#I must admit: this took longer than I thought/hoped it would. Friday night and Sunday afternoon went in a flash.

[to-the-fishies]

All our seating has been getting more and more ragged from our felonious felines, so I took a while this weekend to apply some patches to one of the chairs. Kudos to this tutorial, my brother's staple gun, a combination of needles (upholstery, smaller upholstery, leather, and straight-up), and the local creative resale shop for what I needed to give the chair a bit more longevity!

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01  @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @spenxerslut  @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @enbyfaerie @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid  @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @lost-in-the-stars03 @reiding-recs @minervaonmars @radtwinkie @crimeshowtrash @dayho3  

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels

Series tags:  @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelonfanfic-recs​ @ampal98 @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @thatsmyfavoritewhiteboy​  @misshale21 @ilzieah @gublersbooblers @outcrbxrafe @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94  @laurnrnlds @outer-spacious @stupidcrazylittlething @princesssmooshie @luvspence @maddievevo @slaytherinthoughts​

Broken tags:  @archer561 (check visibility settings!)

[ravennm84]

Lyre Festival Justice

Here is the sequel to Lyre Festival Fraud where you get to see exactly what happened to Lila during her long weekend after she went back to Italy. I thought, at first, that I may have gone to far with the salt... But it’s Lila and I really don’t like her character. So, Warm-Fuzzies and enjoy this salty goodness!!

It was a beautiful day in Rome and Lila was enjoying her shopping spree around the city. She and her mother had spent the first few days after moving back to Italy unpacking and getting settled. It was Sunday, and her mother had to go to the embassy to make sure that all of her paperwork had transferred from Paris, which gave Lila the opportunity to spend the money she’d gotten from the idiots from her old class. Really, she couldn’t believe how stupid they all were to have just handed her over €2,000 for a luxury vacation in Venice. She should have gotten at least €3,000 from the class, but that Mari-brat and stick-in-the-mud Adrien had convinced some of them that she was lying. Oh well, €2,000 was better than nothing.

Best part, none of it could be traced back to her. They travelled to Venice on their own, nothing had been written down, her old mobile phone was disconnected and in a landfill somewhere, and she would just tell her mother that she had gotten all her new clothes at a thrift shop she remembered from the last time they’d been living in Rome. And if the idiots got in trouble and tried to say that she was involved, she’d turn on the tears and her mother would side with her like she always did. Seeing a little cafe, she stopped in to get a good cappuccino, it had been too long since she’d had a deceit cup of coffee.

It was mid afternoon by the time she got home. She had made a stop at the thrift store to grab a couple of their shopping bags to hide the real ones inside. It felt wrong to put a Versace skirt in a bargain bag, but one does what one must to keep her life going smoothly. Opening the door to the apartment, she barely caught sight of her mother sitting on the couch before Lila started gushing about how great it was to be back in Italy and all the things she’d missed. 

She prattled on for a couple minutes before noticing that her mother hadn’t said anything. Turning to look at her, Lila flinched when she saw her. Something was seriously wrong, the last time she had seen her mother so angry was when she’d told her that her dad was cheating on her. That hadn’t been true but they had ended up getting divorced anyway, which was to Lila’s benefit since the man had always called her out on her lies.

“Is everything okay, Mama?” She asked cautiously, doing her best to sound and appear small and innocent.

“Sit down.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Lila set down her bags and sat in the chair across from her mother.

“Mama, wha-”

“Be quiet!” She snapped, and Lila shut her mouth. This actually seemed worse than the fight her parents had before they divorced. “I received a very strange email on Friday night, from a former classmate of yours in Paris. It seemed that the majority of your class was under the impression that we were throwing a party for a lot of important politicians, celebrities, and musicians on a private island and you had invited them. I told myself, ‘not my daughter, she would never do something like that’. But the email went on, with a list of the students that were supposedly going on this trip and gave you money for the expenses. Again, I thought ‘Lila would never be so cruel as to steal money from her friends right before we left Paris’. So I told the person who sent me that detailed information, that I would handle it. I still thought it was a joke.”

The teenage girl didn’t even have to listen to the end of this story, she knew that goody-two-shoes Marinette had ratted her out. Lila was fighting every instinct she had to run and lock herself in her room, but if she moved even a little her mother would stop her. She could only sit there and hope that she could come up with some kind of lie to convince her mother that she was being set up.

“Then when I went into the embassy today, my boss pulled me into his office and started grilling me as to why I allowed seven unaccompanied minors entry into the country. I tried to explain that I had no idea what he was talking about, and then he started reading off the names. Do you want to guess why those names sounded so familiar?”

By this point, Lila was practically curling into herself to make herself appear smaller. She had to say something, any lie that would make her mother believe her and only her. Turning on the tears, she buried her face in her hands and spoke between sobs. Fake crying always gave her a few extra seconds to think before she had to speak. “I swear, Mama. I didn’t want to do it. Marinette forced me to take those papers from your office to give to our classmates so they could get into the country without their parents. I never took any money from them, I swear! Marinette was bullying me the entire time we were in Paris, I was scared of what she’d do to me if I didn’t do what she said. You’ve got to believe me!”

“So you’re saying that you didn’t tell your class about some non-existent party on a private island, had no knowledge of who was coming into Italy, where they were going, or anything like that?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed as she brought out her mobile phone.

Her hands were shaking as she kept her face buried in her hands, something about her mother’s tone  and the way she spoke made this feel like a trap. But she couldn’t backtrack now, Marinette was her way out and she had to stick with it. So she nodded as she continued to sob into her hands.

“Then please explain this to me.” Her mother turned the phone towards her and Lila looked up, her face falling in horror when she heard her own voice. It was a video of her telling her class about who was going to be at the party that she and her mom were organizing, how she was going to need to know for sure who all was coming before the weekend, and Marinette had somehow gotten video of Alya and Nino each handing her €300!

It took longer than she would like to admit for the shock to wear off, but she was smart enough to stick to her original story. “It’s fake! Marinette must have made it to get me in trouble. Max probably helped her, he’s really good with computers. It’s all too convenient to be true. I mean, she sends you all this information about which people are going, how much money they gave me, and a story about a party on a private island in Venice, that anyone would be able to see is clearly fake. Can’t you see that I’m being set up?”

Her mother’s eyes grew harder as she stood from her chair, causing Lila to shrink even further into her own. 

“You say that this is all a set up and you had no idea where your classmates were going in Italy, but you just told me the exact city where they were found. You left them waiting on a dock for you to come ferry them to that non-existent private island, and don’t even bother saying that you know which city because of the video I just showed you, because it never names the city they were in.”

Well, crap. She was about to try another tactic, but her mother cut her off before the first syllable left her mouth.

“Young lady, do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?” she yelled, her face beginning to turn a purplish-red and began pacing the room. “You forged my signature on multiple federal documents, endangered the lives of multiple minors, committed theft, and god knows how many other laws you’ve broken. I can’t protect you from this! You will be facing federal charges for what you’ve done!”

Lila felt her stomach drop to her ankles. “But-but that was all in Paris, and I had diplomatic immunity while I was there!”

“It became an international incident when you forged an ambassador’s signature on federal documents that endangered minors! My boss gave me a choice,” her voice grew even harder and colder than before. “Either you answer for what you’ve done and plead guilty, or I lose my job and we both go to trial for what you’ve done.” 

“You’d let me go to jail for one little lie? It’s not like anyone got hurt!” Lila screamed, standing from her chair in a panic. This was much worse than she’d imagined. 

“And what if they had been?” Her mother screamed back. “What if they had been kidnapped and sold into human trafficking? What if one of them had fallen off the dock and drowned in the channel or hit by a boat? I would be held responsible for that because you forged my signature! Do you not care about the people around you at all? What is wrong with you?”

“But nothing happened to them! It’s their own fault for being stupid enough to believe such an obvious lie. And you’re taking their side over mine? How dare you call yourself my mother and claim to love me!” 

“Don’t you dare try to blame me for your bad behavior!” Her mother yelled back as she advanced on her, making her fall back onto the chair. Mme. Rossi looked back at the shopping bags she had knocked over when she had turned, revealing the Versace bag. Tilting her head back, she took multiple deep breaths before looking at her daughter.

“This is what’s going to happen. You are going to return everything you bought today, and you are going to explain to the managers of each store exactly why you are returning everything.” Lila was about to protest, but one look from her mother had her mouth snapping shut. “We will also be clearing out your savings to pay back your classmates for the money you took, their travel expenses, their parents travel expenses, and any money they lost while being away from their jobs to retrieve their children. After that, you will be standing trial for forgery and fraud. If you know what’s good for you, you will go before the judge and apologize profusely for what you’ve done and listen to everything the judge tells you. If you’re lucky you may receive a lenient sentence; but either way, you can expect your next school to be a reformatory school. And if you try to fight me on any of this, I will let a court appointed attorney with no experience handle your case instead of the family lawyer. Have I made myself clear?”

No longer having to fake her tears, Lila nodded to her mother, resigning herself to the fact that her life had been ruined because her mother didn’t love her and Marinette didn’t know how to keep her nose out of where it didn’t belong.

~oOo~

The rest of the day, Lila was forced to return everything that she bought back to the stores and tell the managers how she had stolen the money from her classmates and then abandoned them in a country and city that they weren’t familiar with. The people that overheard her were horrified by what she had done and the managers banned her from ever shopping in those stores again. After all, if she was willing to steal money from her friends, there was little doubt that she would steal from the stores.

After everything was returned, she was taken to the embassy where they recorded her confession on how she lied to everyone, forged her mother’s signature on the documents she stole, and how she scammed over €2,000 from her former classmates. After the confession was taped, she was taken outside of the embassy and handed over to the police to be kept in a juvenile detention center. She screamed at her mother, not believing that she would just hand her over like that, but the woman looked down her nose at her and said, “It’s time for you to face the consequences of your actions, young lady.” 

When she arrived at the police station, she was relieved to see their family lawyer was waiting for her, although he was less than thrilled by what she had done. He explained that even as a minor, she could be serving 2-6 years just for the forgery of the documents, that wasn’t even factoring in the scam or reckless endangerment of seven minors. If she were to be tried as an adult, she could be serving 6 years for each document, facing serious fines and more time for each classmate she endangered.

After hearing that, Lila had to rush to the trash can to throw up. She couldn’t believe that one little lie could get her into so much trouble. But this wasn’t her fault, none of it was. If there was anyone to blame, it was that goody-two-shoes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. After all the effort she went through to destroy that girl, she just wouldn’t back down. She would make that girl pay for what she’d done. As soon as the charges were all dropped, she would do everything she could, use every dirty trick in the book to force the nosy girl to end her life and stay out of hers.

But that would have to wait for now. For the time being, she would do what her mother said and play her part. Act like the innocent girl that had gotten caught up in her own fibs while trying to make friends in a new country. She didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt or in trouble, she was just so overwhelmed and she is so sorry for everything that happened. She would need to cry a lot, that was a given, but she could do this. Just fake it until she could get her revenge on the girl that ruined her life.

~oOo~Three Months Later~oOo~

Lila hadn’t meant to lose control in front of the judge. She’d spent months locked away with a bunch of low-class delinquents, talking to different lawyers and quack-doctors before going to court. She had been the picture of innocence and childhood regret the second she walked into the courtroom, she was sure to get off all the charges against her. But she and her lawyer had been blindsided. 

The quack-doctors had called her a narcissist and a sociopath, in need of desperate help. To prove that, all of her lies, everything she had said while in Paris had been brought into evidence against her. They’d exposed her truancy and forgery at her old school, found proof of her purposefully getting Marinette expelled, and faking interviews on the Ladyblog which brought her more lawsuits from a bunch of the celebrities she’d lied about. 

Some of her classmates had come to give testimony on what she had done and said during her time in Paris. The goodie-two-shoes brat had even come to Italy to give testimony against her, though Lila hadn’t been allowed in the courtroom while she was there, as Marinette hadn’t felt safe to be in the same room. Lila’s lawyer had actually agreed, probably so she wouldn’t cause a scene. And she probably would have. She would have stabbed her in the face with a pencil, in front of the entire courtroom, if she had the chance.

But the worst had to do with the school security cameras. After M. Damocles and Mme. Bustier had been fired for neglectful and abusive behavior to their students, which had been brought about by the investigation into Marinette’s expulsion, the Board of Governors went farther back through the recordings to see how long the bullying had been going on. What they found was video evidence of Lila grabbing an akuma out of the air and putting it into her earring, and then willingly working with the known terrorist. 

To make matters even worse, Ladybug and Chat Noir had sent a video as testimony of the times Lila had purposefully interfered with their rescues and had led Chat away from Ladybug to make her more vulnerable to the akuma Oni-chan. Her lawyer tried to get the video stricken from evidence as he couldn’t cross-examine the two heroes, but it was denied.

Her parents had been sitting behind her when they showed those videos. When her mother saw them, it was like she completely shut down. She heard her say that she wanted to leave, and Lila watched as her father helped her mother to her feet and lead her out of the courtroom without looking back. 

The judge had been absolutely disgusted with her, going as far as to call her a monster for willingly aiding a terrorist. Since she had already confessed to multiple counts of forgery, fraud, and reckless endangerment of minors, and would now be adding slander and other charges from her time in Paris, the most notable being terrorism; he declared that she would be tried as an adult and was likely to spend the rest of her life in prison.

She’d completely lost it at that point, screaming at the top of her lungs as she jumped over the table to attack the judge. She didn’t remember smashing the water pitcher against one guard's head, scratching another guard across the face, or getting tasered in the back. When she woke up, she was strapped to a bed by her wrists and ankles, her head felt really foggy, and there were a bunch of nurses and orderlies that were keeping keen eyes on her.

Lila Rossi spent the rest of her life heavily medicated in a maximum security mental health hospital. Most every night, the nurses would hear her plotting some kind of scheme to show everyone what a loser Marinette was, but then she would trail off about how she wanted to hear the song Jagged Stone wrote for her or the album she’d help Clara Nightingale write. When she saw people, she would ramble and lie about being a princess or a secret agent, and that she was only here to keep her safe until they came to get her. Over the years, it was all written off as the insane ramblings of a very disturbed girl that would be remaining at the hospital for the rest of her life.

[bottleofspilledink]

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter VII

It was just another regular Monday morning for Eve.

Except for the fact that it wasn't.

In the span of a day, the mere notion of normalcy had been stripped from her, the routine she valued flipped on it's head.

P.E. was now on Monday rather than Friday. Her last subject was history rather than English. She didn't even share a single lunch block with her friends, the only time she'd ever see them in school was in class or quick waves as they passed each other in the halls.

Eve dragged her feet to what would be her new homeroom, lamenting the sudden switch all the while.

Unfortunately, this was the least of her worries.

The biggest of her problems -- besides her sexuality, which she refuses to acknowledge or admit to -- sat in the third row, next to a window, eyes roaming over the worn, hardcover book in her hands.

Eve took a seat next to her, as casually as she could given what had happened just a few days ago and greeted her.

"Good morning." She managed to say, voice as stiff and tense as she was feeling.

"Hey..." The girl mutters back, blue eyes never leaving the paper.

Eve waited for her to continue, expecting her to say something, anything, only to be hit with an awkwardly silence, the only other noise coming from Lilith was the occasional turn of the page and an even rarer shift in her seat.

Why was she so disappointed by this?

Didn't she want Lilith to leave her alone?

Shouldn't she be happy Lilith was no longer paying her any mind.

She had no right to feel so dejected, especially considering Friday's events...

Her hands clutched the rosary around her neck as she thought back to that day.

The things she'd said made her want to shovel soap into her mouth.

Lilith trusted her, that day in the library, she trusted her with a daunting secret, one that could ruin her if word ever got out of it, all to make Eve feel better about herself.

And she destroyed that trust.

She blackmailed someone.

Not just someone; she blackmailed Lilith.

While Eve wept in the dim light of the garage, she could still picture Lilith's face so vividly, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

To her, she had no right to cry as hard as she had, but she did anyway.

Friday til Sunday, Eve would find her eyes tearing up the moment her mind was unoccupied.

She could only hope Lilith hadn't done the same.

...

She forced her eyes to her book, completely aware of how close Eve was to her, yet refusing to acknowledge it.

"I should just be happy she didn't report me," Lilith thought to herself, mindlessly turning the page of her book where she felt that enough time had passed.

In all truthfulness, her mind hadn't retained any of what she was reading the moment Eve had settled down next to her, eyes merely skimming what was on the paper.

Just being next to Eve affected her.

Without the distracting company of Joan and the comforting words of Paula, she could already feel her eyes welling up.

"How dare she."

The thought echoed in her mind as her vision blurred, eyes stinging, throat tightening, breathing barely controlled.

How dare what started as a mere infatuation worm it's way into her heart and turn into a crush, even making itself room to blossom into something more before being cruelly crushed by the weight of Eve's words.

How dare Eve turn her into this emotional wreck, stealing away the little stability she had left and replacing it with a wretched ache and a deep yearn, just as Sarah had all those months ago.

How dare Lilith herself allow this to happen, her guard lowering and her heart longing, still weary from what had happened before yet not the slightest bit used to it.

She had wasted an entire weekend lamenting what could have been and crying over what she thought was there while Eve had probably moved on from what happened after an hour had passed.

"But," she thought, slowly blinking away the rising tears before they could escape her, "I still don't want to see her cry."

Even though she had spent her nights sobbing into her pillow, chest heaving and hicupping, she couldn't bring herself to wish that same heartache onto Eve.

And that scared her.

Maybe it was because she knew herself as a petty and spiteful person.

Maybe it was because she knew only one other person who she could never wish harm unto.

Maybe it was the implication of it all. She knew what it meant, not to want pain to befall Eve despite her wishing it on so many others.

And that scared her, too.

However, wallowing in her misery would have to wait, the nun arriving to start the class off with a morning prayer and daily reminders before they went their own separate ways.

...

With all the guilt that gnawed at her, Eve would admit that she had only been half listening to the announcements, though her mind came crashing back down to earth soon enough when a form was passed back to them.

"You and your partner will also have to be in the same club." Sister Deborah said, pacing by her desk to the front row back and forth.

"This is to ensure that as long as you are inside school property, you will never be separated for too long."

The woman finally took a seat after she saw that the papers had reached even the very back, satisfied.

"So I suggest that you all talk it over now and try to find a compromise so that sign-ups won't take too long later." She swiftly put on her reading glasses and pulled out some papers, a clear sign that they were allowed to speak as long as they weren't too noisy.

"This is my chance," She thought, eager to try and break the ice, and hopefully making up for what had happened before by choosing a club that Lilith would like.

Eve turned to face her, expectant, though immediately disappointed to learn that Lilith was still reading.

She had to say something, Eve reasoned, so she might as well use this as an excuse.

"So, do you have any idea what club you wanna join?" Her voice came out squeaky and strained, the sound of it making her wince.

No response.

"I'm open to anything, really, so you can sign us up wherever you like." She sounded desperate, even to herself, the embarrassment that was being ignored slowly rising in her stomach, spreading to her chest, and at last reaching her cheeks, painting her a splotchy, shameful red.

Finally, after an agonizing second of deafening silence, Lilith turned to her and spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

Eve sighed, not even knowing she had been holding her breath, relief flooding her.

"I was asking about what club you wanted to join," She said, the smile she had plastered on earlier for appearances sake becoming more and more real by the second.

"They said that we have to stick together during club time, too."

"Oh, okay."

"So, do you know which club you want to be in yet? They gave us a list along with the sign-up sheet." She nudged the back of Lilith's hand with the paper.

"This is it! We're talking again!"

Her mental hoorah didn't last for long, however, Lilith's response cutting the conversation short.

"I'm fine with whatever."

The dismissive reply rendered her silent and scrambling for any loose thread of conversation she could continue.

Her amber eyes landed on the book Lilith held with such reverence, and Eve grasped that remaining thread with a vigor.

She wanted back her bold, talkative, and boisterous Lilith.

She wanted back the girl who'd tease her in the library, the girl who'd insisted she ride on the back of her bike when she got it injured, the girl who lent her a pair of oven mitts on that cold autumn morning.

She wanted back the girl that she...

No.

Eve cared for Lilith, yes, but not like that. She didn't care for her like a That.

"Okay, maybe you just need more time to think. There at least has to be a club you don't want to be in." Eve tried to bring a natural end to the first topic before moving onto the next.

"Anyway, what are you reading?" She was no thespian, but at the very least she could try to sound casual. "It must be pretty interesting if you didn't hear someone who was right next to you."

Lilith grinned, like that day by the dumpsters, as if she knew something Eve did not, as if she was part of some elaborate inside joke.

"I don't think you'll like it." Her hand pressed against her mouth, trying to stifle what seemed to be giggles.

"Is that so?"

"Yup. I don't think the genre is for your type." She said the last part as if it was some salacious piece of gossip or a king of innuendo.

"Try me." Eve replied.

If there was one thing she didn't shy away from, it was books. And besides, she needed to keep this conversation going somehow!

"Can't." Lilith turned the page, making a big show of it all the while.

"Why not?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

Eve pouted, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner, taking great care to ensure that Lilith saw this as playful rather than a tantrum, unwilling to return to the awkward silence that was a mere five minutes ago.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you might snitch on me."

The blonde winced at that, trying her best to think of a way to keep things going between the two of them.

"And, if I were to tell on you for this, just what exactly would I be reporting you for?" Eve quirked a brow, rubbing her hands together in a cartoonishly evil manner, hoping the humor would be enough to crack the girl or at the very least give her an opportunity to change the subject before the air grew too tense.

...

"Persistence isn't gonna get you very far in this case," Lilith chuckled.

If only she knew what this old, 246 page book contained...

"It ain't just my head on the chopping block if word of this gets out."

Lilith knew that, by continuing this conversation, she was endangering herself and what little she had left to hide from the people that mattered, but she couldn't, or rather, didn't want to stop.

"It can't be that bad." Eve whips out her copy of the student handbook, skipping to page thirty eight. "The punishment for possession of pornographic material is just a week long suspension and a conference with the sisters about God's plan on human sexuality."

Lilith chuckles again, eyes looking at Eve with a strange mix of mirth and jealousy, taking both amusement and envy out of her innocence.

"Wrong rule." She slipped the worn, nondescript book back in her bag, in case Eve got the idea of just snatching it away.

"Try page twelve, paragraph four."

Lilith watched as Eve turned the pages in rapid succession. After years of reading those lines over and over, she could tell exactly where the girl was reading just by the subtle shift of her big, brown eyes.

The words on that page scared and sickened her to no end. She knew it by heart.

Her mind followed Eve's eyes, recalling what had been printed there word for word, comma for comma, the small, Arial font disgustingly vivid.

"Any student found to have been a part of or currently engaging in any sort homosexual relationship or activities, after informing their parents or legal guardian, will either be handed over to the closest psychiatric ward to receive treatment, or brought to the local church in order to make arrangements for their enrollment in "Godly living", a sister school of St. Agnes School For Girls, where said student can be guided back to the righteous path God intended them to take through the help of His word."

Those eighty-seven words had burned through her skull and into her mind, making her fear her every movement, lying awake in the dark of her room, stomach in knots, scared and worried and wondering if she would live to see another day.

She saw Eve's expressive eyes and the fear that filled them. It was so similar to what she had felt when she had first laid her eyes on that accursed paragraph. Though she was certain that Eve had read it before, mind most likely pushing it away as the girl tried to convince herself that she needn't concern herself with that particular rule, seeing as it didn't apply to her.

She remembered the first time she read it, a mere thirteen years of age, eager and lively, only somewhat aware of how she liked women, yet completely unaware that others did not feel the same as her, knowing what a homosexual was only from sermons and sneers from other children in the apartment as they looked and whispered about the two men who lived on the third floor, or as the adults liked to call them, fags.

That morning, she didn't wake til half past noon, and now she lay in her bed, restless, bored, the only thing in her grasp to pass the time being the rulebook of the school she would soon be attending.

She remembered walking on the tips of her toes for just a few paces, wary of how she distributed her weight over her bedroom's creaky floorboards, quickly grabbing her old night light to aid her in her reading.

What a darling child she had been...

So nice.

So unquestioningly obedient.

So normal.

But alas, that obedient little girl grew, seeing and learning and feeling, no longer reliant on her family to tell her what to think, no longer trusting them to, knowing their love for her was fleeting and conditional.

She read the book on the floor of her room, lying on her stomach, inches away from where her night light was plugged in, elbows sore by the time she reached that damned paragraph.

All the wind got knocked out of her, chest aching like it had when it came in contact with a stray soccer ball, yet somehow deeper, the pain lingering far longer than the marks of the physical hit, travelling down into her stomach the longer she thought about it, making her nauseous and killing her appetite the next morning.

"I'm sorry," Eve suddenly spoke, pulling Lilith from her thoughts.

"It wasn't my intention to pry, I just-"

The shrill shriek of the bell interrupted her, however, and they left class.

Lilith never did know what Eve was going to say, and she mourned the loss like she did all the almosts in her life.

...

"Any student found to have been a part of or currently engaging in any sort homosexual relationship or activities, after informing their parents or legal guardian, will either be handed over to the closest psychiatric ward to receive treatment, or brought to the local church in order to make arrangements for their enrollment in "Godly living", a sister school of St. Agnes School For Girls, where said student can be guided back to the righteous path God intended them to take through the help of His word."

Never in her life did Eve think that the school, the people who ran it, and thus, the church could be so... cruel. Inhumane. Just plain wrong.

"Receive treatment," Her mind echoed.

"What does that even mean? They're sinful, not ill. They need prayer and support and guidance-"

"All rise for the opening prayer." Sister Lydia said, voice stern and strict as ever.

Eve's lithe fingers were shaky as she made the sign of the cross, palms encasing her rosary as she prayed as if to make up for the lack of strength behind her words.

"Glory be to the Father."

Her mind desperately tried to make what she had been told all her life and what she had learned mere moments ago mesh and mold together to form one coherent truth.

It couldn't.

For if God is all loving and all forgiving, should he not make all who follow his word cease the so-called "treatment" they inflicted on the sinful, allowing the sinners to dig their own graves while the faithful remained holy, hands never casting stones upon others, as they too, had sinned? And should he not wait for the sinner to come to him in their own time by their own will, uncoaxed and true in their faith, like the merciful father waiting for his prodigal son to return to him?

"And to the Son."

Did he really deserve that glory? Should she really be singing her praises to an entity that had never once answered her, never once lifted a finger to reassure her? If he was willing to lay down his life for the forgiveness of her sins, could he not as easily give her a sign, tell her what was true, what wasn't, and help in restoring her faith?

"And to the Holy Spirit."

How long has it been since she felt it's presence? Since she felt holy? Where was the Holy Spirit to guide her when she had begged for it, sobbing at the weight of her sins?

"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Just how could that be?

She was born with the burden of original sin, baptized and made pure, only to sin once more, in a different, despicable way, every act she commits counted on the ever running tally that was the slate of her soul, little lines appearing on it like chalk with her every movement.

Was her soul, and all others, truly like they were in the beginning? Or were the sins marked on it now heavier, graver?

Would her soul stay like this? Or would it be cleansed in the second coming, erasing every scratch save for the very first, save for the one she was given for merely being born?

"Amen."

She did the sign of the cross once more. Her hands seemed to move all by themselves, accustomed to routine, as she hadn't even realized the prayer had ended, body running on a sort of autopilot as she tried all she could to make to opposing thoughts co-exist and cooperate.

Unfortunately for Eve, no amount of mental gymnastics seemed to work, infinitesimal details throwing all possibilities and interpretation into useless, incomprehensible garbage.

It was all she could think about the entire period and everything after, though something less serious would soon come to occupy her thoughts by the end of her class just before lunch, gym.

Or more specifically, gym with Lilith.

________________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @melpomenismask

[quadraphonictypewriter]

Rushing Whispers Part 4/?

Read from the beginning or Part 3

May 24 & 25, 1970 ((approx. 3200 words))

I had spent the day with my sister and Lily, still making up for the night out with Cameron earlier in the week. Turns out it was very scandalous to Lily and she had to be reminded that I was a good girl. By the time night fell, we were all tired and went to bed, Lily in her room on the main floor and my sister and I in adjacent rooms upstairs. 

I was having trouble sleeping, it must have been around ten o’clock. I’d drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming of water flowing and the star-filled sky. After the third time waking up in a near-sweat, I put on slippers and went to the office across the hall. 

I looked at the phone for a few minutes, debating if I should call. I hadn’t spoken with Cameron since he brought me home Friday morning, and it was Sunday night now. Pushing my fears aside, I picked up the receiver and dialed the number he had slipped into my jeans pocket.

“Hello?” Cameron answered after multiple rings. 

“Hi, Cameron,” I answered. “I hope I’m not bothering you. It’s Emily.” 

“Emily,” he spoke as if my voice had soothed him. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, I hope you have as well? I’m sorry, I know it’s late, I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been tossing all night.” 

“It’s alright, Emily. Don’t fret. I was up myself, in the studio,” he explained.

“Are you writing?” I asked, not able to help myself. 

“Yes.” He paused. “I’ve been in here all day almost, writing and playing.” 

Without catching myself, I spoke my mind. “I’d love to hear you play again, before I go.” 

“You’re welcome to,” he told me. “I could come get you, if you’d like-”

“I would love that,” I said, interrupting him with my eagerness. 

He chuckled. “I can be there in half an hour, Emily.” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

We said our goodbyes and hung up. How was I going to explain this to Lily and my sister? A note would have to do. 

I tiptoed back into my room and threw on some clothes. I put a change of clothes for the morning into a backpack I’d bought, and a hairbrush along with my toothbrush. ‘I won’t be caught without underwear a second time,’ I said to myself. 

As quietly as I could, I went down the stairs and wrote a note:

Lil, Auntie, Cameron asked me over. I’ll be back today. Love, Emily.

I left the note on the counter and saw a flash of headlights turning on and off in front of the house. I quickly put my shoes on and went out the door, locking it behind me. Cameron had his van this time, so I put my backpack in the back and got in the passenger seat. 

“Hi,” I said with a smile.

“Hello,” Cameron answered. “I hope you’ve told someone where you’re going?”

“I left a note,” I told him. “Don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Definitely not.” We both laughed and he began to drive. We were at his house soon, which looked even more like a miniature castle in the woods at night than it had last time. 

I dropped my bag on the sofa and he led me right to the studio. I saw the phone in the hallway and noted that he must have gotten up right away when he heard the first ring, to reach the phone so quickly. 

“I didn’t interrupt you when I called, did I?” I asked, worried. 

“Yes, but it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You can call me any time of day or night and I won’t mind one bit.” 

I smiled at him and he pulled out a chair for me to sit on. 

“Thank you,” I said, sitting down across from his keyboard and mic set up. “So, what were you writing? A piece for the new album?” 

“Possibly, but I don’t know if the others will like it. We don’t usually write love songs,” he admitted. 

“It’s a love song?” I asked. 

“Yes. Here, I’ll play it for you.” 

He set his fingers on the keyboard and began to play. A sweet, soothing sound came from the amplifiers, then turned into a passionate display of yearning. I could tell what this song was about even without words. It ended with a repeat of the opening bars and then Cameron set his hands on his lap. 

“That’s what I’ve got. It’s not finished, but it’s still something.” 

“It’s beautiful, Cameron.” 

“I’m pleased you enjoyed it. It’s your song.” 

My jaw dropped, I somehow wasn’t expecting that. “You wrote that for me?” 

“I did,” he admitted bashfully. “I have it recorded but it’s just a demo, I don’t know if-”

I had stood up and leaned down to kiss him, interrupting his worried speech. 

“I love it, Cameron.” 

He stood, not letting go of my hand. “I love you, Emily.” 

I kissed him again, harder, and he pulled me close. I felt my face grow wet and I pulled away to compose myself. 

“Oh, Emily, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Cameron said worriedly. He wiped a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “Come. I shouldn’t have played it for you.” 

He began to lead me out of the studio but I planted my feet on the ground until he turned to face me. 

“Cameron, I’m happy you played that for me. I’m so happy. I just... I’m leaving in two days!” I was suddenly angry. Why did I have to meet this man and fall for him so completely, in a place that was not my own, during a brief stay? 

“Emily…” He pulled me into his arms and held me tight. I cried. All my shame at crying dissipated when he stroked my hair and kissed my forehead. “This won’t be the last time we see each other. I promise.” 

“I’m sorry for crying, I just, I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. Cameron reassured me and squeezed my hand, leading me back to the living room. 

“Don’t apologize. It’s alright, love.” 

I squeezed his hand and he offered me tea. I declined, so we headed upstairs. 

In the en suite bathroom upstairs, I washed my face and brushed my teeth. My hair needed a combing, so I did that too, looking at the long brown strands as I detangled them. I always thought my hair was too thin, but I was glad of the amount when I was finished and came out of the bathroom to see Cameron taking his shirt off. 

“It’s been a long day,”  he said. He took off his shoes and socks, putting them beside mine. As if he could tell what I was feeling, he spoke. “Don’t feel bad.” 

“I’ll try,” I chuckled. 

“Promise me, Emily.” Cameron had suddenly grown serious. “Never apologize for showing me how you feel.”

“I promise.” 

He smiled at me and I did the same. I began to unbutton my shirt when what he said struck me in a different light. ‘I’ll show you how I feel,’ I said in my mind. “Come, sit.” I motioned to the bed, my shirt unbuttoned but still on me. 

Cameron did as I said, though he wore a confused look on his face. He kept his eyes on me as I slipped out of my jeans and leaned forward to kiss him. I tugged on the waistband of his jeans and slowly moved my kiss from his lips to his neck. I kissed his collarbone gently, wanting to show him what I felt but couldn’t say. 

I slid down onto my knees and Cameron’s eyes widened with realization. 

“Emily-” 

I shushed him and pulled his zipper down, then unfastened the button. He lifted his hips as I pulled his jeans down, tossing them to the floor. I could see his wanting, and knew what I wanted, too. 

I massaged him through his boxers until I heard him gasp. I nearly did the same when I lowered the fabric; we had made love in the dark last time but now, with the light on, he looked even better. 

I worked on Cameron until I was wet, wanting beyond want. He gasped and warned me, so I pulled back and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. 

“Do you want me to rinse my mouth?” I asked, but he shook his head. 

“I want you to come here.” He spoke with such conviction I just did what he said, taking my shirt off and letting it fall to the ground. He was nude, and I was still in my underclothes. I reached behind my back and took my bra off as he pulled me towards him and started to slide off my panties. 

I could feel him against me and my head spun when he lifted me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he sat us down on the bed. 

“Emily..” he trailed off. 

“Yes?” I answered, cheekily. 

“I just, I, ah, I-” 

I giggled and he laughed, then sputtered something about condoms. 

“I’m on the pill. It’s alright. I want you.” 

His face reddened and I felt mine do the same.”I want you too,” he answered me in a quiet voice. 

“So take me. I’m yours.” 

 Morning

When I woke, the sun hadn’t broken through the clouds yet. I looked at Cameron, his sleeping face beautiful. He had short stubble on his chin, dark brown hair framing his face. I could see a closed hole from earrings once worn in his ear, and wondered if he had the same thing done to the other side. 

He shifted in his sleep and I put my hand on his arm, wishing I wasn’t so scared. If he was brave enough to tell me he loved me, I should be brave enough to tell him the same. 

“Emily?” he mumbled, so quietly I wondered if he was still sleeping. When he said it a second time, I answered.

“I’m here.” 

He smiled and snuggled into me. “I’m happy you’re here.” 

“Me too, Cameron.” 

We stayed in bed for a while longer, until the sun came out and shone through the lightly coloured curtains. 

“I suppose we should get up,” Cameron said, stretching. 

“I don’t want to,” I chuckled. 

“Neither do I.” 

‘So let’s stay here all day,’ I said inside my mind. “I’ll go brush my teeth.” I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, only to see the analogue clock in the corner that I had never noticed. “Cameron, it’s eleven.” 

“Hmm?” 

“I should at least call Lily and let her know I’m okay.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Thanks.” I walked, still nude, to the phone in the hallway and dialed Lily’s number. My sister picked up the other end and beamed when I spoke. 

“Emily, are you with Cameron? What time did you leave?” 

“Yes, I’m with Cameron. Didn’t you see my note? I left around ten.” 

“Why would you leave so late in the night?” 

I twirled the cord around my finger and frowned. This wasn’t going to be easy. “I couldn’t sleep and-” 

“I bet you did a lot of sleeping there!” 

“Can you be a regular person for like, ten minutes?” I asked in an angered tone. She didn’t reply, so I continued. “I just saw the time, I don’t know when I’m leaving but I’ll be back before lunch.”

“Lily wants me to tell you to bring him here for lunch.” I could hear the smile on her face. 

“She wants to meet Cameron? I mean, I’ll ask, but-” 

“Not negotiable. Bring him when you come home. Hope he likes roast beef.” 

Click.

I stared at the receiver for a moment before putting it down. Somehow I doubted that this was my great-aunt’s idea. 

I went back into the bedroom to find Cameron nearly dressed. 

“You might want to slow down, you’ve been formally invited—I mean, forced— to come to lunch at the house,” I announced. 

“I’ll shave,” he replied, and took off his shirt. He went into the bathroom and I followed to take a shower. Once out and dried off, I found a clean shaven Cameron sitting on the edge of the bed, putting socks and shoes on. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but I think my sister will disown me if she keeps thinking that I’m dating a musician.” I laughed and so did Cameron. 

“It’s alright, Emily. Just more time to spend with you.” He smiled at me and I blushed despite myself. I would be leaving the country to go back to Canada in exactly 48 hours, and he was still happy to just be with me. 

I was happy to be with him too, and when we got into the truck a few minutes later, I told him. 

“I’m really happy to be spending my time with you,” I admitted. “I’m sad to be going.” 

“Who is taking you and your sister to the airport?” he asked. 

“Probably Lily, but she always cries and makes a fuss, so that’ll be fun.” 

“Would you like me to drive you? I wouldn’t mind, I could come pick you up in the morning and bring you. Your flight is at noon?” 

“You’re too sweet, Cameron, honestly I couldn’t accept-” 

“Of course you can, it’s easy.” He glanced at me and then back to the road. “I’d be happy to see you off.” 

We arrived at the house and he parked outside, turning off the engine. 

“Ready?” I asked. 

He smiled. “Always.” 

He got out of the car and opened the door for me, obviously knowing that someone inside would be watching us approach.

“This way, my lady,” he said, mimicking a posh English accent.

“You’re too funny,” I said with a laugh. “Come on, the door should be unlocked.” 

It was, and when we entered I said a loud hello, a distant answer coming from the kitchen. We took our shoes off at the front door and stepped into the kitchen. It was a good thing Cameron was holding my hand, because I might have fainted if I’d seen this and not had physical support: my sister was cooking. 

“We’re all gonna get food poisoning! Why didn’t you let Lily cook?” I asked jokingly, until I saw her face. 

“What’s happened?” 

“She’s under the weather, so I’m taking up the chores for her. Whoever knew it was so difficult to cook a roast beef?” she asked rhetorically. 

“Oh god,” I groaned. “Anyway, this is Cameron. Cameron, my sister Liliane.” 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you too. Do you know anything about roast beef?” she asked him.

Cameron chuckled. “I do, actually. Would you like me to take a look?” 

“Please,” Liliane replied. “Emily, can you go see auntie? Tell her you’re here.” 

I nodded and walked to Lily’s room. She was laying in bed not at all under the weather, rather looking pleased with herself. 

“Hi, auntie.” 

“He’s here? Your... friend?” 

“Cameron,” I reminded her. “Yes, he’s helping Lil with the roast beef.”

“Help me into the kitchen, dear? Arthritis is acting up today, I took a little nap.” 

“You look refreshed,” I told her as we crossed the hallway and made it to the kitchen. 

“Hello, young man,” Lily said as she watched Cameron prod at the roast with a thermometer. 

He turned and extended his hand to hers, giving a light kiss to the top of her hand. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Cameron, I’ve been seeing Emily.” 

“I know,” Lily answered, “you’re the one who’s been taking her out of the house in the middle of the night.” 

‘Oh boy,’ I thought to myself. ‘This is gonna be long.’ 

The roast beef was ready, so Cameron sliced it and I helped my sister with the potatoes and carrots. Lily sat at the head of the table and looked at Cameron as he worked. I caught her gaze and she winked at me. 

‘That’s a good sign. Now to convince my sister.’ 

We sat and ate. The meal was delicious, and Liliane thanked Cameron for his help more than once. ‘Odd, but I’ll take what I can get.’ I thought.

By the end of the meal we had all learned how Cameron had gotten into music. He was taught guitar at an early age, but when he heard the piano he knew that was what he wanted to play. He switched when he was ten and hadn’t looked back in over fifteen years. 

He even said some things that I hadn’t known about him, that his father had passed away when he was young. I touched his thigh below the table as a soothing gesture, and he glanced at me. 

“I’ve always had great friends, and Emily is no exception.” 

“I’ve heard you’re more than friends,” Liliane spoke. 

“You’ve assumed,” I corrected. 

Cameron smiled and didn’t seem to mind the bickering. “You are right though, Liliane. I am quite fond of your sister.” 

“Well, we’re leaving on Wednesday, so you’ll have to say goodbye.” Liliane was brute, and I was ready to yell, but Cameron took it with grace. 

“Speaking of that, I was hoping that I could take you both to the airport on Wednesday. Of course, if Lily doesn’t mind.” 

Lily nodded and gave her permission, so that was settled. 

“I’m going to go to bed, I’ve got a headache. Liliane, you can handle the cleaning up?” Lily asked. 

“Of course, auntie. Have a good rest.” 

Cameron stood and bid his farewell to Lily, who walked by herself to her bedroom. 

We finished eating and cleared the table together, but left the dishes for later. Liliane had a few more questions to ask Cameron, but I feigned that he had a band meeting to go to and we headed to the door. We put our shoes on and went outside; I walked with him to his van. 

“Thank you for coming. You know, you didn’t have to.” 

“It was no trouble at all,” he answered. We stood in silence for a moment before he asked me a question. “If I asked you not to open something until you got back to Canada, would you?” 

“Would I not open it?” 

“Yes.” 

“I wouldn’t open it,” I told him truthfully. 

He went to the passenger door and opened it, reaching into the pocket behind the seat. He pulled out a small envelope that seemed to be important.

“Here. It’s from me, of course. Just, don’t open it until you've at least crossed the ocean.” 

He leaned down and took my face in both his hands and kissed me. I didn’t want him to pull away, but I knew my sister was watching some way or another. 

“We will talk soon, Emily.” 

With that, Cameron got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I felt like this was goodbye, even though he was going to bring us to the airport, and I didn’t want it to be goodbye. Not yet. 

“Cameron!” I shouted, so he could hear me over the engine. 

He looked at me and somehow seemed sad. What could I say to him while he looked like that?

“Be safe.”

--

Part 5

[artificialqueens]

In Sickness and In Health (Branjie)- athena2

A/N: Brooke gets sick and ends up in the hospital. Luckily Vanessa is always there to keep her together. 

This is just a little sick fic I’ve had in progress and decided to finish to work through some writer’s block and hopefully get some writing inspiration. It’s fluffy with some mild angst, and I hope you enjoy! Please leave feedback if you’d like, it always means a lot to me! Thank you Writ for betaing and all your encouragement!

*There is hospitalization and mild medical talk. It’s not graphic, but do be cautious*

—

Vanessa wakes when the sun slips through the curtains, rolling over to bury her face in Brooke’s neck. For two years now she’s been waking up next to Brooke and each morning still feels like that first one, body bursting with tenderness and love Vanessa knew she’d have forever, even after just one night.

“Saturday morning pancake time!” Vanessa nudges Brooke’s side and she winces, covering it up with a loud groan.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa’s trying not to worry, but Brooke hadn’t hidden that pain as well as she thought, and she just can’t help it.

“I’m just not really hungry for pancakes,” Brooke says quietly.

“You didn’t eat lunch or dinner yesterday either,” Vanessa adds, trying to keep the worry out of her voice.

“My stomach’s a little off, I guess.”

“Is there anything you are hungry for?” she tries.

“Toast, maybe?”

Vanessa leads Brooke out of bed and seats her at the table, setting a plate of toast in front of her a few minutes later. She watches with intense eyes as Brooke takes two bites and sips at a glass of water.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to watch me like I’m a baby,” she insists when she sees Vanessa staring. Brooke hates to be fussed over, and Vanessa tries to be more discreet the rest of the day, as she keeps her eye on Brooke, watching her act less and less like herself. They go to the farmer’s market and Brooke doesn’t eat the strawberries right out of the container like she always does, her normally graceful walk slow and hunched slightly, and has nothing but a cup of tea for lunch even though it’s her favorite cafe.

She shoots Nina a text with Brooke’s symptoms, needing someone reasonable. Nina is a fellow kindergarten teacher and one of Vanessa’s best friends at work, and she commands Vanessa and Brooke to come over for dinner once a month because she loves them so much. The reply makes her legs quiver: My niece had something similar. Ended up being her appendix. If she’s still sick Monday, you might want to get her to a doctor. Though I know that’ll be hard with how stubborn Brooke is.

By the time she checks Brooke for a fever that night, the worry is like a block of cement in her chest.

“You feel kinda warm,” Vanessa says as Brooke bats her hand away from her forehead.

“I’m fine.”

Vanessa sighs. “Brooke, you haven’t eaten in two days and your stomach still hurts. You been wincing all day, don’t think I can’t see it. And I’m pretty sure you have a fever. If you’re not better by Monday, you’re going to the hospital, and I don’t want to hear a single argument, Mary.”

Brooke holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay. But I’m not sick. It’s just a little stomach ache. I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

—

It’s just past 6am Sunday morning when the sound of someone throwing up wakes Vanessa from her sleep, and she rushes to the bathroom, Brooke kneeling on the floor by the toilet.

“Brooke, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she groans, flushing the toilet. “Nothing in me to throw up, really.”

Vanessa hands her a cup of water and sits on the floor next to her, stroking Brooke’s long hair. Brooke’s skin is always fair but she’s white as a sheet now, with purple circling her eyes. She’s going to the hospital, no matter what Vanessa has to do to get her there.

Brooke swishes the water around and spits back in the toilet rather than the sink, and Vanessa thinks it’s because she’s too weak to stand.

“Your stomach still hurts?”

“It’s not that bad.”

Brooke is still denying it, but it doesn’t escape Vanessa that she’s gone from ‘I’m fine’ to ‘It’s not that bad’. That’s about as close to an admission of illness that she’ll get from Brooke, and Vanessa rests a hand on her forehead again. It’s not burning hot but it’s warmer than last night, and her hand comes back sticky with sweat. Brooke hasn’t even swatted at her, another sign of how sick she must be.

“You’re warmer now, I think,” Vanessa says gently. “You’ve been like this since Friday and I don’t think you’re getting any better. Will you let me take you to the ER? Please?”

“Okay.” Brooke caves softly, and Vanessa worries more than ever as she speeds to the hospital.

—-

The next few hours are a whirlwind. They spend about 15 minutes with a doctor in one of the exam rooms before Brooke is admitted with a likely case of appendicitis and set up in a hospital bed, nurses in and out drawing blood samples, placing thermometers in her mouth, inserting an IV in her arm, sometimes taking Brooke away for more tests. The doctor orders some sort of scan and a nurse tells Brooke to drink two jumbo Styrofoam cups of something that Brooke grumbles tastes like chalk, grimacing with each sip.

Vanessa just sits in the hard plastic chair next to Brooke’s bed, giving her encouraging smiles that aren’t working. All Vanessa can do is watch as Brooke flinches each time her IV gets caught, her hand clutching at her side when she moves wrong. It must suck to be in that bed but it sucks just as much to be in the chair next to it, watching Brooke suffer and being unable to do a thing to help her. Vanessa would take her place in an instant.

She’s trying to stay calm for Brooke’s sake, but her wife looking so small and fragile in a hospital bed is one of the scariest things Vanessa’s ever seen in her life. Brooke never gets sick. She hasn’t had anything worse than a cold in the two years they’ve been married, and hated every second of them; hated having people fuss over her and act like she was weak. Vanessa, on the other hand, caught every virus known to the world from her kindergarteners and didn’t mind having Brooke cover her in blankets and make her soup. Vanessa’s never been the caretaker before, and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep this up.

“It’s freezing in here,” Brooke complains, pulling the blanket up high over her thin hospital gown, grimacing as it tugs on her IV.

It is cold in the room, cold enough that Vanessa can’t just blame it on Brooke’s fever.

“Here.” She takes off her coat and lays it on top of Brooke’s shivering body, met with immediate protests that she shuts down just as fast.

“How did I even get sick in the first place? I shouldn’t be sick. Do you think I did something to my appendix? What if–”

Leave it to Brooke to blame herself for being in the hospital. “Brooke, you didn’t do anything. Something like this is totally beyond your control, there’s nothing you could have done to cause it,” Vanessa soothes. “And besides, we don’t even know for sure that’s what it is.”

“Well, based on Google, I’m pretty convinced, but if I had my phone back–”

“You’re not getting it back.”

“Please? I’m so bored.” Brooke whines, her pout so pitiful Vanessa almost caves. But the whole reason she took it is so Brooke can’t type her symptoms into WebMD and convince herself she’s dying, and Vanessa holds firm even though it physically pains her.

“How much longer am I gonna be stuck here?” Brooke taps her fingers impatiently on the bed rail.

It’s not even 10am yet, but it feels like they’ve been through an entire day, with no idea of how much longer this will go on. Brooke is restless in the bed, wringing her hands, flicking through TV channels and not watching a single one, fiddling with her hospital bracelet. She keeps touching the empty space on her ring finger, the ring currently in Vanessa’s purse since it had to be removed for the scan. She’d give it back to Brooke to comfort her and maybe help her relax a little, but what’s the point? It’d probably have to come off again eventually, and she doesn’t think anything could relax her wife right now. Brooke is color-coded schedules and careful planning, her days laid out in detail, from meetings at work to shopping trips and dinner dates with Vanessa. She likes preparation, knowing exactly how her day will go. Being trapped in a hospital bed, not knowing how long she’ll be stuck there, how long until a nurse gets her for another test or tells her what’s wrong, must be one of the worst things in the world for her.

“I know, baby, but we just gotta wait.”

Brooke heaves a loud sigh, followed by a wince. “I don’t want to be here! I hate this! I hate this stupid bed and I can’t even move without this stupid IV digging in my arm and I had to drink a gallon of fucking melted chalk for that CT scan and they still won’t even say what’s wrong with me and my stomach hurts, Ness.”

The outburst scares her just as much as it breaks her heart. Vanessa has noticed Brooke slowly losing her grip over the past three hours, but it doesn’t mean she’s any more prepared when she finally crumbles. Brooke has always been her rock, keeping them focused with her schedules, doing the grocery shopping when Vanessa forgets, taking the day off work just to help Vanessa decorate her classroom every year. It was Brooke who Vanessa would cling to when she was stressed and having a shitty day, Brooke who would give her a massage and listen to her rants. Even during Brooke’s times of insecurity where she was up all night stressing over case notes, worrying that she wasn’t good enough, she’s never fallen apart quite like this, and Vanessa knows she’ll have to weather the storm to keep Brooke whole.

She loosens the deathgrip Brooke has on the railing and rubs her thumb over the back of Brooke’s hand in soothing circles. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get through this together, okay?”

Brooke gives a weak nod.

“Why didn’t you say the pain got worse?”

Brooke just shrugs. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Oh, fuck her Canadian politeness. Vanessa takes a breath. “Okay, first of all, you’re not bothering anyone. You gotta say when you need something. Now how about I call the nurse and have her bring you some more painkillers?”

Brooke nods again.

A minute later a nurse injects something in Brooke’s IV, saying that the test results should be coming soon, and Brooke’s shoulders lose some of their tightness, the pinched lines that had taken over her features smoothing out. She keeps frowning at her missing wedding ring, but she does nod along as Vanessa talks to distract her, telling her stories about what the kids in her class got up to last week. Brooke even manages a smile that is erased the second the doctor walks in.

The doctor is talking, telling them it’s appendicitis and they have Brooke scheduled for surgery in an hour; the surgery is some laparo-something mumbo-jumbo, it’s minimally invasive and the recovery is so quick Brooke can probably go home tomorrow.

Vanessa’s trying to listen, she really is, but the second the word surgery comes out Brooke’s face falls, and Vanessa can see the wheels spinning in Brooke’s mind as she spirals.

The doctor says the nurses and the surgeon will be in soon to go over some information, and then she leaves, Brooke’s breaths turning to shallow pants.

“Brooke–” Vanessa begins.

“I don’t want surgery,” Brooke huffs.

“Br–”

“Ness, please, I just wanna go home.” Her voice is small, barely more than a whisper, and Vanessa would rip her out of the bed and take her home right this second if she didn’t know Brooke needed to be in the hospital.

She’s scared, Vanessa realizes as her heart shatters. For all the cool confidence Brooke projects at her law firm, all the men she makes quiver with a single glance, Brooke’s never been sick like this, never even been hospitalized before. Vanessa squeezes her hand, trying to find the right words to soothe Brooke and keep her together. She’s talked several kindergarteners down from temper tantrums in her day, and while she knows Brooke would protest at being compared to a five-year-old, the calming process is roughly the same.

“I know you wanna go home, honey, I know. But you need to stay here and have the surgery to make you feel better, okay? And then once you’re better, we’ll go home and we can lay on the couch and watch anything you want. Even them scary-ass murder shows.”

Brooke bites her lip, and Vanessa thinks it worked, but then more comes pouring out of Brooke as she lifts her head up from the bed.

“But what if something goes wrong, what if it’s more serious than they think and they can’t fix it, what if-”

“Shh,” she whispers, stroking Brooke’s hair with her other hand. “You’re gonna be fine. They do this shit like a hundred times a day. It’s no big deal. The doctor said it’s quick and you can probably go home tomorrow. It’s gonna be okay.”

Brooke bites her lip and Vanessa thinks she might protest, but her eyes search Vanessa’s, see the love reflected there, and Brooke settles back against the pillows. “Okay.”

Vanessa climbs up into Brooke’s bed, turning on her side, careful to avoid her abdomen. “I ain’t giving you your phone, but how about we watch cat videos on mine?”

Brooke smiles in agreement. The two of them are still huddled together, watching a cat play the piano, when nurses arrive to take Brooke down for the surgery.

“Ness,” she pleads, hand flailing around, breaths coming in quick pants, as the nurses start moving the bed.

Vanessa’s starting to worry too despite how relaxed she’s been for the past four hours, and she digs for the last ounces of calm within her.

She takes Brooke’s hand and squeezes it tight. “You’re okay, Brooke. You’re gonna be fine. It’s gonna be over really quick, and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Brooke asks nervously.

“I promise.” She twirls her pinky around Brooke’s larger one, bending down to kiss Brooke’s forehead.

The nurses take Brooke away, speaking calmly to her as they move down the hall, one staying behind to take Vanessa to the waiting room, where she finally, finally, loses her calm.

She paces back and forth across the waiting room rug so fast she makes herself dizzy. Her phone buzzes with a text from Nina, who Vanessa has been updating the past few hours.

Brooke will be fine. She’s tough as nails. Try to stay calm. Don’t forget to drink and eat something too.

She knows Nina is right, that she doesn’t need to worry about Brooke. Brooke has made her way to the top of her law firm over men who constantly wanted to bring her down, has spoken at meetings where she was the only woman in the room. Brooke told Vanessa she once did a dance performance with a broken toe as a teenager. She has no doubt in her mind Brooke will come out of this just fine and recover even faster than expected. She knows it’s a routine procedure, that there’s probably nothing to worry about.

But still.

How can she sit down and relax or eat anything when Brooke is behind those doors, all alone in a sea of scrubs and monitors, having her skin cut open?

Vanessa sits down in another uncomfortable chair because she might start crying soon. She spins her wedding band and engagement ring around her finger, thinking of how Brooke had proposed on her birthday and Vanessa was so surprised it took her a few seconds to throw herself at Brooke and say yes.

She wants Brooke back now. Neither of them did well when they were apart. Vanessa had gone to a teachers’ conference last year and was unable to sleep in her plush hotel bed that was just too empty, coming home to see Brooke with deep bags beneath bloodshot eyes as she admitted that she couldn’t sleep without Vanessa kicking her in the middle of the night.

She checks the time. It’s only been 15 minutes. The doctor said the surgery would take about an hour and then they’d bring Brooke to the recovery room for the anesthesia to wear off before Vanessa could see her. Vanessa hates that she won’t be there when Brooke first wakes up, but the doctor said Brooke would be very sleepy and disoriented and might not even remember the recovery room.

She gets another text from Nina suggesting that she visit the gift shop to keep herself busy, and that’s what she does. It better be well-stocked, because Vanessa is a stress shopper and she could clean the bitch out right now.

She strides past bags of chips and candy and cookies, knowing Brooke won’t be able to eat for a while. She finds bright sunflowers and lilies and grabs a stuffed whale with Get Whale Soon printed on its back, which should make Brooke smile at least.

She stashes her bags on a chair and resumes her pacing, minutes ticking by like sludge until she hears a doctor call her name.

“Everything went well. She’s okay.”

Vanessa hears those words and can’t really pay attention to the rest, body ready to run to wherever Brooke is, to see her with her own eyes and know she’s okay.

“Can I see her?” she blurts, not caring about her rudeness.

The doctor smiles, probably used to people ruder than her. “We’re moving her into her room now, and then a nurse will take you to see her. She’s asleep right now; she’ll probably be in and out for another couple hours and she’ll be a little groggy. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation, but there were no complications and she should be able to go home tomorrow.”

The relief is overwhelming, and Vanessa has to grab at her chest to stay standing. She’s okay. Brooke is okay. The thoughts are on loop as the nurse takes her to Brooke’s room, leaving with instructions to call if they need anything.

All she needs right now is Brooke, every ounce of Vanessa’s focus trained on her wife. Brooke is pale, almost as pale as the sheets, and she looks so small, not like Vanessa’s entire body can fit against her. But her face is peaceful as she sleeps and Vanessa is grateful she’s at least not in any pain.

She arranges a florist’s worth of flowers on the window and rests the whale against Brooke’s leg, avoiding her abdomen. The doctor said they made three small incisions and sealed them with sutures that dissolve on their own, which sounds like some sci-fi shit to Vanessa. The rise of Brooke’s chest is soft and steady and Vanessa finds herself matching it, all her fears from the past hours melting away. She’s okay. Brooke is okay.

She settles into another hard chair and waits.

—-

“N-Ness?” Brooke’s voice is hoarse and foggy and it’s the best thing Vanessa’s heard in hours.

“I’m here.”

Brooke is trying to turn her head but not getting anywhere, and Vanessa stands up so Brooke can see her.

“Good.” Brooke’s glassy eyes slide shut and she takes a deep breath before forcing them back open, like she’s afraid Vanessa will disappear if they close too long.

“You can go back to sleep, baby. I’ll still be here.”

“‘Kay.”

Brooke is asleep seconds later.

—-

“Ness?” Brooke’s voice is a bit clearer, a bit stronger this time.

“I’m here, honey. Do you feel okay?”

“Mmm. You’re here.”

Brooke’s right hand is moving, or trying to anyway, the motion wobbly and slow. A frustrated wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. It’s adorable, but Vanessa reaches down to take Brooke’s hand so she doesn’t get too upset.

“I’m here. I promised, didn’t I?”

“I love you.” Vanessa’s not sure if it’s just her or the leftover anesthesia mixed with painkillers, but Brooke’s eyes are clearer than before and she’ll never tire of Brooke saying she loves her.

“I love you too, baby.” She reaches down near Brooke’s leg and pulls up the gift resting there. “I got you a whale.”

“I love it,” Brooke gasps, mouth falling open, and Vanessa releases her hand so Brooke can hold it, her fingers clumsily stroking the whale’s head.

“Thank you for staying,” Brooke says.

“Of course, baby. I’m always gonna stay with you.”

She leans down to kiss Brooke, and she knows the words will always be true.

[loganseternity]

Coffee Eyes

Returning home was a bittersweet feeling laced with nostalgia that Logan was unaware she even had. Two weeks had passed since she made her arrival back and up until this very evening she had done her absolute best to lay low, which was much harder than she would have imagined. Once word spread that she was back home surely rumors would circulate about her dream career and the idea of it plummeting. Of course that wasn’t exactly the case but Logan had more than enough going on in her life that defending herself to absurd rumors and accusations made just for entertainment wasn’t worth her time. For this reason alone she made sure not to tell anyone that she was coming home with the exception of her mother. Dianna would send a search team out for her daughter if she did not know at the very least that she was alive. For her own reasons Logan made the choice not to go back living with her mother opting to rent an apartment instead. While she told both her mother and herself it was a step toward her new independence she knew it was more so for isolation than anything. Logan wanted to lay low and try to handle the various things she was going through, specifically mentally, on her own. Two weeks had been more than long enough for Logan to begin adjusting to being back home and now she was starting to itch for human contact; the only person she wanted to see was Alexa. Torn with the thought of dreading leaving her apartment and the happiness it would instill seeing her best friend Logan decided the ladder was more important and made her way to Dine-N-Dash. While Alexa’s work schedule could have changed in the entire year she had been gone Logan also knew that if anything stayed the same it would be that she still worked Friday nights. That was when they had the busiest bussel of people coming in both before and after getting intoxicated to celebrate the weekend and that was when she made the most tips, aside from the Sunday rush of course. Her drive there only furthered her nostalgia. She drove the same path as always and couldn’t help but see memories. These exact streets that she practically grew up on; staying out well past nightfall to the point that her mother would end up coming to find her and then scolding her for being out past dusk. Endless adventures as a child and trouble as a teenager stuck to these roads and she couldn’t shake it if she wanted to. Even if she wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, she really missed this town. Pulling open the door to the diner Logan caught a wave of waffle scent and felt an immediate sting of nostalgia. When she lost her first tooth Logan begged Alexa to take her here to celebrate her first payout from the tooth fairy wafting around a five dollar bill like she could afford to buy whatever her heart desired. After finally caving in to her pleas Logan only assumed Alexa regretted it because every lost tooth after that she forced Alexa to take her for a milkshake or chocolate chip waffles or sometimes even a burger whatever it was that her stomach and heart wanted. “I swear it’s like you’re just yankin ‘em outta your skull or something.” Alexa’s amazement still echoed as a clear memory in her mind. Logan could still remember the look on Alexa’s face as she gave her a toothless cheesy grin at the comment. Scanning the building she lucked out in having her favorite booth already occupied forcing her to find a different seat for her stay. She must have just missed the pregamming and actually dinner rush because it was hardly busy at all which only made her a little disappointed that someone took her favorite spot. To be fair if she hadn’t come in the building in over a years time then it didn’t make sense for her to try and claim property on something that was no longer hers to claim. Ultimately unbothered by it Logan sat at the counter top and skimmed through the menu solely to see if they had updated it in the time she was gone. It was pointless to think anything about this place would change and to no surprise she found the menu the exact same. “How’re ya?” A small brunette came to take her order. Looking up she managed to hide her disappointment that it wasn’t Alexa but she was still hopeful that she was working and just hadn’t made an appearance in the four minutes since Logan walked in. Based off first appearances Logan assumed the girl was still in high school just working this as a part time job. She missed Marjorie, the elderly waitress who worked doubles on the weekends. Surely the waitress just had the night off but the lack of familiarly made her a little uneasy. Logan didn’t feel like lying and saying she was alright so instead she avoided the question which was one of her better talents. “I think a coke float would really be the perfect ending to my night.” The girl nodded and made the mental note to put in the order. “Also maybe a plate of cheese fries?” Logan added to ultimately be received with a nod of acceptance before she left. For a minute she contemplated pushing her luck and asking of Alexa was working tonight but she didn’t want to make the girl feel like she wanted a different waitress, she was just on a mission to see someone who was much more important to her. Lexa was undoubtedly her closest friend. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was already a sister to her siblings Logan would choose to say that but the last thing Alexa needed was another sibling even if it was spiritual connecting and not blood. Now that she had ordered Logan allowed her mind to wander to thoughts circling the currently occupied booth that she practically lived in on Friday nights her entire Junior year of high school. Leaving home was a big step in her life but an even bigger one was admitting that it was okay to come home. If she didn't see Alexa working tonight then Logan knew that she deserved to have the night off to herself enjoying what free time she had and for that reason Logan was not going to insist on seeing Alexa. Fate would have them meet again just when Logan needed it most.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 56a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention.

-x-

Things had gotten rather crowded in the house so once the weekend arrived, which also signalled the start of the school Easter holidays, it was decided that the girls would go spend a few days with their gran at her house, leaving just Duffy, Megan and the boys at home.

After a meeting with her doctor on the Friday - her due date - it had been decided that if nothing happened over the weekend then Duffy would be admitted into hospital and induced on the Monday. Normally they would have waited longer than three days overdue but with Duffy's past history it was felt best to air on the side of caution.

Charlie was still in Canada with Louis. Baz had suddenly taken a turn for the worst but Charlie hadn’t been able to tell Duffy that yet, he hadn’t wanted to worry her.

Duffy was hoping that Charlie would arrive home on the Sunday evening so he would be there for the birth, even if he had to fly back to Canada again soon afterwards.

“Have you spoken to Charlie?” Megan asked as she filled up the kettle.

"I'm waiting for it to be a better time of the day over there." Duffy replied as she made her way slowly into the kitchen just before Saturday lunchtime. "That was the mum of one of Jake's friends on the phone. She rang to invite Jake to stay with them for a few days."

“That’ll be nice.” Megan smiled, “He might enjoy that.”

"Yeh, she'll be here after lunch to pick him up so I best go get his things packed."

“Would you like a hand?”

"A hand or you doing it for me?" Duffy smirked.

“Me doing it for you.”

"I thought as much. You best go check with Jake what he wants to take with him. Make sure he has enough pants and socks though, he won't think of that!"

Megan laughed, “Don’t worry. I will.”

Whilst Megan went to sort out Jake's packing Duffy decided to call Charlie to let him know the plans. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

He answered straight away. The phone having been in his hand. “Hi baby.”

"Hi, sorry to call so early." She apologised.

“No, no it’s fine. Is Everything ok?”

"Yeh, I'm fine. How are things with you?"

“Louis and I are ok.” He smiled sadly.

Duffy hesitated slightly. "Charlie..."

“Yes babe?”

"Is it possible for you to come home for a couple of days?" She asked quietly.

“Is it the baby?” He asked with a sad smile. “Things aren’t great here with Baz.”

"They want to induce me. Not til Monday but..." She paused, registering his remark about his ex wife. "What's happened?"

“She’s—“ He took a deep breath, “They're saying she’s brain dead.” He blurted out.

"What?!" Duffy gasped. "But you said she was improving."

“She was but she took a sudden turn for the worst and now, nothing.” He sighed sadly. “I haven’t told Louis yet. I don’t know how to.”

"Oh Charlie!" She chewed her lip. "What are the doctors saying?"

“We should consider letting her go.” He whispered and wiped the tear from his cheek.

"OK. You should give Louis some time first. To say goodbye." She sighed. "I wish you weren't having to do all this by yourself."

“I will.” He swallowed, “I love you. Will you give the kids a kiss and hug from me? Please?”

"Of course I will. The girls are staying with my mum and Jake is going to Luke's for a few days."

“Give you a break before the youngest arrives?”

"I think that might be the idea." She laughed though there was no humour behind it. "Please come home soon." She whispered. "I miss you."

“I miss you too gorgeous.” He smiled sadly.

"The induction is scheduled for 10.30am Monday but I understand if..."

“I’ll try my best to be there, ok?”

"OK. I best let you get on. Give my love to Louis."

“I will. I love you.”

"I love you too." Duffy hung up the phone and sighed, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Megan was upstairs with Jake, trying to pack for his trip to Luke’s.

Duffy turned her face away as she heard Peter walking down the stairs.

He came into the kitchen, “Mum?”

"Yes sweetheart?"

“You ok?”

"Of course. Just a bit tired that's all."

“Are you sure?”

"Yes." She smiled weakly. "I'm supposed to give you a hug from your dad but you'll probably think you're getting too old for that kind of thing."

Peter shrugged. “As long as you don’t tell anyone.” He muttered with a smile.

"Wouldn't want to ruin your cool reputation..!" She laughed as she held out her arms towards him.

Peter hugged his mum and kissed her cheek. “Is dad ok?”

"He's upset and stressed." She admitted softly.

“Why? Is Baz ok?”

Duffy hesitated, unsure whether to tell Peter the truth.

“Mum?”

"Yes?"

“Is she dead? Is that why you’re sad?”

"There's nothing more they can do."

“Oh..”

"They tried everything but sometimes..." She sighed.

“It’s not enough?”

"Unfortunately not."

“I didn’t like her much.” Peter admitted, “She used to say some horrible things about you.”

"She had her reasons."

“You and dad did bad stuff?”

"That's putting it mildly."

“You and dad had an affair, didn’t you?”

"Its not something I'm proud of but yes."

“Because you love each other? Is that why?” Peter sat at the table.

"Ultimately but saying that would be rather romanticising the way it started."

“Dad says he didn’t respect girls back then.”

"There's probably some truth in that. He changed over the years though."

“Did he respect you?”

"I like to think so."

“I remember when you invited him round that Christmas.”

"Really? You were only a toddler then."

He nodded, “I liked dad being there and then when I woke up, he’d gone.”

"I'm sorry. It was all so complicated back then. I wanted him to stay too." She admitted.

Peter smiled. “Now he doesn’t ever have to leave.”

"No." She squeezed his hand across the table. "Whatever happens in the future, you must know that we both love you and always have."

“I know.” He smiled and squeezed his mum’s hand back.

"I should probably get lunch ready before Luke's mum arrives." She said as she began to push herself up from the chair.

“I’ll help you?”

"You're not going to take no for an answer are you?"

“No mum.” He smiled, “What’s for lunch?”

"I was thinking sandwiches."

“Alright.” Peter began to collect all the stuff needed to make sandwiches.

It didn't take long for the sandwiches to be made and eaten. They were tidying away when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll go.” Jake said as he shot to the door.

After opening the door he ran back through to say a quick goodbye to everyone and grab his bag before racing out to the car to see Luke.

Peter laughed gently as he watched his younger brother.

"Please be good for Luke's mum! I love you." Duffy called after Jake as he ran off.

“Yes mum. Love you too.” Came the reply.

With Jake gone the rest of the day passed quietly and calmly. By evening time Duffy had given in to an early night as she was exhausted and there'd been no further word from Charlie.

By mid-afternoon Sunday Duffy had convinced Megan that it would be fine if she went out for a couple of hours to church.

Peter was listening to music in his bedroom and Duffy was supposed to be resting in the lounge but had instead decided to clean the kitchen.

“Mum! You’re supposed to be resting!” Peter said when he came down for a glass of water.

"I'm fine. Don't fuss!" She tried to hide her grimace as she reached up to put several items back in the cupboard.

“Sit down. Please.”

"Stop trying to impersonate your father!"

“I’m not.” Peter laughed.

"Could have fooled me." She rolled her eyes. "Go back to what you were doing, I'm just making sure everything is all ready before tomorrow."

“Please sit down.” He replied and then sighed.

"I don't need to sit down."

“Fine.” Peter rolled his eyes exactly the same as Duffy had earlier and sat down at the kitchen table.

"I don't like being watched like that Peter." She commented over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed.

"I thought you wanted to call Sarah this afternoon?" She reminded him.

“We were going to have a picnic.” He replied and then sighed again.

"But you don't want to go out?"

“It’s complicated.” He mumbled.

"Why?"

“It’s a bit embarrassing.”

"I've worked as a nurse in A+E for twenty years - there's nothing I haven't heard or seen. So out with it!" She remarked, levelling a pointed look at him.

He blushed bright red and replied, “I can’t tell you. It’s really embarrassing mum.”

"Peter. Just pretend for a moment that I'm not your mum."

“I keep getting boners in front of Sarah.” He blurted out. “And she thinks it’s hilarious but it’s really not. It’s really embarrassing!”

"It happens sweetheart." Duffy replied, trying not to laugh as she knew that was the worst thing she could do.

“Urgh! You think it’s funny too, don’t you?” He put his head in his hands, “She's really, really pretty but— oh my god, I really wish it wouldn’t happen.”

"Its all a part of growing up. Your hormones are still all over the place." Duffy had an idea. "How about you invite her over here? I'm sure the thought of your old mum being in the next room will quell any unexpected hormone surges."

“Erm, probably not.” He blushed again, “Does dad get many boners?” Peter asked casually.

Duffy choked. "That... Erm... That's a conversation you should probably, um, have with him!" She stuttered.

Peter laughed, “You’re getting embarrassed. Does that mean yes then?” He found it hilarious.

"I'm not sure I want to be having this conversation..."

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {14} (Bucky x reader AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count:  3.3k

A/N: Heyooooo. Let’s go to the Farmer’s Market!!! :D Honestly, Central Park in the Autumn is something I’ve actually experienced and I loved it, so even just writing about it and imagining a Farmer’s Market there.... *swoon* :) Add in Bucky, and I would probably die. ha! I hope you’re ready for this! I’m excited to hear your thoughts, any feedback is appreciated! <3

<<Part 13    Part 14     Part 15>>  

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

____________________________________________________

Sunday morning broke with clear skies and unusually high temperatures predicted; the makings of a gorgeous day. Since Thursday when Bucky proposed joining you at the Farmer’s Market, you’d continued to find each encounter you had with him more pleasant than the last. After the grocery store, you, of course, saw him at the Nest each morning, but he also happened to be at the bookstore where you went to browse and unwind Friday evening.

It turned out that you shared similar tastes in books and even had a lively discussion about who your favorite authors were. You each challenged the other to read something they normally wouldn’t and then planned to report back with thoughts on the books. That night as you tucked into bed with the book, you found yourself excited about the prospect of more time spent together. It all seemed to come out of nowhere, but you couldn’t deny the light flutterings of butterflies in your stomach at the thought of Bucky.

During those few days, you continued to hear from B, you both still maintaining that air of mystery. He was still as sweet as ever, confusing your heart and head along with the added newness of whatever was happening with Bucky. Both were mostly pushed out of your head on Saturday, since it was your busiest day of the week. You spent the early hours baking double what you did during the week so you could spend more time helping Wanda with customers.

That night after work, you were exhausted, so catching up on some TV followed by some reading before bed was all that was in the plans.

Sunday, you woke up surprisingly early, for a day that you actually had the option to sleep in. You made some breakfast and drank your coffee, then changing your outfit three times before you were satisfied. There really wasn’t any need for you to dress up, since Bucky had already seen you in your worst, sickest state, but part of you just wanted to gussy up a little, even more for yourself than for him.

Just before 9am, you decided to head out early and enjoy a leisurely walk to the park to spend time there until Bucky arrived. The weather was perfect as predicted, sun shining with a light breeze, and your sweater was just perfect for warmth. Settling on a bench, you pulled out your phone and replied to a ‘Good morning’ text you had received from B earlier.

FG: Good morning, Bernard! Happy Sunday. Plans for today? I’m enjoying a leisurely morning out in the sunshine.

B: I’m happy you’re taking the morning off! You work too hard. I’m enjoying  quiet Sunday morning as well.

He followed that message shortly with a picture of a Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, probably purchased from a food truck that traveled around to different locations in the city. “Mmmm waffles” was his caption and you replied in turn with heart eyes and drooling emojis. Minutes later, he sent a link to a youtube video with the caption “Made me think of you.:)”, which caused your heart to skip a beat.

Plugging in your headphones, you slipped a bud in one ear and pressed play. The video was a clip of a stand-up comedian you had heard about, John Mulaney. He opened his monologue with a mention of how he ‘zones out’ often, which you had to admit was relatable, but he then shared an anecdote about the Beatles, how none of them had mustaches and then suddenly they all had mustaches. At that point, you were laughing near the point of hysterics. For the sake of strangers nearby, you tried your best to laugh quietly with a hand over your mouth.

Eventually, you began to calm down and the video ended, so you returned to the message and typed out a reply.

FG: Oh my god, I should not have watched that in public. I think I hurt myself from holding in the laughter.

You hit send with a crying/laughing emoji. Those three dots popped up and you waited for a reply, but when you saw it arrive, your breath caught in your throat.

B: I’d give anything to hear you laugh.

Frozen in shock, you blinked, noticing the three bouncing dots as he continued to type. What the hell did that mean? He wanted to hear you laugh…as in…what? The anticipation was fraying your nerves so when the message popped up, you read it eagerly.

B: FG…could we meet? I know what happened last time was awful and I had no intention of hurting you, then or now. I swear to you that if you give me another chance, I will move mountains to be there. I’d like to explain everything and I would prefer to do it in person. What do you say?

Staring at the open message, you read it over and over again until the words began to blur before your vision. Was he serious? After all this time, suddenly he was making promises again? Part of you wanted to instantly say yes and take the leap, but reason and previous rejection held you back. Why now? What had changed? You had believed him last time when he said he wanted to meet, so you weren’t so quick to trust this time.

Unsure of how long you had been staring at the message, you must have been lost in your thoughts because suddenly a hand was waving in front of your face to gain your attention.

“Y/N?”

Jolting to the present, you followed the hand and looked up to see Bucky standing before you with a mildly concerned smile upon his face. He looked really good, you noticed right away. Dressed casually in well-fitting jeans and boots matched with a t-shirt and button-up plaid, then topped with a leather jacket, you gawked for a moment too long before answering.

“Hi! Sorry, I, uh…sorry,” you apologized profusely while locking your phone, shaking off the message still imprinted behind your eyes. “Just got caught up in something. How are you?”

Bucky laughed lightly as you stood up from the bench. “I’m good, how’ve you been?”

“Not bad,” you replied reflexively. “It’s a gorgeous day to be in the park. Shall we?”

“Absolutely,” he said, gesturing for you to lead the way. “This weather is insane. It almost feels like Spring in October.”

“Right?” you exclaimed, smiling brightly. “I’m not complaining.”

Small talk continued for a few minutes as you walked, then touching on work and how both bakeries were busy and doing well. Bucky then asked about how and why you decided to open City Sweets. You opened up more about baking with your mom before she passed and you feeling at home and closer to her in the kitchen. You went to college for a few semesters, but couldn’t settle on a major that interested you. Always returning to the idea of baking, you ended up taking a culinary course for some professional lessons and then worked wherever you could to gain experience.

The wish of opening your own bakery kept drifting to the forefront of your mind, so after taking a few business classes and coming up with a business plan, you made the leap using the money your mom had gifted you upon her death. It was one of the hardest, most stressful things you had ever done, but also the most rewarding. City Sweets was almost a year old. You were finally starting to make a profit and you hoped that it would continue to grow and blossom in the future.

Realizing how long you had been talking, you shifted the subject to Bucky. “What about you? What made you want to major in business?” you asked as you kept walking, the Farmer’s Market a few hundred yards ahead.

Bucky was silent a moment, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Um…I don’t know, really. I mean, I grew up helping my dad at the bakery and he always wished he’d had more business experience before he started. Most of the time it was just trial and error for him. So, I kind of just fell into it. I didn’t have a strong desire to major in something, so business seemed as good as any. I think that might be why I was so jealous of you when we first met,” he admitted, catching your eye.

Reeling toward him in shock, your jaw dropped. “What? You were jealous of…me? Why?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Because…you found your passion and you went after it. I think you’re doing an amazing job, too. Even from a business perspective, I mean, you’re in a good location with foot traffic, the bakery is cozy but not too small, you’ve branched out to wholesale deliveries, and from what I can tell, your ingredients quality to food cost ratio seems ideal. All within the first year, that’s impressive,” Bucky beamed at you, his gaze then moving toward the market as you two approached.

You took in his words, nearly speechless a moment from his kindness and positive overview of the bakery. “I, um….thank you. That means a lot to me, Bucky,” you quietly replied, almost overcome with emotion.

He just nodded. “Well deserved. I’m just sorry that I made you doubt that because of my own insecurities. I can’t apologize enough, Y/N,” Bucky said sincerely, pausing just before you reached the displays of fresh vegetables.

Pausing as well, you turned toward him and held his gaze a moment longer than usual. “I forgive you, Bucky,” you told him, knowing in your heart that you meant it.

Hearing the explanation of his previous behavior and seeing how much your interactions together had changed over the past few weeks, you held no more resentment for him. It took too much energy to hold a grudge, anyway.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replied gently, feeling a spark of something between you as you held his gaze.

The moment passed, though, as he glanced at the first produce stand, breaking eye contact. You finally took a look around as the gentle breeze rustled through the treetops. The sound mixed with music that you previously hadn’t noticed and as it registered, you thought back at the video that B had sent the other day. He hadn’t been far from where you currently stood that day. Lost in your thoughts, Bucky’s voice broke through them.

“Y/N?” he prompted, apparently not for the first time because he had an amused, patient smile on his face. “Are you okay?” Bucky asked, noticing your distracted nature.

“Yeah!” you replied, a little too loudly. “Um…yeah, I’m good. Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you walked to the table of produce and marveled at the colors and freshness.

“Oooh, beets,” you cooed, picking up a bunch of the red root vegetable with green stalks still attached. “I’ve been thinking about using more natural forms of food coloring at the bakery and I’ve heard beets are good for that. What do you think?” you asked in anticipation, glancing Bucky’s way.

He smiled at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too. I think it’s a great idea,” Bucky agreed, picking up a head of lettuce.

The morning passed, finding yourself enjoying Bucky’s company as you perused the table of each vendor selling their wares. You felt the happiest you had in a long time, finding a lightness and comfort as you talked and laughed with Bucky. Sometime later, you turned down the street toward the area where crafts were sold when you spotted a familiar food truck. Stopping mid sentence, you wandered forward and confirmed that yes, this was indeed where he had been according to the sign.

B had been here in this very spot, holding a waffle. It had been over an hour since his message, but you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing around at the people, wondering if perhaps he was still there. You had no way of knowing, but still…

“Y/N? Did you hear me?”

“Hm?” you quickly replied, blinking.

“I asked if you wanted a waffle. Where did you go just then?” he asked with more concern this time. “What’s going on with you? If you want to cut the morning short, that’s okay, but—“

“No!” you nearly shouted, then feeling terrible about your behavior. You didn’t want to say goodbye, but your attention seemed to be split despite efforts to remain in the moment. “I mean… it’s not that. It’s not you, I’m so—“

“Don’t apologize again,” Bucky kindly interrupted. “You don’t have to, it’s just…you can talk to me if you want to,” he offered sweetly.

You felt your resolve crumbling, wondering if Bucky would mind if you mentioned another guy or if he would just find it odd for you to be corresponding with a stranger. Biting your lip, you rolled it around in your head and came to the conclusion that you might as well get a second opinion on this mess. If he wasn’t as understanding as you expected, then at least you would know his character a little better. Taking a few steps, you settled in a chair at a small table outside the Belgian waffle food truck and gestured for Bucky to do the same.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “It’s kind of a long, weird story…”

_________

You sat in silence a moment, allowing Bucky to process what you had just finished sharing. It sounded crazy, even to your own ears, but Bucky had become a friend somehow over the past few weeks and it seemed like he truly wanted to know what was on your mind. Fiddling with the bag of vegetables resting on the table, you waited until he was ready to respond.

“Wow,” Bucky finally spoke, his gaze off in the distance. “That’s quite a unique way to meet someone.”

You scoffed at that with a shrug. No point in denying it.

“So…you like this guy? Even though you don’t know anything about him?” he asked gingerly, brow furrowed.

Letting out a sigh, you thought about it for the hundredth time and came up with the same answer. “Yeah. I think I do. Is that crazy?”

He shrugged this time. “I don’t know. Crazier things have happened. I can’t think of any at the moment, but…”

You chuckled at that and gave him a playful shove.

“Sorry, sorry,” he replied with a laugh. “But you’re willing to give him another chance, even after he stood you up? No wonder you blew up at me that day at the Nest, by the way. I’m sure I just made a bad situation worse.”

Feeling a warmth in your face, you spoke up. “I really shouldn’t have, I—“

“No, no,” he gently interrupted. “No need to apologize, I needed that wakeup call.”

Smiling gratefully, you thought about his previous question. “I know it might seem naive of me, but…I don’t know. I guess I just want to find out for sure if he is who I imagine him to be. If somehow I’m disappointed once again, then at least I’m not left wondering. I just don’t want to go through life with regrets, you know?”

Bucky was silent again, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Yeah. That’s a good point. I don’t think it’s naive of you to think the best in other people. It’s a great quality, actually,” he complimented as he placed a hand on top of yours resting on the table.

You felt that electricity again, meeting his gaze for a lingering moment. Opening your mouth to speak, you were interrupted by an alert from your phone. Reluctantly, you retrieved your hand and searched through your bag for the device. A previously set alarm had gone off and suddenly you noticed the time.

“Oh, no. I have to get back to the bakery,” you told him regretfully as you stood and gathered your bags.

“Of course,” Bucky replied, getting to his feet. “I’ll walk with you.”

Grateful that your revelation hadn’t ruined your morning outing or time with Bucky, you nodded with a smile.

“Okay.”

__________________

Stepping off the subway at your intended stop, you climbed the stairs up to street level. This wasn’t a part of the city that you visited often, but it was a nice change of scenery. Nervously wiping damp hands on your jeans, you crossed the street and headed for your destination.

After your lovely and unexpected morning with Bucky in the park on Sunday, he walked you home and you unlocked the bakery after saying goodbye. Your mind was a mess of thoughts as you went about your usual tasks of setting up chairs, brewing coffee, and baking fresh pastries to sell for the day. No deliveries on Sundays, so it was less of a rush to get everything ready. By 11am, you turned over the sign to read “Open” and the work day officially began.

You didn’t mind manning the shop on your own on Sundays. The atmosphere was much more relaxed and the weekend crowd seemed to enjoy lingering with their coffees and croissants. There was a lull in business for half an hour and during that time, you nearly drove yourself crazy trying to decide how to respond to B. Your talk with Bucky had helped, but there was still a lot to consider.

Finally, you pecked out a reply and quickly hit send before you could rethink it.

FG: One more chance. I’m trusting you. Please don’t make me regret it.

He replied quickly, which you were grateful for. The wait was always the worst.

B: I won’t, I promise. I hope I can make it up to you. Tell me when. But would you mind if I chose the where?

Puzzled, you thought it over and settled on Tuesday afternoon. The bakery usually wasn’t terribly busy and it gave you some time to prepare to be gone later that day. When B told you where he wanted to meet, you were surprised, but also intrigued. As far as recognizing one another, the same rule applied, so you dug out the crumpled Beatles t-shirt you had thrown in the closet after the previous incident and put it in the wash.

Now, as you wore the shirt with jeans and a jacket, you felt the butterflies in your stomach with each step. Approaching the notable area where B had asked you to meet him, your eyes grew wide at the beautiful buildings that housed some of the greatest artists and performers in the city. The Square was enclosed on three sides by beautiful, glass-covered and columned buildings that offered an air of sophistication. Per his instructions, you headed for the center of the square where a fountain resided.

Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts was the home to the New York Philharmonic, the Metropolitan Opera, the New York City Ballet, and the New York City Opera. It was also adjacent to the Juilliard School where many of the greatest musicians and artists were taught. This area of the city was incredible and awe-inspiring, especially if one was lucky enough to get tickets to such an event. However, in the afternoon, it was mostly filled with tourists, which is why you were all the more curious about why B chose this spot.

People were milling about and taking pictures as you heard a string quartet playing a classical music piece. The group of young musicians were loosely surrounded by a crowd and a cello case was open with bills and coins dropped inside. Starving artists and all that. Just as you were about to sit down beside the fountain, the song changed and you froze. You knew that tune. You’d know it anywhere.

Ah, look at all the lonely people…

You heard the lyrics in your head, recognizing it as “Eleanor Rigby” by The Beatles. Stunned, you turned toward the sound and slowly began to approach the quartet. You watched them, mesmerized, until you heard your name being called. It was the last thing you expected to hear, so it took a moment for it to register. Turning around, you followed the voice and saw…him.

Confused, you took a step forward and opened your mouth to speak before you looked down and saw the t-shirt he was wearing. The Rolling Stones.

In that moment, it all came together in your head and the blood drained from your face.

“You?”

_____________________

Part 15>> 

________________________________________________________

Ahhh!!! Cliffhanger!!! I know, I know, I’m sorry. I think we all know who B is, but a little more waiting until we find out her reaction. What would you think if he brought you all the way out to Lincoln Square with a stringed quartet and everything?? Hmmm. It’s about to go down, you guys. :D Wasn’t that walk through the Farmer’s Market lovely? That conversation about “B” was kinda meta, though. heh. At least Bucky didn’t confirm or deny anything! I think he really did want to hear straight from her mouth that she was falling for him. Kinda. ;) Please let me know your thoughts!! Any and all feedback is appreciated! I adore you guys. Thank you. <3

Permanent Tag list and FG tag list are CLOSED. 

Permanent tags: 

@pietrotheavenger @thisismysecrethappyplace @part-time-patronus @feelmyroarrrr @ria132love  @interestedbystanderwrites @abovethesmokestacks @hymnofthevalkyrie @spideypnw @badassbaker @janeyboo @palaiasaurus64 @dustycelt @mylittlefandomfanfictions @officialcaptain-marvel @maryehudson @sebbytrash @bionic-buckyb @sebastianbarnesandchrisrogers @jaybird6232 @bemystucky @averyrogers83 @beccaanne814 @eyesofgoldenambers @missmotherhen @bunnieandcrow @mizzzpink @buckysberrie @imaginingbucky @deathbyarabbit @avengersandchill @timeladylaurel @indominusregina @queen-merc @vaisabu @1800-peggys-orange-lipstick @piensa-bonito @msshadowboxer @coffeeismylife28 @withahintofpestoaioli @cant-decide-at-this-moment @jaderbugz @blue1928 @jbarnes87 @whothehellisbella @captainrogerss @sebseyesandbuckysthighs @themcuhasruinedme @buckybarneshairpullingkink @ilovebeingjoyful @maririn @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt @girlwith100names @writingruna @lokiandbuckyaremine @hufflepuff-ish @pixierox101 @supernatural-girl97 @stay-wokke @airixaram @buckyssxxhair @buckys-newarm @lostinspace33 @poealsobucky @buckyofthemyscira @joannie95 @4theluvofall @im-a-light-child @1999yanira @escapetheshackles @lbouvet @black-eyed-bucky @finhabastos

FG tags: 

@yallneedtrek @lexie-mo  @flowercrownsandmetallicarms  @kingcarterprince @snuggleducky @acunningstargazer @zadyalyss @satans-knitting-club   @honey-bee-holly  @just-add-butter @captainradicalpassion @chook007 @peekingsunshine @odinhson @chrisevans1fan @fangirlwithasweettooth @angryteapot @srhls @jurassicbarnes @livingoffsavvyillusions @ahufflepuffbitch @sebbystanlover-vk @thisismyfriend-tree @susmita121 @fandom-addict-aesthetics @lowkeybuckyb @jitterbuck @lunarcajun @aligatorinavest @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @lilyblack78910 @uservalkyrie @hawaiiantozier @belledamsceno @lukeyasheycalymikey @nsfwfangirl

[laceandhockeyskates]

What the hell I’ve been up to?!

I don’t even know how to make an introduction for this hot mess but I guess we’ll go month to month more or less because let me tell you 2018.... really fucked me up. Both in good ways, but also in terrible ways? I don’t know... I feel like it’s all worked out in the end but damn was it a mess to get to this point. 

 January- lovely, lovely January. Aka the last time I’ve posted anything of real value on this blog. I had my first trip out of the country!! Other than that uneventful?! 

 February and March (since nothing happened)- I turned 25. I don’t remember anything besides grabbing lunch with my grandma for it... so clearly it was a huge deal. Besides that though.... nothing. 

 April.... this is when things got.... interesting- we found out in April that the retail company I worked for was going out of business. Which was absolutely terrifying. I had no idea what I was going to do, how long it was going to take to find a new job... I knew nothing. That very day that we were told I put in 25 job applications. Within a week I had 4 job interviews lined up for one day that I had off of work, and at the end of that day I had a new job. 

 May- and it gets worse. May 4th was my last day at the store before I started my new job on May 5th. It was somewhere that I had applied to several times and never got a call back from, and it was only a three minute drive from my house so I thought everything was going to work out. Right? Wrong. I HATED it. With every fiber of my being it was the worst. I sat in my car on my lunch breaks crying more often than I wasn’t. It was honestly awful, and some greater power that be must have recognized how miserable I was because I was only there for less than 2 weeks. I started on the 5th and I worked my last day there on the 17th. I was scheduled to have that Friday, Saturday, and Sunday off already which I was thankful for and had all these plans. So since about November-December I had these back pains that started right between my shoulder blades and wrapped around my stomach every few weeks. At first I thought I had a strange strand of the flu, and then I thought I was just sleeping on my back wrong.... well neither was accurate. That Friday night I was sitting on the couch watching tv when the pain hit me again and at that point it was more of an annoyance thing because like seriously?? So I just did what I always did and took pain meds and prepared myself for a night of no sleep and taking a hot bath every two hours to pour steaming hot water over my back (aka the only thing that really helped), by Saturday I wasn’t any better and my dad offered to take me to the ER. I thought he was just tired of listening to me whine about the pain and not really worried but I did let him drive me to Walmart to get a heating pad and more pain killers. Which again... helped.... but only for so long. I actually got to sleep that night and woke up at 3 am in literally the worst pain of my entire life. I quickly got in the tub hoping that the hot water would work or the heating pad or really anything. By 5 am though I knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong and that’s when I asked my dad to take me to the ER. Which I don’t think he took me seriously until 7 when my mom woke up and I asked her to go. It took less than 5 minutes at the ER to be told I have pancreatitis and gallstones and I’m basically screwed. By the time I came back from chest x rays I was being admitted. And let me tell you... that shit sucked. My Er nurse asked me how I was feeling and I literally laughed and told her I was just happy that it wasn’t all in my head. Which she very much assured me that it wasn’t. And that I actually have a high pain tolerance considering anyone else would be screaming in pain, and that if I had waited another few days I’d be going in with a raptured gallbladder. That first day... sucked to put it kindly. Because I had a gallstone blocking my pancreas I wasn’t allowed food (I ended up going from 5 pm Saturday to 2 pm Monday without food) or water (4 am Sunday to 2 pm Monday). Do you know it’s like to go that long? I was the biggest asshole because all I truly wanted was applesauce and water. To top it off though they couldn’t figure out a pain med that actually worked for me. Morphine lasted about as long as it took to get to my toes (a few seconds at best) so I was miserably in pain the entire time. Monday wasn’t too bad. My mom came and visited me, and for the most part I was left alone with the occasional check in minus my surgery consult. Tuesday.... was a day. I’ve never had surgery before and to say I was anxious would be an understatement. I had been waking up around 5-6 am anyways and was just watching the news when I realized there were two people standing outside my door.... I had originally been told my surgery was the 3rd of the day and I wouldn’t be going until about 11 am which gave my parents enough time to get my brother off to school and to be back in time to see me off... that’s not what happened. They had bumped me up to #1. Which meant my labs hadn’t been put in as needed ASAP and had to be run again but as soon as that was done? I was being wheeled away. What I didn’t know was that my mom had a nightmare that I had been taken to surgery early and that I died on the table... so you can imagine her reaction when I texted them that I was actually going to surgery early... needless to say my dad sped all the way to the hospital. Actual surgery though? I don’t remember a ton. I remember going to the holding room and being introduced to a bunch of people that I knew for all of five seconds before going into the OR. I remember moving from my bed to the table and then being wrapped up in a bunch of warm blankets and given the mask. I wasn’t told to count down or anything but within seconds I was out. I remember vaguely waking up to be moved from the table to my bed and I THOUGHT I had only fallen back asleep for the ride to recovery... apparently it was a lot longer than that. I woke up once in recovery and could have sworn they cut me open side to side but nope. It was a successful surgery with only four tiny incisions that hurt like a goddamn bitch let me tell you and then I passed back out... when I finally woke back up again I was awake long enough I was allowed to go to my room where my parents were relieved to see me. I was up walking within an hour (I was told I wasn’t allowed food unless I moved around and got the gas out of myself and had bowl movements. They recommended walking. I wanted food.) and that day was spent between doing laps and sleeping. The next day? The day I was suppose to go home? My labs came back with a high white blood count... and I lost it. Despite my parents visiting me every day I was tired of feeling alone. Luckily though Thursday I was finally released.... in time for my baby brother to graduate high school. Which was a fun ceremony when you’re hopped up on pain meds. 

 June- was a hot mess of dealing with medical leave at the job I hated, but mostly? It was spent enjoying the summer. Once I was cleared for activity I was swimming nearly every day and soaking in the summer with my two baby cousins who turn 12 soon. Despite the physical pain I had to deal with and the stress of work I wouldn’t have traded that in for anything. It gave me so many fun memories to look back on and enjoy. 

 July- I was suppose to go back about the 8th but medical leave was... a mess. And tbh at that point it wasn’t worth the stress to keep that job when for the time being I was making enough by doing side jobs for my family to pay my bills. I did start applying for new jobs though while I spent more time enjoying my summer with my kiddos. By the 27th though I was starting my new job, which is where I’m currently at while I type this long ass post but we’ll get into that a little farther down. Two days later though as I was about to start my first full day at my new job I got the text message I never wanted to get. I had to call my cousin/best friend. Long story short her mother had passed away meaning that she had lost both of her parents in seven years. Something I can’t even imagine. But not only that but it meant that my grandma had also lost her sister and best friend, and my great grandmother had to do the one thing no parent should ever go through.  

August- was honestly a really intense blur. Between two weeks of dealing with the fall out of losing my aunt and starting my new job I didn’t have a life. In late July/early August though I knew something was up with my car but I honestly thought it was just a tie rod going bad... no. Apparently my entire undercarriage was more or less rusting out and I was screwed. I didn’t have any money saved up for a down payment, I had no idea if I could even afford a car payment yet (despite working a better paying job with more hours but I was use to basically barely making ends meet with maybe $20 left over). Luckily my parents who are the real mvps of my life stepped up and helped me figure everything out and I had a new car within a week of starting to search (she’s my baby girl. I’m obsessed. She’s literally everything I wanted minus the fact that she’s white and my previous car was white and I wanted to avoid that: but besides that... I’m happy with her and she’s worth the pretty penny I pay every month). 

 September- was a goddamn mess work wise. It’s all I did. Work. 

 October- I took my first major road trip on my own (driving 2 and a half hours by myself on the interstate. It was a big deal.) and saw FOB in concert which was... life changing. I completely recommend seeing them if you ever have a chance (also machine gun kelly was there and despite the fact that I don’t care for rap.... he was pretty good.). Other than that though October was more work craziness. 

And now for November, and if you guessed work was insane... you’d be right. When I was hired in July it was all “oh it’ll only be busy until like October” and now my boss is like “maybe by March we can get our sanity back for two months?” Which don’t get me wrong I’m grateful. I’m making a $1 more an hour, actually working full time, and I don’t hate a majority of my coworkers (there’s still a handful though that if I had a shopping cart at work I’d run of their bare toes but that’s more because they make my life unnecessarily stressful) but I’m actually happy???? Like as stressed out as I am basically 24/7 I’m doing alright. I have a majority of my Christmas shopping done and wrapped which like?? And idk... I’m just.... I’m in a good place. And I won’t lie I still check myself once and awhile going “okay something is bound to go wrong.” But also maybe all the good is outweighing all the bad that I had to deal with. Anyways so that’s the life update. If you actually read that... bless your soul. Message me. We’re now best friends. And hopefully in the coming weeks I figure out what the hell im doing with this blog.

December update I wanna die lol! We had two people quit in three weeks leaving us with four people to cover 24 hours 7 days a week....it’s a great time. 

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x OC)

Summary: Maggie tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 5.8k

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the last two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week. 

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up. 

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Maggie’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner. 

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Maggie never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Maggie was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.  

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now. 

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again. 

No new messages. 

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something. 

…

Maggie dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles. 

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him. 

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag. 

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left. 

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling. 

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper. 

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath. 

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Maggie breathed. 

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.” 

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Maggie laughed wetly. “Oh my god, mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted. 

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Maggie ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Maggie admitted, tears spilling over her lash line. 

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost forty years.”

Maggie heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.” 

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Maggie hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf. 

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?” 

Maggie dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled. 

Maggie closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.” 

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Maggie swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Maggie could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Maggie’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Maggie Mae.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered. 

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Maggie heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.” 

Maggie listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope. 

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.” 

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Maggie the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes. 

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response. 

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his. 

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on. 

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.” 

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.” 

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done. 

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.” 

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way. 

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long? 

“And then I met you, and you…” Maggie let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough? 

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted. 

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too. 

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself. 

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.” 

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air. 

“Maggie, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair. 

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.” 

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered. 

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Maggie nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath. 

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.” 

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again. 

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Maggie. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.” 

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes.  “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.” 

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head. 

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.” 

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.” 

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.” 

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself. 

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice. 

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered. 

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation. 

Maggie took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes watched the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman, and he was smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple. 

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation— my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Maggie. 

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.” 

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane to think that I stayed with him for so long, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was— that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now. 

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I was been able to recognize the moments when I was falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there, and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no.” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and crushed his heart. “And then he just— left. And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Maggie dissolved back into the couch, an indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving personal trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.” 

She nodded, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, talented, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.” 

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check, find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated, and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.” 

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with Maggie. 

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.” 

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.” 

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you…  I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.” 

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered. 

“Agree to disagree.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01  @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @spenxerslut  @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @enbyfaerie @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid  @elldell1204 @babyhoneystvles @lost-in-the-stars03 @reiding-recs @minervaonmars @radtwinkie @crimeshowtrash @dayho3  

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol @froggybagels​

Series tags (x OC): @linnyalou @mikewizkalifa

Broken tags:  @archer561 @samanthareid06 (check visibility settings!)

[curiosityktcat]

Nino the Nurse

@lahiffed mentioned they were in the mood for fluff and I realized I was in the mood for writing! So I asked for a prompt and they wanted some DJWifi bedside care. So here’s a fluffy... drabble... thing... in my defense I just had two glasses of wine LMAO

“No, I’m serious – you have to stay in bed. I’ll take care of you.”

For all of the scenarios Nino had played out in his head as to how his date with Alya would have ended, this wasn’t in any of them. And he thought about this date a lot. Two months of careful planning for their first extended period of alone-time since her return from her extended overseas project had that sort of effect. To be fair, the fantasy he deemed to be the best-case scenario was the night together extending into a couple of days together, but not like this.

It started as soon as the night began. He had thought briefly, as they took a scenic stroll through the local shops, that she was walking slower than usual, but he dismissed it as her taking the sights and sounds of home in after being away for so long. At the restaurant, which Adrien and Marinette had given their seal of approval, she wasn’t enthusiastic about the food. In fact, with each course the tension in her posture grew, until she seemed too exhausted to chew. She hadn’t lost any of her spunk in conversation, at least, her tongue sharp and her laughter bright. Still, there was something off about her, and Nino was worried up until the last second of their date where, after they went back to his apartment for a movie marathon under warm blankets, she interrupted the final climactic fight to rip the blankets off, stand abruptly, and… run to the bathroom. To throw up. 

           Half an hour later Nino had set her up in his bedroom, nestled under the covers with a small trashcan nearby, the remote to the tv and a box of tissues next to a small glass of cool water, and a clear shot to the bathroom just in case.

“Baby, you didn’t need to do all this,” her voice was hoarse, and worry gnawed at him, “I promise I’m okay. I must have gotten it from my sisters.” He remembered Alya’s mother telling him at the airport that they were upset they couldn’t make her homecoming.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind at all. Ah-ah,” he saw her open her mouth and held up a finger to keep her from talking, “save your voice. I’m serious, I like taking care of you,” as he spoke he pulled the blanket up just an inch more and pushed some hair out of her face, “the point of this night was for me to take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”

           Her gaze softened as she leaned into his touch, and his hand lingered on her temple. He thought she was going to concede to him – she must have been pretty sick – but then she let out a sigh and shifted under the covers.

“Tomorrow is Saturday. You already gave your Friday night up for me, I can’t ask you to cancel all of your gigs…” He started to massage her temple, and she hummed despite her protest a second ago.

“Like I said,” his voice was warm, soft and tender, “I don’t mind.”

“That’s a lot of money babe, you can’t.” She began to sit up as his hand fell away from her, but he gently pushed her back down again. She stopped, but didn’t settle back down, giving him the best ‘look’ she could while her hair was in ten different directions and her only attire was an oversized t-shirt he lent her (Alya, in his bed, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and his too big pajama pants… he tried not to think about it too much). He didn’t back down, however, and returned the look until he was sure she wouldn’t hop out as soon as he removed his hand.

           When she relaxed just a little his hand moved to rub the back of his neck, and his cheeks warmed as he struggled to find the right words to say.

“Honestly… I had already planned… for us to be together until tomorrow… maybe Sunday…” he shrugged sheepishly as her eyes widened, “J-just in case, you know. I wanted to make sure that, you know, if you wanted to do something I hadn’t planned we had time or-“ his babbling ceased as she raised one finger up to his lips in a similar way to how he had not two minutes ago.

           At first he thought she was going to insist he take her home, but when she put her finger down she settled back under the covers comfortably. She smoothed back her hair as she shifted and finally, laying sideways facing him, she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

           His face heated until his entire face was reddened, and his fluster kept his tongue tied for a good while, “N-n-n-no problem. J-ju-ust call m-me Nurse Nino!” The last line had him groaning internally, but she chuckled.

“Alright, Nurse,” her tone turned playful, “could you fetch me some Tylenol? My head is kill-ing me. And I wouldn’t mind another massage.”

           Five minutes later the pain medication was kicking in, or maybe it was the way Nino’s fingers seemed to unravel her sinuses and clear the haze of a post-nausea hangover.

“You didn’t have to braid my hair, you know.”

“It’s more comfortable than a pony-tail and it keeps your hair back, so why wouldn’t I have?”

She rolled her eyes and nestled into the pillow further. When he felt his massage was adequate, he let his touch drift into a light caress of her cheek. Her eyes were closed, and Nino took the opportunity to take in the sight of her. She hadn’t had the opportunity to take her make-up off yet, so her eyes were slightly racoonish with smudged eyeliner, stray glitter shimmered every now in then in strange places, and her lips were still tinted ever so slightly with whatever lipstick had managed to cling on. God, was she beautiful.

His revere was interrupted when her eyes popped open, and he felt his face heat again as he quickly averted his gaze. Coughing awkwardly, he stood up to give her some time alone, but a tugging at his shirt made him look down. Alya’s hand peeked out from under the covers just enough to catch the bottom of his shirt between her fingers. She didn’t look angry, or annoyed. Rather, she looked a little flustered.

“Hey,” she looked like she was going to say something more but stopped short, and Nino imagined some sort of quip about him being a bad boyfriend, but her features softened until she seemed completely relaxed, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips, “Stay with me a little longer. I need my nurse nearby.”

           She shuffled the blankets off enough to free her arm to pat the empty space next to her in bed, and Nino summoned every bit of self-control he could muster. Stiffly, he went around to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers like she’d asked. Unsure of what to do after, he simply watched as Alya shuffled her body around to face him. They both waited for the other to make a move before Alya huffed impatiently at him.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” he struggled to respond, “I’m… doing exactly what you said. I’m right here. Nearby.”

“Are you afraid of getting sick?” The thought seemed to just occur to her.

“No!” he answered quickly, then coughed uncomfortably, “I mean, of course I don’t care. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

“Then…” this time she was the flustered one, the redness in her face having nothing to do with her sickness, “then take care of me. Make me feel… better.”

           Dumbstruck, Nino was frozen in place. At first his mind raced, a million different deconstructions of her request happening at once as he tried to accurately pinpoint the response she was hoping for, but as she began to look more and more uncomfortable he forced himself to stop. This wasn’t helping, whatever he was doing. He tried to think differently then, of how to make her feel better. More comfortable. His thoughts drifted back to when he was little, scared of the rolling waves of nausea, crying for his mother. Chicken soup. Soft words. Her warm hands stroking his hair… and he got an idea.

           He shuffled closer to Alya, apparently startling her, but she relaxed and watched his movements curiously. When they were side to side he wordlessly pulled her body to his, not in such a way to incite desire in her, but simply to envelope her completely in a warm embrace. At first, she was confused, but melted into his touch as he began stroking her hair. They shuffled about until her head was resting on his arm and nestled into the crook of his neck, his other arm was draped around her midsection and rubbed her back in soothing circles, and their legs were entangled. She hummed low in her throat and his head shifted slightly as he attempted to look down at her.

“You feelin’ okay?” He felt her nod against him and his gaze wandered back to the wall ahead of him.

“Stomach hurts a little but I’ll be fine- just keep massaging that spot there… to the left… thaaat’s it…” She felt the chuckle in his throat and smiled, “Hey, thanks for the dinner.”

 “Oh yeah,” his nose scrunched as he thought of how painful the multiple courses must have been to a nauseous person. Then he groaned as he thought about just how long they had walked on their date, “Sorry about that. You could have told me. Tonight must have sucked.”

“No, no!” she didn’t look up, but he could hear the sincerity in her voice, “It was wonderful, I loved all of it. Plus, like… you know how you throw up something and you can’t eat it again for a while?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“I admit it wasn’t very pleasant going in, but that was probably the most delicious barf I’ll ever have to upchuck. Hopefully.” The laugher reverberated in his throat, and she found herself chuckling despite the rolling waves in her stomach. She felt his lips touch the top of her head.

“I love you, you know that?” His voice was like liquid chocolate to her, smooth, warm, and inviting. She pulled him close, burying her face into his shirt.

“I love you too.” The warm breath on his skin sent pleasant tingles down his spine, and he realized that this was comforting to him, too, and he relaxed into her touch. They stayed like that for the rest of the night, in a warm tangled embrace, soothing her stomach, melting their hearts.

           Okay, so the night didn’t end the way Nino thought it would. Not really. But he had to admit that it probably couldn’t have ended any better.

[leisurelypanda]

They had a week to spend together before school was due to start up. The day after Thor returned was spent much like the first, alternating between sex and sleep and the occasional break for other needs. When they weren’t having sex or sleeping, they talked. About random, nonsensical things like stars, celebrities, sea turtles, sports, and anything in between. Steve traced patterns onto Thor’s body as he listened to him reminisce about his summers playing rugby or soccer.

“Are you planning to tattoo my body, Steve?” Thor asked with a laugh. Steve chuckled. “Because if so, I’ve always wanted a dragon.”

“I could be tracing the dragon’s fire breath,” Steve mused. He could picture his boyfriend with a dragon tattoo. It could be pictured flying on his back with the tail coming up to curl around his bicep.

“Make it lightning,” Thor murmured. Steve looked up at him and grinned as he shook his head.

“Dragons don’t breathe lightning,” he said, laughing. “They breathe fire. Everyone knows that.”

“He’s special,” he said with a pout. “Stop bashing my dreams.”

Steve laughed and pressed a kiss to his pouty lips until Thor returned it. “Fine, I’ll make him with lightning,” he said. “Happy, you big baby?”

“Yes,” Thor with that big, dorky smile

“It would probably be easier to use your back with the dragon flying below and storm clouds on top,” Steve mused. “Or if he really needs to breathe lightning, it could be on one of your biceps and the head could go over your shoulder and breathe lightning across your chest.”

“Älskling, I was just joking,” Thor replied, an amused smile on his face. “But I like that idea. It sounds badass.”

Steve hummed and rested his head against Thor’s arm. His arm came to rest over his chest and started tracing circles on him. He suppressed a moan as Thor traced a finger around his nipple, close enough to be teasing. But they had just finished their latest round and Steve “the insatiable” was in the mood for a break.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” he said. Thor didn’t pause, but he hummed.

“What kind?” he asked.

“I was thinking of getting one of Michael,” he said.

“Who’s Michael?” Thor asked, a bit sharply. Steve chuckled. He’s jealous, he thought to himself. He laughed again. “What’s so funny?”

“Michael is an archangel,” Steve explained. “I remember that much from Sunday school. Anyway, he’s supposed to fight the devil or he may have kicked him out of heaven or something.”

“Sounds impressive,” Thor said, noncommittally. “Where would you put him?”

“On my rib cage,” he replied. “Over the… the scars there. He’d have a shield and sword and be holding down a snake.”

“Why a snake? Sorry to ask, but I do not know much about Christian stuff,” he said.

“It’s fine, I don’t know much more than you do. It’s supposed to represent the devil or something,” Steve said. Thor hummed.

“What about the other scars?” Thor asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Steve said. “But I want to do something to like, leave them in the past, or something.”

“I understand,” Thor said.

“You don’t mind?” Steve asked.

“Steve, it is your body,” Thor said, kissing him. “If it makes you feel good, I am happy. Besides, tattoos are sexy.”

Steve laughed and kissed him again. Thor grinned against his lips and rolled over on top of him. Steve sighed as he felt his lover start to harden against his thigh.

“Who’s insatiable now?” Steve asked. Thor silenced him by nipping at his ear.

“We can stop if you really want,” Thor whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” Steve replied. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first week of school came as all returns to school do. With rowdy kids and tired teachers alike wishing that the break had lasted longer than it did. If there was a sympathetic bone in any of the teachers who taught the Advanced Placement classes, they made no appearance. Even Ms. Foster gave a small mountain of lab reports after she was finished going over the syllabus for the rest of the year. Steve was starting to wonder if he was going to have to sell some of his soul to the devil in order to actually survive the school year.

By the end of the week, however, everyone had survived. No major catastrophes had occurred and outside of having plain old, regular anxiety, Steve was doing pretty well. He would take regular anxiety over the all-consuming terror that visited regularly any day. So that Friday, he and Thor decided to stay for the Gay-Straight Alliance meeting. It was a decently sized club. There was some show of Tony, the president (because of course he was) announcing the plans for the upcoming week, which apparently included karaoke night at a local teen bar. Steve wasn’t sure about it, especially when Thor announced that he wanted to go. He made a mental note to bring earplugs.

Aside from the itinerary, the meeting was mostly a time for just hanging out and catching up after the break. Tony ducked out as soon as his part was done to get to auditions for some Shakespearean play that Steve couldn’t remember the name of. Steve and Thor were hanging out by one of the lab tables when a new face appeared.

“Um, excuse me,” she said, she held out her hand timidly. “I am Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. I’m an… exchange student.”

Steve saw Thor’s eyes light up at her voice. He said something in German. Steve didn’t know anything about the language, but he could recognize the question when he heard it. Wanda’s eyes lit up and they launched into a conversation that Steve couldn’t follow if his life depended on it. He awkwardly sipped his punch, feeling a bit like a third wheel. But he figured Thor was trying to make her feel welcome. They had that bit about being from different countries in common, after all.

“This is Steve,” Thor said as he suddenly switched to English. “My boyfriend. He’s an artist.”

Steve blushed a little (a lot) at the pride in his voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Wanda,” he said. Her eyes widened even further as she regarded him.

“What do you do?” she asked. “I mostly play the guitar and violin, mainly, but I also am a photographer.”

“That’s quite a combination,” Steve said, chuckling. “I just sketch with colored pencils. Nothing fancy.”

“Älskling, you are too modest, as always,” Thor replied.

Steve blushed and moved to hide his face in his cup. Thor just laughed.

“So Wanda,” he asked. “Where are you from? Your English and German are very good.”

“Romania,” she said. “What about you?”

“Sweden,” Thor replied. “It is good to meet another European. Americans only speak English and it gets dull after a while.”

“Hey!” Steve protested. “I took 3 years of Spanish.”

Thor scoffed, giving him a sidelong look. “And how much of that do you remember?” he asked.

“Not a word,” he admitted.

“See? You can’t learn a language just in a classroom,” Thor replied. “The best way to learn a language is to use it in real life.”

“Do not worry Steve,” Wanda said with a glint of mirth in her eyes. “It’s not too late to learn.”

“I could teach you Swedish,” Thor said. Wanda made a face.

“Are you crazy?” she demanded. “Teach him German first, it’s more useful.”

She waved a boy over who looked to be the same age as her. He had warm brown eyes and he walked with a swagger in his step, cocky and self-assured. He had wavy blond hair that was dark at the roots as opposed to her straight brown. For some reason he reminded Steve of Bucky, just a little bit. He said something to her in a language he didn’t recognize, but he figured it was Romanian.

“This is my brother, Pietro,” she said. “Pietro this is Thor and his boyfriend, Steve.”

“Good to meet you,” Steve said, shaking his hand. “How are you finding New York?”

“It is incredible,” he replied with a smile. “You have everything here. In Romania, we lived in Bucharest and it is beautiful, but New York is incredible.”

Steve felt a small amount of pride that the city he called his home measured up to some old European cities. He always imagined that the architecture in old European cities must make New York look like a sprawling, if modern, mess. He imagined it was like walking into the past. His city was amazing and not everything was so modern, but it definitely seemed younger.

“I have always wanted to see Bucharest,” Thor replied with a smile. “I want to take a tour of Europe someday and see everything.”

“It is a beautiful city,” Wanda agreed. The three of them began talking and debating the various cities in continental Europe, where they most wanted to go. Steve interjected every now and then about where he would want to go if he had the chance, but aside from that he felt like there wasn’t much to say. He had been in one place all his life, aside from occasional trips to New Jersey or Philadelphia. He became uncomfortably aware of how well travelled this group was in comparison to him.

His awkwardness was interrupted by Ms. Foster making an announcement that the club meeting was over since the school was closing.

“Everyone, don’t forget that we have the charity karaoke night for the Trevor Project coming up next week,” she said. “We hope to see you all there. It’s gonna be a great night!”

“Steve, we have to go,” Thor said. “It’s going to be so much fun!”

Steve made a valiant effort to say no, but faced with such childlike enthusiasm made it difficult. Thor was actually excited to do this and it was hard to deny him. He would just have to take earplugs and hope that whatever Thor decided to sing, it wouldn’t be too loud. Or maybe he could get the bar to turn up the music to drown him out without everyone going deaf. Not likely, but possible.

“You and Pietro have to come as well,” Thor continued. “It will be a night to remember!”

“I would love to go,” Wanda replied smiling. “We have nothing planned that night.”

Thor turned to Steve with his eyes wide and brimming with excitement, making Steve smile in spite of himself. He couldn’t resist him when he looked like that, not when it was about rollercoasters or apparently karaoke.

“Yes, I’ll go,” he sighed. “But only cause you’re cute.”

Thor beamed and pressed a kiss to his temple. Steve grumbled something about him being a big baby as he hid his blushing face. He was looking forward to going out with him and the new kids from Romania. If only Bucky could see him now, making friend with international students and slowly but surely coming out of the shell he had been in for so many years. They got to the front of the school and he saw his mom and Mr. Baker chatting together as they waited to pick up their respective boys.

“You’re still coming over tomorrow, right?” Thor asked. “To study.”

“Yeah, you bet,” Steve said. Thor smiled and kissed him lightly.

“I hope your appointment with Dr. Erskine goes well,” Thor said as he headed towards his car. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Erskine was as warm and welcoming as always. Steve relayed how his holidays had gone, how he had coped with Thor leaving for Sweden for a while, how he felt about that. He talked about how he was making new friends and how different his life seemed so different now than it was last year.

“And how has your anxiety been since we last saw each other?” Dr. Erskine asked.

“I’ve been having a good time of it lately,” he said. “It’s there, but it seems more manageable now. I still have panic attacks, but they’re less frequent than before.”

Dr. Erskine smiled and nodded. “Well, in light of that, how would you feel about coming off the medication entirely?”

Steve paused. It was true, they had been gradually reducing his medication from when he first started the treatment for his disorder and he knew that getting off the meds entirely was always the goal, but he was still unsure about what that would mean for him now.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I’ve been on meds in some form or fashion for so long that I’m not sure how to feel.”

“Your ability to function has improved greatly since we’ve been working together,” Dr. Erskine said. “I remember when you came in a couple months ago and you were convinced that you were not making any progress. But today you tell me that your life is much easier now than it was before.”

“But what if I’m not ready?” Steve asked.

“Nothing need be decided now,” his counselor said. “But it is something to discuss with your doctor. The decision is yours.”

He walked out of his session feeling more anxious than he had going in. That Dr. Erskine believed that he could do it was a small comfort, but he was still nervous about actually going off his meds. Who knew if it would last, if he would be able to function at all. Theoretically, he wanted to be able to function like a normal person. But at the same time, this had been part of his life for so long. Who would he be if it worked? Would it get worse and he’d have to go back on? Would he be fine? How long would it take to figure out what life was like for him? What if he started having more panic attacks? What if he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was? Whatever happened, his life was about to change. -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, Steve had little time to adjust to this news. Bucky was returning to Penn State today. This time, Thor came with him to the station to help him see Bucky off. Thor followed them into a fast food joint where they killed time until Bucky’s train was ready for boarding. Apparently it was tradition at this point for the two of them to hang out eating burgers until he left, so he joined in. They weren’t that bad considering the fact that it was a fast food place.

“Ugh, I don’t want to go back, Steve,” Bucky said, hanging his head. “Why did you let me go to Penn State anyway?”

“Football scholarship,” Steve replied. “Besides, you’re starting your kinesiology major this semester! Aren’t you excited?”

“Sure,” Bucky said hesitantly. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just worried I’m gonna suck.”

“That kind of attitude is gonna bite you in the ass someday,” Steve said.

Bucky grinned. “Someone should,” he replied. “It’s a nice ass.”

Steve snorted his drink and erupted into a horrible coughing fit. Thor couldn’t help but laugh at the top of his lungs as his boyfriend doubled over, trying to clean off his face and shirt from the soda. Bucky was laughing his head off, too. Steve glared at both of them.

“I hate you,” he declared. “Both of you. I’m not gonna miss you at all.”

“Oh come on, Stevie,” Bucky said. “You know you love me. And you’re never gonna stay mad at Thor.”

“Nope, we’re done,” Steve said adamantly. “I’m hooking up with Loki and Tony now.”

“Well, just as forewarning,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna in for some crazy stuff and it’s gonna last all night long.”

“I did not need to know that about them,” Thor groaned. “It’s bad enough that they’re all over each other in public, I do not need to know what they get up to in private.”

“Why?” Steve asked. Thor almost groaned. Bucky got a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Tell me, Stevie,” he said. “Do you know what a dom is?”

This time Thor snorted into his drink. Baldr must have not approved of his laughing at his lover’s expense or something. Or perhaps Loki’s namesake was messing with him. Or perhaps his brother set his namesake on him out of spite or just because he was bored.

“What’s a dom?” Steve asked, pointedly ignoring Thor’s plight. Dear gods, do not let Bucky tell my sweet, innocent boyfriend this, Thor prayed silently.

“Maybe Thor will tell you,” Bucky said with a wink. “If you ask nicely.”

Steve looked at him expectantly and gasped as Thor actually blushed about as red as Steve did at the drop of a hat. Both of them started laughing at them. A god was definitely out to get him today, but this was one subject that Thor was pretty sure Steve was not ready for. Best to let this be.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he replied. Steve rolled his eyes while Bucky snickered and Thor thanked the gods that neither of them pressed the issue.

The rest of the their brief time together was spent rehashing old stories from before Thor knew Steve. He gained a newfound respect for his little lover after hearing about some of the shenanigans he and Bucky got up to over the years. Most of it was normal teenager stuff like sneaking into an R rated movie or something. But then there was the story about how Bucky had dared Steve to graffiti the back of a restaurant in Brooklyn.

“We almost got arrested, Buck,” Steve said, flushed with a smile on his face. “That was a terrible idea.”

“Dude, it was worth it to see you draw a giant dick on that wall,” Bucky cried. The corners of Thor’s mouth crept up in a smile at the thought.

“You little hellion,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Tell me this place is still around, I want to see it.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“It got scrubbed clean,” Bucky said, fishing his phone out of his pockets. “But I have a picture.”

Sure enough, there was a picture of a big, blue penis on the side of a building and another picture of Steve putting it there. Thor laughed at it for longer than was strictly necessary, but the thought of his tight-laced boyfriend tagging buildings was just too much.

“Just think of what your dad would say if he only knew,” Steve said with a grin. “His opinion of me would drop through the floor.”

“I think it’s a bit late for that,” Thor said with a twinge of regret. His father’s irrational opposition to his relationship with Steve was still a bit of a sore spot.

Shortly after this story they made their way to the terminal where Bucky would leave to get on his train. Thor could tell that Steve was saddened by it. He squeezed his hand comfortingly. When they arrived, Steve practically tackled his friend in a hug, much in the same way that he had when Thor returned from Sweden a couple weeks ago. He felt a faint bit of jealousy as he watched Bucky’s arms wrap around his lover. He suppressed it immediately. Steve was allowed to have close friends. The gods knew that he had few enough of them without Thor getting territorial whenever he wanted to show some kind of affection with them.

“I’ll miss you,” he heard his lover say. Bucky closed his eyes and hugged him a little tighter. Curious, Thor thought to himself.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too, you punk,” Bucky replied. “I’ll text you when I get back.”

“You’d better, you jerk.”

Bucky walked off with his bags and waved one last time before disappearing through the terminal. Steve stood there, laced his fingers together with Thor’s and squeezed. Thor returned the gesture, trying his best to comfort his lover.

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” Steve said. “I keep thinking it’ll be easier next time, watching him leave. And I have more friends now and everything and it’s still hard to see him leave.”

“He is your best friend,” Thor replied softly. “It is not silly in the slightest. I miss my friends every time I leave Sweden.”

“I’ve never asked about your friends in Sweden,” Steve said.

“We are all part of a little pagan community there,” Thor explained. “You would like them. You are as brave and fierce as any of them.”

Steve was silent for a moment. Thor couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, whether he was sad or afraid or just thinking. He refrained from asking. Then, Steve started walking in the direction of the subway silently.

“Thank you for coming,” he said as they waited for the train. Thor squeezed his hand again and smiled down at him.

“Anytime,” he replied. “I just wish I had more time to get to know him.”

“Why’s that?” Steve asked, genuinely curious.

“He is your best friend,” Thor said. “And he seems a good man. I like him.”

“You played football together,” Steve pointed out.

“But we never really hung out outside of that,” Thor countered. “I do not know much about him beyond his athletic ability.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “Bucky’s coming back for spring break in March,” he said. “Maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

Thor smiled down at him. “I would like that.” -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky turned around as he was leaving to steal one final glance at Steve. He was walking away, hand in hand with Thor, whom Bucky had once had a crush on in between dealing with his feelings for Steve. But since Thor never really responded to anything Bucky had done, he gave up eventually.

He tried not to feel bitter that they had ended up together as soon as he left. Sometimes it was easy, like when they were all laughing together or hanging out. Sometimes… not so much. Sometimes Bucky had to remind himself that he might have what he wanted if he had just had the nerve to say something.

But they were happy together. He couldn’t say something now. However much he might want to be with Steve, or Thor, Bucky cared more about their happiness. Bucky would just mope on the train ride back to Pennsylvania and try to get that out of his system by the time he met his friends at college. It always felt a little like running away or disappearing when he left Brooklyn for Penn State. It always came with a mix of sadness and relief. Bucky could forget his relationship troubles there, throw himself into football practice or schoolwork.

Who knows? he thought. Maybe Nat’s right. Maybe something might still come of it.

Bucky tried to hold onto that hope as he turned around and headed for the train. Nat was usually right about these things. Hell, that was how she and Clint got together and they were as good a couple as Steve and Thor. He got on the train, grabbed a seat, put his earphones in, and turned up some music. Bucky had a few hours to sulk before his stop. He intended to make use of it.

[trademarkblue]

100 Days of R/Hr: Day 12

Prompt: tiny apartment

Prompted by: LilyMay77

For the record, my canon is pretty much that they moved in together at the end of her 7th year at Hogwarts (either with Harry or just on their own), but let’s go with this for fun today. Hope you enjoy! x

It had actually been sort of an awful week. Not only had the Aurors failed to make any real progress on their current case, but Hermione had been so busy with reports that she hadn’t been able to visit when he’d had a few free hours in Inverness on Tuesday. Now, it was late Friday- no, Saturday morning, really… and he could at least feel relieved that he’d not had to stay in that dusty old cabin with four other blokes sleeping on bedrolls in the same room through the weekend as well.

He’d just started turning the key in the lock of his flat door when he heard… a cat meowing?

Pausing to listen, he was sure it was coming from inside his flat, which made him a lot more curious than nervous. For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was delirious from lack of sleep and had been trying to unlock the wrong door. But the key turned the rest of the way quite easily, and he stuffed it into his pocket, removing his wand and opening the door cautiously.

“Crookshanks?”

A fluffy ball of orange fur stared up at him, and he lifted a brow, realising that Hermione must have been here recently, though it was strange for her to bring her cat along and then leave him behind, unless…

He took off his coat and turned to toss it in the vague direction of the sofa when his eyes landed on the coffee table, and he grinned. It was absolutely covered in books, stacked several deep and filling every inch of space aside from one small corner that housed an empty tea cup and saucer. As he looked closer, he noticed that an avalanche of books continued to the floor, torn scraps of parchment stuck randomly between the pages as place holders. His old orange patchwork blanket was lying in a heap on the far sofa cushion, twisted with a navy wool jumper that he recognised as his own, though he’d definitely not left them there last Sunday as he’d vacated his flat for his assignment. As he moved toward the short hall that led to his bedroom, he spotted Hermione’s trainers sitting neatly behind the sofa, solidifying his suspicion.

He’d been conflicted, when he’d arrived at the Ministry an hour ago, about really preferring to go directly to her parents’ house to see her, but he didn’t want to wake anyone after midnight. Now that he was home, this was far better. He held his breath as he pushed open his half-closed bedroom door.

She was lying in the middle of his bed, on her side, sound asleep. Her hair was fanning out over his pillow, half-obscuring her face, and one of her feet was sticking out from the end of his twisted sheets and blankets. His heart lodged in his throat as he stared at her in the dark, and he wondered why he hadn’t asked her to just move in with him before. Maybe because he hadn’t known this… whatever he could call the fact that she had been evidently living at his flat while he was gone.

He was so torn between wanting her to know he was there and not wanting to wake her, but he tried not to make a sound as he walked slowly further into his room, wondering if he ought to kip on the sofa at least until she did wake up. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared his bed on plenty of occasions when she had stayed over with him before, but she rarely slept all the way through the night, and she was currently sprawled in the dead centre of the bed, making it hard for him to imagine climbing in with her without disturbing her.

As he navigated toward his chest of drawers for a change of clothes, he spotted her jeans on the floor and smiled wider, continuing in his discoveries by locating her folded jumper on the arm of the chair by the window and yet another large book on his bedside table. He managed to almost silently extract boxers and a clean shirt from a drawer before leaving the room again and turning right to enter his small loo, closing the door behind him so the sound of the sink wouldn’t bother her.

No longer very surprised at this point, he grinned at her toothbrush inside the cup he used as a holder, her hairbrush on the edge of the sink, and… bloody hell, another book. He’d just stripped off his clothes to pile on the floor, put on his clean pants and brushed his teeth when he heard her soft, tentative voice.

“Ron?”

He opened the door and grinned out at her, taking in her flushed face and embarrassed expression… noting that she was only wearing one of his flannel shirts… and possibly knickers underneath, though he could use his imagination-

“I didn’t expect you back til Sunday.”

“Nice to see you, too,” he teased, abandoning the loo and the clean shirt he hadn’t put on yet to move closer toward her, but he hesitated at the way she bit her lip apologetically.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

She grimaced and tucked a thick clump of messy, sleep-tousled hair behind her ear.

“I’d planned to clean up and go home tomorrow.”

“I told you you could stay whenever you wanted,” he reminded her. “S’why you’ve got a key.”

“I know… but I didn’t ask if I could be here all week, and I’ve sort of made a mess of your flat, and my things are everywhere, and I didn’t want you to see it like this,” she rambled, looking even more flustered.

“Oh yeah, because I’m an incredibly tidy person, myself…” he said sarcastically.

“That’s not the point,” she sighed.

He suspected she had narrowly avoided rolling her eyes, even though she was still giving off the impression of mild shame that he’d found her here. His lips twitched, but he knew he still had some work to do to reassure her of how absolutely fine it was that she was here.

“I should have asked you,” she concluded.

“You never need to ask. But would you have told me you stayed, if I hadn’t come back til Sunday?”

Guilt filled her features again, and she didn’t really have to answer.

“Hang on,” he said, slowly. “Have you done this before?”

She closed her eyes tightly, for a second, and when she opened them again, she almost whimpered her next words.

“I’m sorry.”

His stomach was fluttering wonderfully as he shook his head.

“Stop that. Hermione, you can move in if you want. I don’t care.”

“You…” she started, wide eyes staring up at him, arms crossed over her chest. “What?”

“I’m really glad you’re here. I was worried about waking everybody up if I showed up at your parents’ house. And, to be honest, I loved finding all your shit here… even Crookshanks.”

She chewed her bottom lip for a second in contemplation.

“You don’t want me to live here. You’d never have time alone-”

“Don’t want time alone.”

“But…” Her eyes darted between his, as if looking for some sign of hesitation. Good luck, he thought. She wouldn’t find any. “I don’t think you realise how much stuff I have, and your flat is tiny.”

“I’ve been in your room plenty…”

She licked her bottom lip, and he tried mostly unsuccessfully to hold back a grin.

“Have you looked under the bed?” she asked, shyly.

“Why? Is it all just books under there? Just put ‘em under my bed then. I think mine’s bigger than yours, anyway.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, still staring sceptically up at him.

“Point is, you could move in tomorrow, and no I don’t need time to think about it, and no I don’t give a damn how much stuff you put in every room because, if you did move in, it would be your flat, too.”

She blinked rapidly for a second, and he realised her eyes were watering.

“You’ve always wanted your own space, Ron. You said so when you left the Burrow…”

“I didn’t mean away from you. Just didn’t fancy living in my old room after… y’know, the war and being on our own.”

“But now you have your own flat and furniture and- and everything. That has to matter to you.”

It was starting to make sense, now. He blinked at her, realising he’d somehow miscommunicated something rather important.

“You’ve really thought, for almost a year, that I needed to be here alone?”

“I don’t know,” she said, tightening her arms across her chest. “You never said. And I know how important it always was to you growing up to have something that really belonged only to you.”

“Yeah, alright. I see why you thought- I should have explained better. There’s no real difference between something that’s mine and something that’s ours, yeah? I haven’t thought of it like that since… yeah, prob’ly since the tent, honestly.”

“Since the tent?” Her eyes widened, and she started breathing between slightly parted lips. He shrugged, smiling.

“Reckon it was you keeping a lot of our stuff together in your bag, and… I dunno, I liked it. Made me feel like we were sort of living together. I mean we were, technically, but not like that.”

She swallowed and took a small step closer.

“I felt like that, too. That’s exactly why I did it,” she admitted.

The left corner of his mouth lifted up into a lopsided grin.

“I’m really glad you’re back early. Missed you so much,” she sniffed.

“C’mere.”

She took a step toward him, and he cupped her face in his hands, ducking to kiss her. She rested her palms on his bare chest, stood up on her toes to reach him better, and he skimmed his hands slowly down the front of her body, between them, shivering as she let a low groan vibrate into his mouth. He held her hips for a moment, and then his hands found their way inside the back of the flannel she was wearing, fingers spreading over her bare skin and bringing her closer as she looped her arms around his neck.

She finally pulled away a bit, gasping in a breath, but her glistening eyes were gazing back into his, and he tightened his arms around her waist, picking her up as she squealed with surprise.

“Missed you, too,” he said in a low rumble, against her ear, before burying his face in her hair for a second and lowering her back to the floor, smiling.

He released her only to take her hand and lead her back to the bedroom, happily noticing her bracelet and elastic hair band looped over the bed post as he climbed in and tugged her close, quickly replacing all the rest of the pronouns in his head from his to theirs.

[suit-lady]

PS ~ A Peter Parker Story that Begins with Notes

Summary: This is a fluff piece college AU where reader and Peter are in the same English class. They start passing notes because Peter misses class one morning. And then,,,,,, a study date??? And nervous Peter???

Warnings: Swearing. The first word is a curse word. This is who I am.

Female Reader

Word Count: 2365

Part Two

Fuck.

Peter Parker woke up to the sound of his roommate’s alarm, which meant that Peter was late. He must have been too tired the night before to set his alarm. Sighing, Peter reached for his phone. He knew that Ned showered before class, so maybe he had enough time to—Nope. Class had started about ten minutes ago. There was no way, even if he could get ready in under ten minutes. Begrudgingly, he pulled his exhausted body out of bed and took his sweet time getting ready; he had almost four hours before he had to be anywhere.

Classes flew by as usual, but it seemed incredibly odd to Peter to begin his Thursday without his English literature course. In a passing thought, he hoped that he hadn’t missed anything terribly important. He really enjoyed the material in that class, so he more cared that he missed the quality discussion spurred on by the prof than actually missing any potential assignments. After all, Dr. Terrance always followed his syllabus to a T, so Peter had nothing to worry about.

Regardless, he was sure to set four (more than the usual three) alarms before going to sleep.

-

Peter hurried to get ready so that he could arrive in Dr. Terrance’s classroom early and personally apologize to him for being absent the day before, but the kind professor blew him off and offered a quick debrief if necessary. He declined but made the effort to pay twice the amount of attention in class that morning. Dr. Terrance was obviously appreciative; sometimes, talking about literature at eight o’clock in the morning just isn’t all that appealing to a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.

The bell rang before Peter even realized what time it was, but he was zapped from the classical world by a notebook plopping down on his desk. The spiral-bound book was opened to a page topped with the date and what Peter assumed to be the lecture title of the day before. In the middle of the page was a pale pink sticky note that read “Here, in case you want some half-decent notes to copy.” in your handwriting. He looked up to give a thank-you, but he had no idea who had given him the notebook in the first place.

-

Peter made sure to copy all the notes Sunday evening so that he could return the notebook to the owner before class. Making sure to get there a bit earlier than usual, he set the notebook, which was open to the same page, on the corner of his desk. He got out his sticky notes and scrawled “hey, thanks for the notes” on the pale yellow paper. Then, as an afterthought, he wrote, “your handwriting is beautiful btw” and just signed it with his initial: “-P.” Satisfied, he sat back and waited.

A girl sat in the chair to his right. Peter’s attention wasn’t drawn to you until you cautiously reached across his desk and took the notebook. After your eyes scanned over the note, you looked up at Peter with a kind smile. He smiled back at you, half being courteous, half because he couldn’t help but return a smile as pretty as that.

While you didn’t make eye contact with him for the rest of the period, you passed him another pink note right as the bell rang. You’d folded the note so that the sticky part kept the note closed. As he walked out of the classroom, he slipped the note into his pocket and didn’t read it until he was back in his dorm room. “nah, especially not my note script. Dr. Terrance talks so fast during lecture that my pencil basically flies across the page. –(Your First Initial)”

Peter spent most of the evening wondering what he should write back. He’d started the note, on a classier blue sticky note this time, but he only had “whatever. I like it” and a little emoticon face that had its tongue sticking out. Once he’d finished his homework for the evening, he gave up on coming up with anything half decent. He drew a stick figure shrugging and saying “I don’t know what else to say” in a little speech bubble. Mimicking the folds from the note he’d gotten from you, he folded the paper and placed it in his notebook for the next morning.

-

You had arrived before Peter, so he took out the note and passed it to you as nonchalantly as possible before the bell rang to begin class. He stole a glance at you as you stifled a giggle at his poor drawing skills. After class, you passed him a tightly-folded piece of notebook paper. He unfolded it, filled with curiosity, to find that you’d doodled a little caricature of him during lecture. Underneath, in faux calligraphy, read “Peter Parker”. He was surprised to see his name; this girl that he’d barely looked at before knew who he was. Taking out his notebook, he began to pen a note much longer than any you two had shared thus far.

-

He had to wait until Thursday before he could give you the note (no class on Wednesday), and received a long letter in return at the end of class on Friday. In the letter, you told him all about yourself. You started with your name, your favorite color, and a few other random things. You told him what your major was and what you dreamed about doing after college. Then, you wrote about how to spent time outside of the classroom. Lastly, you said you knew who he was because, according to you, “everyone knows Peter Parker, super smart kid with great humor.” He took it as a compliment.

He wrote a letter over the weekend telling you that he was Peter Parker, even though you already knew that. His favorite color was tied between red and blue, but he might like blue just a tiny bit more on cloudless summer afternoons. While at college, he was studying physics, but he hadn’t really decided what he wanted to do after graduation yet. He spent a lot of time doing nerdy things with his best friend and roommate Ned, like having sci-fi movie marathons or building the newest LEGO sets. He ended the letter with a short apology for not knowing who you were.

-

There was a new spring in Peter’s step as he walked to class on Monday. Over the weekend, he’d learned all about the girl who sat next to him in his English class, and he took some time on Saturday to go to the city and fight a little bit of extra crime. Being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in a college town wasn’t all that exciting; he ended up mostly protecting defenseless young women from creepy assholes at frat parties. While it was rewarding, Peter was always itching for something more. He and Ned would hang out in Chicago on available weekends, taking down all sorts of baddies that weren’t expecting any sort of superhero to be there to stop them.

He handed you the note as soon as he sat down in class and watched you from the corner of his eye as you carefully put the note in your bookbag. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth: he was more than happy to see that you wanted to keep the note both safe and away from your prying eyes. After that, English was thoroughly uneventful, but confusing for Peter. For some reason, he just kept stealing glances at this girl. You’d captivated him; Peter refused to admit it, but he was done for.

That evening, Ned finally couldn’t take it anymore. Peter had been super jittery for straight up a week and a half, and had kept it from Ned. “What’s going on with you?” Ned asked the first time he saw Peter smiling at the ceiling.

“I met a girl,” Peter said definitively, like that was that.

“Okay… Details? What’s she like?”

“Well, actually, she can tell you about herself,” Peter said ambiguously as he pulled your most recent note out of his bag.

Ned read over the letter and encouraged his friend to go for you. “She seems really nice. You ask her out yet?”

Peter coughed awkwardly. “We’ve actually never spoken before. She let me borrow her English notes that day I missed class, and we’ve been writing notes to each other since then.” He pulled out the few other notes he had from you as proof.

“Dude,” Ned said as he shook his head, “you’ve gotta use your words, buddy. She sounds great, and you obviously like her. Are you really just gonna let her slip through your fingers? You realize it’s the end of the semester and you might never have a class with her ever again, right? This university is pretty damn big, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll ask her the next chance I get.”

-

The next day in class, however, he was too nervous to actually talk to you. His voice got all caught up in his throat, and he felt like he’d been chewing on cotton balls all morning. Sighing as he sat, he decided he’d ask you for dinner the next time it was his turn to give you a note… Thursday. He was so busy contemplating how he wanted to ask that the bell made him jump. When he heard a giggle coming from his right, and saw you covering your mouth, your shoulders shaking. Dr. Terrance had already begun speaking, so you mouthed a quick “sorry for laughing” before paying attention to the prof for the rest of the period. Peter was so embarrassed that he didn’t notice your return letter until almost halfway through the lecture.

The letter said that you were glad to know more about Peter Parker other than that he was a nice and funny guy in your English class. You made a comment about how pretty the skies had been now that the rainy April weather was clearing up and the temperature was getting warmer. You said that you loved studying outside and invited Peter to study with you the next day. You ended the letter typically with your initial, but, underneath, you had written a PS: “text me with a yes or no so that I can tell you where I study x” with your number underneath.

Peter crashed through the door of his dorm room shouting, “NED!”

“What? Did you do it?” excitedly came Ned’s reply from his position at his desk.

“Well, sort of.” A quick pause. “No, not really.”

“What the fuck, Peter.”

“No, no! It’s still great! She asked me to study with her tomorrow!”

“She did?” Ned jumped up and hurried over to where Peter was still standing…in the open doorway.

Peter enthusiastically gestured to the letter and handed it over for Ned to read. As he read, Peter shut the door and began pacing around the room. What was he gonna say? Which subject should he take to study? Differential Equations, to show that he was ahead in math? Or should he take his Spanish homework, to show that he was working on becoming bilingual? Should he even worry this much about impressing you? What if you—

Peter’s thoughts were interrupted when Ned asked, “So did you text her?”

“Oh my God.”

“You idiot. Text her right now,” Ned scorned, returning the letter to Peter.

He texted you, “hey, it’s Peter! I’d love to study together tomorrow!”

You replied within minutes, “Great! I usually sit on the hill by the lake. I bring a picnic blanket, so don’t worry about having something to sit on.”

He texted back something about that sounding lovely, and the smile didn’t leave his face for the rest of the afternoon.

-

The next morning, he picked out a tee shirt that he figured would make you laugh. The shirt had a picture of iron’s chemical symbol and the word “MAN” underneath it. When he was going to be spending time with Mr. Stark, he was always sure to pack that one. He picked out dark jeans and grey sneakers and was out the door.

The late spring sun was hotter than Peter expected, and his black shirt absorbed a lot of heat. His pace quickened, as he worried about sweating too much before greeting the girl from his English class for the first time. He saw you sitting alone on the hill, reading a thick novel of some kind, your face mostly hidden by a large straw sunhat. He took the opportunity to sneak up on you (maybe cheating a bit using his super stealthy spider skills).

“Hi there!”

You jumped a little, earning an accomplished chuckle from Peter. “Oh, hello. I didn’t hear you walk up. Make yourself comfortable anywhere.”

Peter did so, and the two of you sat in a lovely silence as you read and Peter worked on his DE homework. On the way out the door, he’d decided to go with impressive advanced math. You, however, were too invested in what you were reading to really notice what he was doing at all. He listened to music as he worked, but left one earbud out in case you wanted to talk to him ever. After about half an hour of holding his breath every time you turned the page, of waiting for you to say something, he couldn’t help himself anymore.

“Do you maybe want to go out for dinner Friday night?” he blurted, a little too loudly and a little too high-pitched. Fuck. He hadn’t realized just how nervous he was.

You laughed, a beautiful sound, and looked over at him, saying, “That was a bit sudden.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, much quieter, beginning to backtrack, “you just seem so sweet and funny and lovely and I’d really be—”

“Peter,” you said, cutting him off, “I’d love to.”

You both turned your blushing faces away from each other, both afraid the other would see, and worked in happy silence for the rest of the afternoon.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Always On My Mind (pt2)

Word Count: 1740 Author’s Note: Gavin is such a blank palette that I’m basically going off what Karl said about him in interviews and stuff to make him a more well-rounded guy. Not such a baddie after all, I guess.

Pt 1

You were surprisingly nervous on Sunday. You slept late, as you always did when you worked at the bar, and rolled out of bed just before noon. You puttered about the house for a while, cleaning the kitchen, ironing your laundry, making things tidier than usual. And then you realized you were doing all those things in anticipation of inviting Gavin in after your date. You nearly dropped a plate when it dawned on you. It didn’t stop you, though, and once your tiny kitchen and living room were spotless, you headed to the shower. He’d seen you in bar clothes, with your hair up, on a Friday when you hadn’t been anticipating handsome customers. Now he needed to see you looking your best, so he knew you weren’t just some girl he’d picked up at a bar, ready to knock boots on a first date. Even if that’s exactly what you were.

You kept thinking about the way his hands felt on you when he’d walked you home, and you were caught between being embarrassed that you were considering inviting him in and feeling empowered by his obvious desire. You shook your head and went back to curling your hair. You’d picked up a fashion magazine on the way to the bar on Saturday night, hoping for some tips on making your hair look a little more current, but you weren’t brave enough to cut the long waves into layers and attempt hair like Farrah’s, and there wasn’t enough spray on the planet to hold your heavy locks into some of the more fashion-forward looks. You settled on smoothing the fly-aways and adding some curl to the ends.

Picking clothes became your second issue. A first date, going out for dinner, required more than just the denim you wore to work at the bar. But your day job required you to dress much more professionally, and there was limited middle ground in your wardrobe. You finally settled on a soft pink angora cardigan over your favourite sundress. You were putting the finishing touches on your make-up when you heard the knock at the door. As you walked toward the door, you pulled your low pumps on. You were still half crouched when you opened the door.

Gavin cleaned up really well. He was wearing what you guessed were his only pair of slacks, and exactly as you’d hoped, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing his strong forearms. He was holding a small bouquet of daisies and other wildflowers. “Damn,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

“You already knew what I looked like,” you replied, a little confused.

“I was worried that maybe I was wearing beer goggles. None of the boys could tell me anything about you, so it was either beer goggles or you didn’t actually exist,” he admitted. He thrust the flowers at you. “I had to go up to the cut this morning, and I thought you might like these.”

You took them and stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. “They’re lovely,” you replied.

He smiled, and stepped a little closer to you, pointing at the various flowers. “I’m sure you know these are daisies, but this yellow flower is arnica. And this little purple cluster is phlox. These itty bitty pink ones are verbena. This showy red thing is a columbine. These bigger purple ones are asters and that cluster of blue is a lupine.” As he identified each flower, he cupped the petals in his fingers, and the juxtaposition of the delicate flora against his strong hands sent your heart racing.

“You are very surprising,” you admitted. “Let me put these in some water.” He followed you to the kitchen and you trimmed the stems quickly, putting them in a large mason jar with some water before opening the fridge and pulling out a 7-up. You unscrewed the cap and poured a splash into the jar, to his surprise. “Makes the blooms last longer,” you explained.

“I made sure there were no creepy crawlies left in them,” he smiled. “I know how ladies feel about insects.”

You laughed and felt your cheeks heat. “I have to admit, I’m not a fan of spiders.”

Gavin surprised you again with dinner at your favourite diner. Admittedly, there wasn’t much open on a Sunday evening the the small town, and he’d apologized as he held the door open for you. “I guess I wasn’t thinking, asking you out for a Sunday,” he excused, ushering you in. “But the food’s good.”

“I love this place,” you agreed. “When it’s in my budget, I’m in here once a week.”

“You must make good tips at the bar,” he countered as he waited for you to slide into the booth. He slide in across from you after you were seated.

“I only work the bar on weekends,” you admitted. “Help make ends meet.”

“Shit, I mean, uh, -” he paused, losing his thought after inadvertently cussing in front of you. You smirked.

“Gavin, I work in a bar, you don’t have to worry about swearing.” It was a sweet gesture, but you’d heard plenty worse.

“Right now we’re on a date, and you deserve to be treated like a lady,” he argued. “I’ll try to keep it clean.” You couldn’t help but smile. The waitress brought you menus and while Gavin looked his over, you chatted with Flo. She’d been the one to suggest the bar job, when you’d brought your resume into the diner.

“Gary told me you started at Slim’s a couple weeks back,” Flo informed you. “You liking it? Are they treating you good?”

“The TV on the bar has cable, Flo, so I’m caught up on Dukes,” you laughed. “And otherwise it’s okay. Cookie is determined to feed me until my jeans won’t zip. The regulars are sweet old farts who wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Don’t forget to tell her about the good looking logger you met on Friday,” Gavin interjected with a wink.

“Oh yeah, I’ve also been able to trick a guy into a free meal just by smiling,” you winked back at Gavin, and he held a hand to his heart like he was mortally wounded. You leaned toward Flo conspiratorily. “He’s even kind of cute.” Gavin leaned back in the booth, his chest swelling.

“Well, handsome, have you made up your mind?” Flo picked the menu up from where Gavin had placed it.

“The special sounded great,” he nodded. “And a cup of coffee. Black.”

“And your usual, sweetie?” Flo looked up from her notepad. You nodded.

As much as you expected Gavin to just be a hot lumberjack stereotype, you were surprised at how intelligent he was. More than that, he was just as charming in the environment of the dinner as he had been in the bar, which was probably a little dangerous. You’d been on your own too long, and he looked like a tall glass of water on a too hot day. Despite your attraction to him, you found yourself oddly relaxed. First dates usually consisted of you pushing salad around your plate and drinking spritzer. Gavin had made no bones about putting his elbows on the table to prop up the monster hamburger he’d ordered as he brought it to his mouth. As a result, you didn’t feel the least bit self-conscious about the au jus that dripped off the end of your beef dip, trailing down your pinky and along your wrist. And you were even less worried about biting the end off your fries to let the au jus absorb into the flesh of the potato once you saw the volume of ketchup he’s squeezed onto his plate.

Just when you thought his personality might be overwhelming, and his ego might be a bit much, he would turn the conversation back to you, and bring his full attention to whatever you were saying. By the end of the meal, you couldn’t believe you’d met this well-read, funny, and thoughtful man in a bar.

He walked you back up the path to your front door, and paused below the stoop, just as he had when he’d walked you home from the bar. He was leaving the ball in your corner. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and watch you unlock the door, almost as if he was waiting to make sure you got inside safe. You cracked the door and looked inside before looking back at him.

“I can’t ask you in for long, Gavin,” you began. “But if you’d like to have a cup of tea before you go home?”

He smiled and shook his head, and your heart fell. “I’d really love to, Y/N, but I’ve got to be out to the cut at dawn.” He must have seen your facial expression change because he was up the stairs in a flash. He put a hand on your shoulders, and let it slide down your arm until your fingers were laced together. Stepping a little closer, he brought his other hand to your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“I -” You started.

“I don’t want to rush this, Y/N.” His words were softly spoken. “Maybe it would have been different if I’d come in with you on Friday, but I think this might be worth more than one night.” He dipped his head and kissed you softly. He cupped your face between his hands, shifting his weight against you, and you felt yourself tangling your fingers in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He pulled back and pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing shallow and rapid.

“Then you should probably go, Gavin, before I make you stay.” You were a little breathless too. He smiled as he kissed you again, and pulled away.

“How about I take you for a picnic tomorrow night?” He asked, lacing his fingers in yours again. He took one step down the porch, and was nearly eye-level with you. You tilted your head in thought and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night, a million stars looking down on you. Promising for tomorrow’s weather.

“You’ll take care of all the food?” You asked. He grinned.

“I make great sandwiches,” he laughed.

“Alright. A picnic tomorrow,” you agreed. He pushed himself back up onto the top stair of the stoop and kissed you one last time.

“Tomorrow then,” he promised.