drew you in for a much-needed hug. “Jake’s a lot of things, and he’s done a lot of stupid things, but giving you up all those years ago was his biggest mistake,” Rooster reminded you as the tears you cried stained his T-shirt. Your face was buried in his chest. A chest that had soaked up far too many of your tears these last few weeks. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns, but if there’s one thing I know for sure it’s that Jake’s never gonna let you guys go. I promise you.”

“He didn’t want the baby before he–” You couldn’t finish your sentence without breaking out into an all-out wail. Bradley held you tighter than he ever had before. He didn’t know what you hadn’t told him. And what you hadn’t told him was the whole truth…

The whole truth was that Jake’s accident had been your fault. Or so it felt like it. 

“Hey, hey, you’re good,” Rooster tried his best to soothe your soul all the while the lady who’d taken his order before kindly brought it out. He was sure to thank her silently over your shoulder as she placed the muffin in its brown paper bag and his takeaway coffee on the bench. “Whatever happened before all this, I’m sure it’s gonna work out. Jake loves you so much,” Rooster beamed as he rubbed your back. “He’s not letting you or these kiddos go.” 

**********************

As the Bronco sped down the rain-slick streets, tires hissing against the wet pavement, Bradley’s hands gripped the steering wheel as tight as possible. His knuckles were white with tension. You sat anxiously in the passenger seat, phone clenched tightly in your hands, replaying the call from Dr. Hughes in your mind over and over again like a broken Rolexes that held only one memory. 

"It appears that our dear friend is waking up,” Jensen Hughes, Jake’s primary doctor who had been with him since the first day he was brought into the hospital, had said. The words echoed in your head, filling your mind, body, and soul with equal parts hope and fear.

"We’re almost there," Bradley muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. His best friend was waking up from a coma he never really thought he’d come out of. He’d been looking after you and his unborn children since the accident. Jake had missed so much and nothing all at the same time. 

"He’s strong. He’s been fighting this whole time." You reached over, resting a hand on his arm. Bradley nodded in return but didn’t speak. The memories of countless nights spent at Jake’s bedside haunted you both. Each mile seemed endless, stretched by the weight of anticipation.

The hospital's glowing sign finally appeared through the rain-streaked windshield. Bradley exhaled sharply, parking the car with a jerky halt. Without another word, you both dashed toward the entrance, hearts pounding, ready to see Jake — ready to hope again. 

**********************

The elevator doors opened with a subdued ding as you and Rooster stepped into the hushed hospital hallway. The dim overhead lights cast a pale glow, reflecting off the sterile white walls. Neither of you spoke as you walked toward Jake’s room. Both too anxious to say anything that could jeopardise this significant moment in Jake’s recovery. 

As you approached the familiar door, you hesitated. Your breath hitched in your throat. Bradley gently squeezed your hand, grounding you in the moment. You felt like you were going to be sick. Your twins pressed on every vital organ they had shoved to whatever side they could to make room for themselves. Here you were, Jake Seresin’s pregnant girlfriend, about to see him awake for the first time in what felt like a decade. Rounding the final corner, you saw the familiar door, slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway. For a moment, neither of you moved, overwhelmed by hope and fear intertwined.

"We’re here," Bradley whispered, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed the weight of his worry.

As you pushed the door open, you were met with the soft beeping of the heart monitor and the steady whoosh of the ventilator. Jake lay still, his face pale but peaceful, lost in the depths of his coma. His mind was a world away, carried off into the subconscious. His body was the only remaining evidence to suggest he was still with you. 

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill as you stepped closer. Why were you expecting him to be awake and alert? Wishing thinking once again overcomplicated your usually realistic outlook on how things worked in this world. Perhaps it had been the way Doctor Hughes spoke to you on the phone. Or maybe it was the pregnancy hormones that allowed for more hopeful endings. Either way, neither explanation added up to the expectation you had set. 

"Hey, Jake... it’s us," you whispered, voice trembling. Bradley pulled a chair close and ushered you to sit beside the bed. 

"We’re not going anywhere," he said firmly. "You hear me? We’re right here." Resting a hand on Jake’s forearm, Rooster was quick to let his wingman know he was there. The room remained silent except for the rhythmic beeping, but neither of you moved, holding onto hope with every passing second. 

“We heard what you’ve been up to while we’ve been gone, baby,” you cooed softly as you stroked Jake’s cheek gently, taking in the sight of his peacefully unaware self. “And we don’t plan on going anywhere until we get to see those beautiful eyes of yours.” 

“What’s going on here?” The familiar voice made your heart sink into your stomach as you tried to get as comfortable as you could in the world’s most uncomfortable hospital chair. Janeen stood in the doorway with a fresh coffee from the cafe downstairs in her aging hand. Her nails, manicured to perfection, clutched around the paper cup so much so that you swore the scolding hot liquid would burst through the weakened structure. “Did something happen? Why the urgency to not go anywhere?” 

“Did–” you paused for a second as you allowed yourself to sink a little further into your chair with a protective hand strewn across your ever-growing baby bump. “Did anyone call you?” 

“Why would anyone call me when I’m already here, silly girl.” Janeen scoffed as she walked further into Jake’s room. A room that had been his for weeks. A room that your mother had helped you decorate with Christmas lights and decorations as the season approached with every passing day. A bleak, barren hospital room was no place for a soul full of such joy and fun and high-octane energy. Jake deserved more than white walls and sterile floors. 

“Right, my bad for asking,” you sighed as Rooster rolled his eyes discreetly and tried to hide his disdain for his best friend’s mother. A mother he knew Jake wasn’t so fond of either. Especially when it came to you. 

“Jane!” Rooster beamed as he broke the tension. “Long time no see. How long has it been?” Bradley smiled as he shot you a cheeky look of mischief. This was who Rooster was at his very core. A shit-stirring moustache-having gold star kid. The best there was. He’d been a rock for you during this whole ordeal. There had never been a moment these past few months where you hadn’t been able to cry on Rooster’s shoulder or vent to him in full confidence that everything you said would stay with him and only him. 

“I saw you yesterday, son,” Janeen replied sternly, not a single hint of amusement in her tone. Yet, Rooster continued with his antics. He knew well enough by now to know if he kept going, Janeen would cut you some slack. Rooster had been an on-and-off fixture in the Seresin household for years. Ever since Jake and Bradley met in the academy. And boy did Janeen Seresin have a soft spot for the man who grew up without parents or any sort of guiding light. She saw real potential in the Bradshaw kid. If he just applied himself to God, he could be one of his finest soldiers. 

“Really? I’d never forget seeing you! Are you sure it was yesterday? I heard dementia is kinda contagious in these sorts of environments,” Bradley grinned as he pulled the shorter, aging woman with that signature older mother smell into him for a hug. He was sure to send you a wink over her head. 

You had to stuff the boisterous laugh that threatened to spill from your mouth right back down into the depths of your stomach before World War Three could erupt right here in Jake’s hospital room. To be perfectly honest though, you wouldn’t be opposed to that diagnosis. Perhaps then you’d have somewhat of a chance at developing some sort of relationship with the grandmother of your children. Even if each and every day brought a new personality and memory bank. Oh, a girl could dream. 

“Y/n, be a dear and get me a chair will you?” If you weren’t already sitting down, you would have fallen over with shock. 

“Oh, I can do that,” Bradley quickly jumped into action, not wanting you to get up. “I’ll go get you one, I’ll be right back.” He grinned at Janeen before sending you a worrying look of concern. A look that didn’t necessarily look the best on him. “Don’t–just don’t kill each other while I’m gone, alright?” 

“Scouts honour,” you held your hand up as if you were swearing on the bible. Something you’d never actually do. But as Janeen looked over at where you were sitting, she nodded in agreement. 

“Right, I’ll be right back,” Bradley groaned hesitantly as he left the room. Leaving an unconscious and comatose Jake to fend for himself. “Sorry pal, she’s your mother,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head and continued out of sight. The second Rooster was gone…it was on for young and old. 

“I’ve organised a paternity test for when you have the babies–” Janeen informed you like it wasn’t the worst insult you’d ever heard.  

“Excuse me?” you replied rather harshly as you sat up in your chair. In what world would these not be Jake’s children? How was this happening right now? How was she doing this when Jake was slowly waking up from his endless sleep? 

“You heard me,” Jeneen smirked. “I need to protect my son,” For a woman who preached about being God’s seeing eye, she really was doing the devil’s work. 

“Your son should have listened in sex-ed a little more.” You knew even the mention of sex would have Janeen’s skin crawling. Sex out of wedlock! How dare you, how would you ever be cleansed of your sins? “Are you being serious right now Janeen?” 

“I almost lost him once!” Jake’s mother raised her voice as she stepped closer to his bedside, taking in the sight of her grown, adult child. “I’m not losing him again and certainly not to some wannabe writer who wants to live off my son’s achievements.” 

“Almost doesn’t matter because almost never happened,” you made sure to say before you went on to unleash a declaration of war against your not-so-mother-in-law. “But I can guarantee if you try and destroy this family before it has a chance to grow, so help whatever God you believe in bitch…I’ll burn your entire life to the ground and smile when I watch the millions of dollars you put into that ranch burn too.”  

“You vindictive girl.” Janeen had nothing else to say from the other side of Jake’s hospital bed. 

“Don’t threaten my family and I won’t threaten yours.” It was the only warning you were ever going to give. 

“He’s my son!” Janeen shouted as Bradley made his wake back down the hall with a chair in hand. 

“And he’s my hu–” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence. With so many hormones and emotions coursing through your veins, you slipped. Jake wasn’t your husband. He wasn’t your fiance. He was your boyfriend. And for as much as you wanted to marry the man lying in that hospital bed after nearly losing his life, you knew that question was far from being asked. If it were ever to be asked. Jake Seresin had grown up watching his parents hate each other…he’d made it clear marriage was something he wasn’t interested in. Why would he be when he spent his childhood listening to his mother beg his father to fix some stupid faucet that never did get fixed? 

Why would Jake ever be interested in marriage when he could remember the intervention his grandfather gave his dad at their wedding, something about it wasn’t too late to back out. Hell, why would Jake be interested in marriage when he watched his father fall out of love so hard with his mother that she never really clued him in on her battle with breast cancer? Jake grew up under the guidance of God and his almighty word…

But the way his father had treated his mother throughout Jake’s life had truly left a sour taste in his mouth. And if Jake, through biological design, was anything like his dad…he was never going to put himself in a position where he could emulate any sort of resemblance to his father. 

Trauma am I right? (He’d told you so much about his childhood.) 

“Honey, you’re nothing more than an incubator,” Janeen hissed with a wicked smirk plastered across her face. “He’s my son, and my son knows better than to allow himself to stoop as low as ending up with someone like you.” 

“I thought I told you two not to kill each other?” Rooster tried to intervene as he placed the chair down beside where Janeen stood. He’s never seen you look so worked up. So angry. So hurt. 

“Janeen.” You took a deep breath in and closed your eyes. “When I have these children, Jake’s children, if I have it my way you will never see them. You will never get to know them do you hear me? No God or religion or wackadoodle fucking beliefs you have will ever help you have a relationship with my children because if you can’t look me in the fucking eye and see what your son sees in me then I’m not entertaining any sort of relationship with you.” 

“If they’re really my grandbabies then you can’t keep them from seeing their family–” 

“She’s their mother, Jane, I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Rooster sided with you as politely as he could. He wasn’t going to be the one to point out that Jake's fingers were twitching either. 

“Better start praying really hard Janeen,” you chuckled, knowing that although you didn’t win this battle, you’d win the war. “Maybe Rooster will bring back a pillow for your knees,” you teased, a little out of line but it was so worth the look of horror on her face. “You’ll be on them for a hell of a long time.” 

**********************

The roar of twin afterburners pierced the sky as Jake pushed his F-18 Super Hornet through a steep climb. The clear blue expanse stretched endlessly above, the ground a distant memory. This was his element—a place where skill and instinct defined survival. Still, the only thing on his mind when he should have been focusing on controlling a multimillion-dollar piece of military equipment was you. You were pregnant. Jake was going to be a father. 

He should have listened to you when you said the two of you could talk about it after he got home from work. He never should have pressed you for more information. But Jake had and the second the words came out of your mouth, he heard nothing else after the words “I’m pregnant Jake–we’re gonna have a baby.” 

He wasn’t ready to be a dad. A father. Being a dad was the last thing Jake thought he should ever be. He wasn’t raised to procreate. He shouldn’t be responsible for another human being. If Jake was even an ounce like his own father, that kid, that poor fetus growing inside you as he raced through the sky, was about to have one hell of a childhood. It wasn’t even just having a baby that terrified him. How was Jake meant to teach this kid right from wrong when he was still learning that himself? 

“What if I told you that I wasn’t sure if I wanted kids, but I want you?” Jake knew the second that the question left his lips…that it hadn’t come out the way it should have. But the reality was he had said it, and the look in your hopeful eyes quickly shattered and was replaced with a reluctance to continue with the conversation. 

Self-doubt radiated off Jake like his life force was fading. Today's training was a high-intensity combat simulation over the rugged terrain of Redstone Valley. Jake and Rooster were executing advanced dogfighting maneuvers against an elite training squadron. Every turn, every roll, every burst of speed was a calculated dance of power and precision.

"Bandit on your six!" Bradshaw’s urgent voice crackled through Jake's headset. 

His wingman had questioned him earlier in the day about what had him so uptight. Jake hadn’t been himself today, he knew that much for sure. But that was because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the very fact you were pregnant with his child. A child created out of love and endless passion. But that wasn’t enough to make Jake want to be a father after being so sure for so many of his adult years that he wasn’t supposed to be a father. “Hangman! Get your arse into gear man!” 

Jake yanked the stick hard left, pulling into a sharp barrel roll. The G-forces slammed him into his seat as he broke away, narrowly avoiding the pursuing jet's simulated missile lock. His pulse raced, his adrenaline surged as his heart beat against his cheat so hard he swore he was having a heart attack… 

Suddenly, the cockpit warning system blared—a mechanical shriek of impending doom. "ENGINE FAILURE—LEFT ENGINE!" flashed across the Heads-Up Display.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Viper One, experiencing critical engine failure. Attempting emergency procedures," Jake radioed, his voice steady despite the rising tension. The heart attack he swore he was having was a full-blown panic attack. Jake couldn’t catch his breath long enough to maintain focus. “Fuck, Rooster! I’m going down! Mayday–mayday!” Children’s laughter filled the cockpit as Jake spiralled out of control. 

“JAKE! EJECT EJECT EJECT!” Bradley shouted frantically through the coms. He watched on in pure horror as one of the best aviators he knew plummeted to earth without much control. “HANGMAN EJECT!” 

“Tell Y/n I love her–” was the last communication that Bradley received before Jake frantically gave up his battle with the controls to pull his chute. 

Much like Rooster’s late father, Jake’s emergency exit hadn’t gone according to plan. The roar of the F-18's engines screamed in Jake's ears as the warning lights flashed across the cockpit. Smoke billowed from the right engine, as his aircraft trembled violently. 

As Jake pulled his emergency chute, he was propelled into the sky as his F-18 was engulfed in flames so hot the heat melted his uniform into his skin. If he’d waited even one second more he would have been a goner. The emergency exit did little to stop the dramatic fall from grace Jake was experiencing. He plummeted unconscious from the sky towards the burning pile of rubble that was, just a few seconds ago, his Super Hornet. 

The ground felt like solid concrete as Jake slammed into the side of the valley, bones shattered on impact as Rooster watched on in utter agony. His helmet did little to cushion the impact, although that was its intended purpose. Emergency services had already been sent out to Jake’s last known location… but there was little that could be done for Jake as he lay in a twisted pile of his emergency parachute. Blood stained his flight suit as his body began to shut down.

He was dying, but the laughter of children filled the silence like sunlight filtering through leaves—light, spontaneous, and full of love. 

**********************

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream

@maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional l

@jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

@a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

@the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb @kmc1989 @avengersgirllorianna

[baphometsss]

the 'memories of a duet' codex is so interesting and not just because you can read it in so many ways. given that mythal is on the codex card i think you can safely assume it's about her, but it reveals so much about their relationship if you pay attention. this is a memory of solas learning a song/composing it for her, to remind her of who they are (were) when everything sang the same (in the fade, when they were spirits). she's doing her own thing at court but he does it all just to get a single happy glance from her, to see her remember the familiarity that is so integral to solas's understanding of who he is. 'seeing wholly, being wholly seen'. remember that spirits reflect: solas reflected mythal's benevolence, and mythal reflected his wisdom. they need to reflect to maintain their sense of who they are: it is not just about his love for mythal, but his way of retaining his sense of who he is, by prolonging the memory of that reflection even as she grew away from him.

the 'away from mindless worship and well-meant misunderstanding' is really fucking interesting too. it's a memory of a moment where mythal could forget her role of the charismatic all-mother, who was loved and adored by her children, and where solas could ignore the no doubt frequent insinuations from others that his devotion was romantic. it was a way for them to connect in a way where they could just be true to who they were and how they felt about each other: like branches of the same tree, like family. of course, this was before he rebelled, before mythal betrayed him by joining the evanuris--although how long before is questionable since they're only sharing glances at this point. it's kind of sad, too; it reads like he's already having to do so much to get barely anything in return from this person who is meant to be his family.

it also puts a lot of things into perspective about solas's feelings on the modern elves in dai. that feeling of kinship, the twinning he felt with mythal and felassan and no doubt other elvhen and spirits, is so precious to him. he doesn't want to share it with anyone in this terrible, broken world he created, as if to share it with them would somehow taint it. it's only by the end of dai and into datv that he sees he was wrong, that the elves may have forgotten their history, but they are of the same family: different branches on the same tree.

when he says to a romanced lavellan, you are unique, i have never found a spirit such as yours, you have a rare and marvellous spirit, etc. he's also saying that he hasn't felt this sense of kinship for a long time, that he didn't expect to bond with someone from this broken world in the way he did. it's a different bond to the one he had with mythal, too, because he says he never thought he would find someone who would draw his attention from the fade and by extension, his longing to be a spirit once again--something he constantly tried to get mythal to agree with him on and failed. with lavellan, for the first time, he actually wants someone in this overwhelmingly physical and romantic way--something spirits don't feel, apparently. cole doesn't get with maryden unless you make him more human, and he also says he doesn't feel any attraction as a spirit. solas is actually glad to be a person and not just a spirit, because it means he's actually able to experience romantic love and desire for the very first time (as the romance description in datv heavily suggests). what's more, despite his misgivings, he likes it.

as others have pointed out, lavellan's speech in datv is in hallelujah cadence like the dialogue with the other elvhen. the duet is being sung once again--in a different context, but no less meaningful. there's a song by bjork called stonemilker, where she sings: 'a juxtaposition in fate/find our mutual coordinates'. it really reminds me of this; the need emotional synchronicity, of being completely on someone's wavelength, understood totally, seeing wholly and being wholly seen.

[tiyawnyana]

So this is a special request sent in by @reader210 , thank you for the request! I loved your idea and want to turn it into a multi-chapter story so this is chapter one!

A/N: I actually had so much fun creating this story because the characterization was a blast

Characters: Mel Medarda x Fem!Doctor!Reader

Warnings: nothing explicit, brief swearing, general confusion

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

An Apple a Day

Chapter 1

Synopsis:

Everything was normal- everything was starting to become better, pieces falling into place. You got your new position within the hospital secured, you were thinking about getting a dog, maybe even a cat. Life was beginning to make sense.

Until you end up in an entirely new world, apparently.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Footsteps echo through the halls, a soft sound in these vacant cells as you munch on the fruit given to you a Iittle while ago.

You huff, annoyed and tired with this insane situation.

You didn't expect this- to be somehow spawned into another world. One minute, you're in your office finishing some paperwork for a patient, the next, you're collapsing in the middle of a huge room, seemingly a meeting of elites to some sort.

You remember the shrieks of surprise, the throbbing in your skull as you weakly pushed yourself up with your palms. Your glasses had flung off in the events, nowhere to be found so now you're stuck with fuzzy vision and locked away while whoever figures out who and what you were.

You lean against the cold wall, huffing softly as you rub your fingers into your temple, feeling another headache brewing.

Footsteps get closer, entering the cell hallway and you sigh, rolling your eyes as they get nearer.

You see the fuzzy outline of someone, squinting to try and make them out but no such luck.

You groan as they stop at your cell and you decide to get up, pacing closer to the bars.

“Well? Figure me out yet?” You sass sarcastically.

“I don't think you're in a position to be sarcastic,” the woman murmurs, and you're almost convinced you hear a smirk in her tone.

“I don't think I'm in a position to do anything, I'm afraid, but here we are,” you smirk, leaning against the bars.

She's silent for a moment, gaze seemingly boring into you and you feel heat creeping up your neck in embarrassment. You avert your gaze, huffing softly.

“The Counsel hasn't figured out the cause of your appearance.. Where are you from? Noxus?”

You raise a brow in confusion and question, turning your gaze back to her,”Where the hell is Noxus? I'm from Chicago-”

“Chicago?” She echoes, bewildered,”I don't recognize your accent-”

“Typical brit, huh?” You try to joke but it falls flat. You swallow, looking away again.

“What is your position? Status?”

“Uh- what?”

“Your title,” she speaks firmly.

You look back at her despite her still blurry form,”Uh.. Doctor?”

“You're a Doctor?” She echoes, seemingly surprised,”In that uniform?”

“What's wrong with my uniform?” You look down at the white doctors coat with your soft navy cardigan underneath.

“I've never seen that kind of uniform on a doctor- seems unfitting-”

“Okay-”

“That- is not the main focus of my visit,” she sighs, before lifting her hand and handing you something.

“What's that-”

“Your glasses.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you grab them from her hand and quickly put them on, wincing at the slight blur before your vision comes back into focus and redirecting your gaze back to the woman before you.

Jesus- this woman is gorgeous. Unlike anyone you've ever seen- what?

“Uh- wow,” you murmur, eyes wide as you take her in.

“What?” She tilts her head in confusion.

You figure you must be dreaming. Some drug induced coma, for sure.

“You're stunning,” you say smoothly, uncaring for any embarrassment you'd surely feel if this was real life.

Her gaze widens in surprise, before she quickly masks over it.

“The counsel wishes to conduct an interview, an investigation of sorts to understand your appearance,” she speaks smoothly, bringing keys forward before hesitating,”I trust you'll behave?”

You snort, giving her a nod,”Yes, I'll behave. I'm just as curious as you all are.”

She eyes you for a moment before unlocking the cell, sliding the bars open and beckoning you forward.

You step out, stretching your arms above your head before inhaling sharply in surprise when a guard approaches quickly, cuffs on display.

“Those won't be necessary,” the woman speaks firmly, brushing her hand to signal the guard.

You eye her carefully,”Thank you.”

She nods in silence.

“What's your name?”

She rolls her eyes, ushering you to walk out and you huff a soft laugh.

She walks beside you, leading you through halls with the guard following behind. You can't take your eyes off of your surroundings, enthralled with the architecture and some paintings on the walls.

“This is one insane dream,” you murmur to yourself.

“A dream?” The woman echoes, shaking her head,”How interesting.”

You remember these doors, suddenly nervous at the sight of the giant, overly designed wood as you recall being dragged out of the room behind them.

They open, revealing that those same people from before are seated in their same chairs.

You're pushed forward by the guard and you out of reflex turn to smack at his hand but the woman waves the guard off as she beckons you to follow.

“In the center, if you will,” she murmurs, walking away for circle the table back to her own seat.

You listen as requested, hands clasped together at your front as you stand in the center, feeling as if you were under a microscope.

“Uh.. hi,” you wave awkwardly with a sheepish smile.

The doors open again, a higher pitched voice gaining everyone's attention and you turn to look, only for you to find nothing. They're still talking, though, and you follow the sound to the head of the table when a small person? Seats themselves down.

“It's about time we figured out this anomaly!” He grins through quirked ears and a bushy mustache.

Your head tilts, confusion etched into your face.

“Counselor Medarda, have you found out any new information about our guest?”

The woman, you learn now is something Medarda, turns to nod in his direction.

“Our guest is from what you called Chicago? I am unfamiliar with it-” she turns to look at you.

“Yes- Uh, Chicago, Illinois, to be exact.”

“Illinois-?” A man echoes, and you turn before stifling a smirk.

The blonde man was the definition of a twink back home.

You shake your head, refocusing as you face the head counselor,”Yes, in America?”

His ears perk, eyes narrowed as he peers back at you,”We don't know what you're talking about, this America- there's no lands here by that name.”

“What now?”

Counselor Medarda sighs in defeat,”I truly don't believe we'll find anything of ill intent here,” she speaks smoothly,”Counselor Heimerdinger?”

Your head turns to the head counselor- Heimerdinger, as he furrows his thick brows.

“You don't look of Noxus style,” he huffs,”Nor any other land I've ventured through. I'm curious, what was your occupation?”

“Oh- I'm a Doctor, sir,” you respond sheepishly.

“A Doctor! Impressive,” he smiles genuinely and you're surprised to find delight in that,”I think we could find use of you while keeping an eye on your movements.”

“Use of me-?” You echo in confusion.

“Oh, yes! I believe we could very well use your talents,” he looks to the other counselors.

Some honestly look as if they care less, that one twink in particular, but as your gaze flicks back toward him, you catch onto Ms. Medarda.

She's looking at you with a certain look, a glint to her eye, like she found something worth investing in.

Heat creeps up your cheeks and you don't hear anything else, too occupied with the golden freckles dusting her cheeks and her near hypnotizing eyes.

“Then it's settled!”

You whip your head back to Heimerdinger, expecting the worst but he's got a genuine, friendly smile on his face.

“You'll be under surveillance, of course, but we want to understand your form of healing- perhaps it is different in this.. Chicago?”

You nod in understanding, smiling shakily,”Of- of course, uh-”

“Counselor Medarda and Shoola will lead you around, you will have a stationed enforcer keeping an eye on you until we can determine that you are not a threat.”

You nod again, hands tightening at your front out of nerves.

“I expect weekly reports, have them set up the east wing for board and the first floor for an office for her,” he grins back at you,”I do hope to see good things from you.”

He calls the meeting to an end, hopping down from his chair and exiting the room with a few of the counselors following behind you.

Counselor Medardo waves off Shoola, approaching you from behind before stopping.

“Doctor?”

You snap back into focus, turning to look at her.

“Ready to go?” She beckons toward the door.

You take a moment to reply, nodding in confusion.

“What the hell was that?” You manage to say, following her out of the room.

“That was your interview, investigation, call it what you wish,” she waves it off.

You look at her in bewilderment,”Was that counselor made of metal?”

“Counselor Bolbok?” She side eyes you in confusion.

“Sure, whatever-”

“Hold on.. you've been looking confused,” she turns to you, stopping in the hallway.

“No shit, Sherlock, I’m confused-”

“Sherlock?” She questions, face scrunched in confusion.

Your eyes go wide, hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, stressed,“Ok- what is happening.”

She just raises a brow, that confused look still on her face.

“What was that!” You huff,”Counselor Heim..”

“Counselor Heimerdinger,” she finishes.

“Yes- what?” You laugh in surprise,”What.. is he? In the least disrespectful way possible.”

She's quiet for a moment before sighing in defeat,”You really aren't from here.. are you?”

“That's what I've been telling you-” a headache begins to form,”Did I somehow end up in an entirely new universe? Huh?”

She covers her mouth, hiding the small laugh at your expense.

“Heimerdinger is a Yordle,” she murmurs with a grin,”Bolbok is a gaseous being- he controls his metal exterior.”

You look at her as if she'd grown a second head,“What the hell is a yordle?”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

A/N: I just needed an excuse to describe Salo as a twink sorry not sorry

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[otomiyaa]

Viktor's Secret

Jayce x Viktor

A/N: Playful interrogation won the poll so that's what you're getting 🤭 Love these two.

Summary: Jayce discovers Viktor is hiding something for him and has his ways of making him speak. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.6K

It was quite uncommon and almost felt... wrong. Jayce noted the silence between Viktor and him as they both sat at the dinner table.

They were not working. They were not experimenting. It was the middle of the day and they were not even in their lab. It felt uneasy to not be invested in work for such a while. But they kind of had no choice.

Jayce's mother practically dragged them here for a lunch to celebrate his birthday. Which was actually three days ago. She didn't want just Jayce, she wanted it to be the both of them, and today at last she managed to get them out of the lab for this promised celebration.

"She cooks well," Viktor said. They both stared at their empty plates as they sat next to each other.

Ximena insisted they should wait here while she went out to get their surprise dessert, which resulted in them sitting here quite awkwardly since it would be rude to ignore her request after such a feast.

Even if they wanted, they couldn't leave now, so they were just two workaholic scientists sitting here quietly. It felt unnatural to say the least.

"Yes. It was delicious," Jayce agreed. He felt guilty towards his mother. Despite her hard work to make them 'relax' and have a good meal for once, his mind was still focused too much on their research and the pressure from not only the council but all of Piltover.

It wasn't just his own desire and his own expectations now, but other people relying on them as well. It was an added pressure that had both good and bad effects on their work.

"It really was delicious," Viktor replied again. As chatty as they were in the lab, they didn't have much to say now.

Jayce had actually missed most of the conversations with his mother while they were eating and he had nodded absentmindedly and said "yes" every once in a while. Right now, he also didn't want to bring up anything research-related, because it'd make their skins itch to rush back to the lab to make notes.

However he recalled something he did pick up during his mother's conversation with Viktor, and he remembered he should ask his partner about it. It was a conversation topic at least.

"Viktor, you know my mother quite well by now."

Viktor munched on some leftovers and he nodded. "I do."

"When she spoke about my... uh..." Jayce blushed. "...past inventions," he mumbled.

Viktor hummed in understanding. "What about it?"

"It felt like I was missing out on something. The way you reacted and when she winked at you.... Uh... Is there something I don't know of? Have you been gossiping about me?"

Jayce noted the change in Viktor's expression as soon as he said that. Ha! He knew it, he was hiding something. This already confirmed it.

"What do you mean?" Viktor asked in an innocent tone Jayce didn't buy at all.

"We've spoken about your... childhood aspirations before. They were funny. Sweet. You know I liked hearing those stories," Viktor said.

Jayce couldn't explain it in words if he were to be asked - but he was 100% sure Viktor was lying.

"I think you're not telling me everything. Did you visit my mother behind my back to hear more of my embarrassing stories?"

"Not at all, Jayce. Why would I even do that, I don't have the time- hehey!" Viktor jolted when Jayce reached under the table where he could reach his partner's good leg very well. The perfect angle for a good tickle on his knee!

"JAyce, no!" Viktor warned, but Jayce made a claw of his hand and tickled his knee playfully. It was a tickle spot he was happy to discover not long ago. He hadn't made advantage of it again since his discovery, so now was the perfect chance.

"D-don't!" Viktor squirmed in his chair and hastily reached for his cane, but Jayce grabbed his arm and started to tickle his side instead.

"What were you going to do with that, huh? Hit me with it? If you don't want me to tickle you, maybe you could just tell me the truth? Or should I ask my mother? When I discover you've been lying to me, I'm sure I won't tickle you this nicely," Jayce taunted.

"Nihicely?! Ahhah s-she won't tehell ahanyway- hah!" Viktor giggled adorably as he squirmed and twisted to avoid Jayce's tickly finges, to no avail. He sat in an uncomfortable position between his chair and the table with Jayce attacking his delicate tickle spots from the side, there wasn't that much he could do about it.

"She won't tell, huh? So you agree, there's something you're hiding from me."

Even though it wasn't the full truth yet, Jayce couldn't help but feel a little pride. From the very little signs and information he had figured that Viktor was hiding something. A little secret. Oh Viktor. Jayce knew him all too well.

"Jahayce! You behetter s-stop ihit!" Viktor gasped when Jayce wiggled his fingers from his sides to his stomach.

"Then you better spill it."

"Noho- I prohomised, ahhaha!"

Jayce raised his eyebrows and smiled fondly. Well, whatever little secret promise Jayce had with his mother, he was now determined to tickle it out of him before she'd return, and he poured all of his focus into it, so much that he promptly forgot to think about Hextech for the first time in a long while.

All that mattered now was Viktor and that sweet, jolly laugh he was sharing.

"You're beheing so unfahair!" Viktor whined. When he tried to get up from his chair, Jayce simply grabbed him and together they stumbled to the floor where Jayce towered over him and kept up the playful tickle attack.

"Me? You're being unfair. We shouldn't be hiding secrets from each other, partner. Worse, you're involving my mother. So tell me, what did she say about me? I'm sure it can't be anything I do not know of."

Up until now Jayce had no idea what could be so secretive that Viktor would get tickled to the floor for it, but it didn't matter. Viktor was in fact laughing a lot right now, and that was actually what mattered more. Jayce treasured that laugh. He loved it. It was a sound he could only hear if he tickled Viktor.

And well, in moments like this when Viktor would present him a free excuse to tickle him on a silver platter, Jayce was pleased to accept it with both hands, with all ten fingers!

"Thehere's nohothing to sahay!"

Viktor once again tried to reach for his cane which had fallen during their struggle, and Jayce responded by grabbing his arm and pinning it above his head. With his free hand he tickled Viktor under his arm. Very good, very ticklish. Ten out of ten.

"AHhh Jahahayce! You'll pahay for thihiis!" Viktor cried defiantly. Jayce cocked his head.

"Really now? And how so?"

Viktor couldn't really answer that. Jayce continued tickling him but he also took note of his movements and made sure not to hurt him or be to rough. He quickly let go of his arm and dug his fingers into both his sides again. But despite laughing a lot, Viktor still wouldn't tell him.

In the end, Jayce thought he shouldn't overdo it if Viktor really was this reluctant to talk, so he tickled him until he was reduced to lovely pile of quiet breathless giggles, and then called it quits.

"You're really persistent. Admirable," Jayce complimented when both of them were tired. They lay on the floor, Viktor halfway under the dinner table with his hand on his stomach as he caught his breath. Jayce was panting as well.

Then to his surprise, Viktor suddenly started talking. "Your mother... She gave me some of your notebooks. That's all."

Jayce raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Experiments from when you were very young, Jayce. She thought I would like them. And I do."

The tickling had stopped, and he was spilling it now! What! Blushing at this new information, Jayce poked Viktor's side. "But I don't," he whined.

Viktor chuckled and rubbed his side. "She knows. That's why she said it's our secret. We didn't want to embarrass you. That was not the intention."

Pffft. That was actually adorable. It was such an innocent secret in the end. Did Viktor really accept all that tickling, just for that?

Jayce wanted to ask more about it. What notes? What did he like? Were they good, even though Jayce was still a child? Did he laugh at them? When did his mother share them, and why? Where did Viktor keep those notebooks?

But then the door opened and they were no long alone. "I'm back!"

Ximena didn't ask what they were doing on the floor. They both got up and made impressed "ah!" sounds when they saw the birthday cake she had brought.

"I wanted it to be as fresh as possible. So, are you ready for dessert?"

Jayce and Viktor exchanged glances and Jayce caught himself blushing a bit.

"Y-yeah, definitely!"

They both took seat again and were given a big piece of cake, and Jayce noticed that during dessert, he could enjoy this family moment a lot more. He was no longer distracted and haunted by thoughts about work, and he actually took part in the conversation.

And besides, now that it wasn't a secret anymore, he thought he should let his mother spill it as well.

"So, mom. I heard you shared my old notebooks with Viktor, hm? I want you to tell me all about it."

[randombush3]

after they got together, what is fleur and alexia’s biggest fight and how do they resolve it? give me some headcannons please I miss then🥺

ok so this is ALL @p0orbaby because she's so lovely

but here we have Alexia and Fleur in the period where Fleur hasn't renewed her Barça contract:

“I can’t believe you’re even considering this.” Alexia’s voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet of our apartment like a blade. She isn’t just upset – she is angry. 

I cross my arms, leaning back against the counter, trying to keep my own temper in check. “It’s Ajax, Alexia. My dream club. You know that.” 

Her laugh is bitter, almost mocking. “Your dream club? You’re already at the best club in the world, Fleur. You think Ajax can offer you anything Barça can’t?” 

Blood rushes to my face, my frustration evident. “This isn’t about what Ajax can offer. This is about what it means. I grew up watching them, dreaming about wearing that jersey. You wouldn’t understand because you’ve never wanted anything outside of this city!” 

Her eyes narrow, and she steps closer, her voice rising. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can talk about leaving so casually, like it’s nothing. Like Barça is just some stepping stone for you to move on from when you’re bored.” 

“Bored?” I spit, anger flaring hot and fast. “Don’t you dare twist this into something it’s not. I’ve given everything to this team–” 

“And now you’re ready to walk away,” she interrupts, her tone icy. “Just like that. What about us, Fleur? Or does that not mean anything to you, either?” 

I can feel my chest tightening, her words slicing into me, but I am not going to back down. “Don’t put this on me. This is my life, my career. You don’t get to make me feel guilty for wanting something different!”

“Different?” she shoots back, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You mean selfish. That’s what this is – pure selfishness.” 

That hits a nerve, and before I can stop myself, I fire back, “at least I’m honest about what I want, Alexia. I’m not the one who thinks the world revolves around Barça and expects everyone else to fall in line!” 

The silence that follows is deafening, our harsh breaths the only sound in the room. Her jaw clenches, her eyes burning with something between fury and disbelief. 

“Maybe you should go, then,” she finally says, her voice low and venomous. “If Ajax is so important to you, don’t let me or Barça hold you back.” 

The words sting, but I refuse to let her see it. “Maybe I will,” I say, my voice cold as steel. 

She doesn’t say anything else. Just turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, shaking with anger and something I can’t quite name. 

And now I’m alone, staring at the door she walked through, hoping she will come back.

Don't worry! Remember, they get engaged during the long distance period x

[cosmowgyral]

Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday

▪︎ A Story from his POV

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

NSFW/MDNI

I thought the beast of destruction was a greedy creature.

Countries and people alike, can go to any lengths to get what they want.

Despite my self-confidence, I didn't realise it until I was asked, "What do you want?"

I hadn't really thought much about what lay ahead after obtaining everything.

Emma: Gil, aren’t you going to sleep?

After returning to my room from the ballroom, I was gazing aimlessly at the sky when Emma, who had been lying down, suddenly sat up.

Gilbert: I thought I’d bask in the afterglow of my birthday a little longer.

Emma: Then I’ll join you.

She embraced me from behind and the cold night air turned into warmth.

(I noticed that you weren’t sleeping and was waiting for you to join my company…..)

(If I say it out loud, I might get into trouble.)

Gilbert: You should go to sleep.

Emma: I can’t sleep.

Gilbert: Even though we did all sorts of things?

Emma: ……

Just by lightly tracing the hand that had been hugging me, Emma began to get flustered.

The corners of my mouth quirked as I felt the quick increase in heartbeat from my back.

(Maybe I went too far.)

--*flashback from the dining room*--

Emma: Mmm….aahh…your fingers…nghh

Gilbert: You want me to take them out? But I’m not moving them.

Emma: Nnn....you’re lying….

Gilbert: You know I hate lies.

Emma: Aaaahh

Gilbert: See, you’re acting on your own again.

Emma: No…Gil….you just bit my breasts.

Gilbert: It’s cruel to blame others.

Emma: A…ahhh...

--*flashback ends*--

(But it couldn’t be helped. She had a face that was saying “please eat me”.)

When we returned to my room from the dining room, or when we took a bath to wash our messy bodies….

I liked Emma’s reactions, how she tried her best to respond despite being embarrassed, and so I ended up being a little too mean.

Emma: Maybe because of all the things that happened to me…I can’t sleep at all.

Gilbert: You’re right. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep if you’re this anxious.

Emma: …So you can hear my heartbeat.

As Emma tried to move away feeling flustered, I grabbed her hand and pushed her down onto the bed.

Pressing my ear against her soft chest, I could hear her heartbeat more clearly.

Gilbert: It’s becoming faster again.

Emma: That’s how much I love you.

Gilbert: Hehe, thanks?

(The date has changed and so my birthday is over now.)

(You give me what I want every day.)

(I know you’re the only one who will never betray me, even without any threats or domination.)

As she caresses my hair in a pampering manner, the drowsiness is overshadowed by a sinful feeling.

When I poked the bulge visible through her negligee, a sweet sigh escaped from Emma’s mouth.

Emma: What are you doing?

Gilbert: It was right in front of me.

Emma: …Not now.

Gilbert: Because it will come back again?

Emma nodded without understanding a thing.

Gilbert: If you really don’t like it, I can stop….

I pulled up the hem of her nightgown and stroked my fingers between her legs.

It was so wet that it couldn’t have been caused by simple teasing, and it immediately swallowed my fingers.

Gilbert: Is this why you can’t sleep?

Emma: Ahh…again..

Gilbert: It’s a problem to be loved this much, isn’t it?

If I expose Emma’s weakness deep inside her belly, her poor, tormented lower abdomen will soon start dripping with her honey.

Gilbert: Does this mean ‘I love you’?

Emma: That’s….right…

Gilbert: Heehee, I see.

(No matter how many times I experience your ‘love’, it always feels good.)

I massaged her breasts over her negligee, also moving my fingers inside her to scoop out her arousal.

The love I sensed in her warm gaze was genuine.

Even though I’m such a terrible man, Emma always loves me.

(You asked me to be selfish on my birthday this year….)

(I thought my last selfish wish in life was to meet you.)

(I made up a reason to go to Rhodolite and get involved with Emma, even if it meant ruining her life.)

(I had never thought of anything more selfish than that, and I could never think of anything else.)

When I kissed a breathless Emma, she put her hands behind my head as if welcoming me.

I was moved by the way she kissed me, as if conveying that she wasn’t opposed to this at all.

(….Now that I think about it, it seemed obvious.)

(It’s only recently that I’ve started thinking about my future.)

When our lips part, a thread hangs in the dim light.

Emma: You too, Gil….

Gilbert: Hmm?

Emma’s hand rested on my cheek, and I was smiling kindly, too kind for a villain.

Emma: You act like you love me.

Gilbert: Hehe, isn’t that obvious?

Gilbert: I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love you.

I pull out my fingers from inside her and help her sit up.

Emma seemed to understand my intentions immediately, and blushing bright red, she climbed on to my lap.

(I’m spending time now that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.)

(And if you plan on staying here from now on….)

(Maybe it is a good idea to take some time to think of my own future.)

(Most of my memories are already made up of blood and corpses, painted all black…)

(The memories we make give me hope for the future.)

Emma lowered herself on me, and hugged me tightly.

Emma: Haah…Gil…

Gilbert: You’re okay with moving on your own again?

Emma: That’s…not true…

Emma said “that’s not true”, but as she moved her hips she lets out a small shriek.

It seemed she had moved unconsciously, and again, I couldn’t help but laugh.

(When I’m with you, I feel so happy.)

(…I’m sure Emma knows very well what it means for me to be happy.)

I secretly watched Emma bustling about preparing for my birthday, but this year too, I couldn’t keep a smile on my face.

I imagine Emma had her own thoughts about giving her blessings to the great villain.

Even so, I didn’t sense any hesitation.

She had already made up her mind to celebrate this blood-soaked man.

Emma: I think…you’ll be asked…'what you want to do’ next year as well.

Emma: So please, give it…a lot of thought.

Emma: I’ll make all your wishes come true.

Gilbert: Does that mean you won't be listening to me until next year?

Emma: If you have one now…please…ah

I intentionally move my body and Emma’s expression changes again.

I never get tired of her expressions filled with ‘love’.

(For now, all I can say is….)

Gilbert: I’d love to go on a date with you again.

Emma: Like…the other day?

Gilbert: Yeah. I like spending casual times like that.

Emma: Me too.

Gilbert: After that….

Bodies intertwined, lips pressed together, heartbeats synchronized, and then our gazes meet and we smile together.

Gilbert: Will you celebrate my birthday next year too?

(And commit many more sins…)

(Will you fall with me?)

[Chapter 3] [Masterlist]

He loves her sooo much omg, I really LOVED this story. I'm so glad he's happy.

Also when he said he went to Rhodolite for her....god, I just hate to imagine him going there for her, only for her to end up with the other princes (in other routes). Even though Silvio's my favourite, I feel miserable.

[lucius-morningstar]

Vaggie is not a bad girlfriend.

I know there are some Vaggie haters out there and don't get me wrong I understand why. But you're hating her for the wrong reasons. Her character wasn't completely fleshed out right in my opinion and I think that's why so many people hate her character. She's a dependent and honestly can you blame her? Her entire life was killing sinners under the guise of helping heaven. She leaned on other sisters who were said to be "just like her." She depended on them because they were the only family she knew. That WE know of. Imagine being so close to someone and you make a decision out of complete mercy for someone else. Someone you see as innocent and in doing that, you're severely punished and abandoned by people you considered family. I could even say Vaggie has a touch of Stockholm syndrome but Charlie doesn't do this intentionally. You basically took two broken girls who suffer from abandonment issues and expected them to be stable. Let's be real for a couple in hell with abandonment issues, Stockholm syndrome, dependency issues, ect and they actually do come off to be the most healthy if not for one obvious factor. Vaggie's hidden past. Now let me be clear, the Stockholm syndrome bit is obviously not intentionally. Charlie is just doing her best to be helpful and help her out and in doing that Vaggie had a deep dependency in her. So much so that being honest about her past put her into possibly sever panic attacks. I wouldn't be surprised if Vaggie had tried and would have mental break downs because of it. After all, the people she knew she could trust with everything saw her, heard her spare someone and their reaction was to rip everything from her and leave her for the worst fate possible. Could you picture what could have happened if Vox, Alastor or hell forbid Valentino found her instead of Charlie. Especially Alastor of all people, imagine someone with Vaggie's determination and loyalty behind Alastor's command. Instead she was shown true kindness in a place that was suppose to hurt her, where the place that was known for good and kindness hurt her beyond words. Yes, she fucked up. She hid a lie for almost four years. I can understand every reason both parties have for being afraid/hurt and betrayed in a sense. Vaggie despite being in the best place never truly mentally healed from her pain. Not until her meeting with Carmilla did she truly accept her actions and move on for it thus gaining her wings back. Yes you could say it was her desire to protect her girlfriend but I also believe it was an acceptance that her way wasn't going to help in the long run.

Vaggie did everything she could to try and make up for the wrong she did, her not telling Charlie wasn't just hiding but it was her own silent torture. She believed she deserved to be hated and the idea of Charlie loving her despite her actions was far more insane then redemption itself. So in not telling her, she tortured herself further. Believing she did not deserve to be forgiven and every loving gesture, gentle kiss, touch was another knife in her heart telling her she deserved none of it and her guilt was her punishment. Vaggie was in her own personal hell, in her eyes, being loved over a lie. Not being able to tell the truth despite wanting too, her guilt and self loathing pushing her deeper into a pit she couldn't get out of alone. So her response was to push herself out of her comfort zone for Charlie, for the one person who truly showed her true kindness and love no matter what would happen to Vaggie, she'd do anything if it meant Charlie was happy, if it meant she could be forgiven for what she viewed as HER sins. Vaggie is not a bad girlfriend, She literally went to someone who had been confirmed to have murdered an exorcist. The value of her life is so low to her and all she clearly cares about is Charlie getting what she needs. if anything she's bad at self love and she's slowly working her way to loving herself as much as she loves Charlie. That's where I feel her arc is going, being better for herself and for Charlie. Sorry for the rant. Feel free to add your own comments, I obviously forgot some things xD Just went off on a rant about this cause I honestly despise all the hate Vaggie gets, as a girlfriend and as a character.