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consistentlyamess · 10 months

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We'll see about that - Chapter 1⎮Open with me, oh, we could be honest

[4.4K-ish]

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

warnings: takes place after season 4, 18+ , MDNI, slight age gap (reader is like 2 yrs older than Steve), canon typical violence, mentions of a lonely childhood, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, underage drinking, swearing, eventual smut, abusive relationship, brief stancy storyline, strangers to friend to lovers, pining, slowburn

A/N: I HAVE VERY LITTLE IDEA ABOUT WHAT I'M DOING AND I'M TERRIFIED. but I did get about 10 more likes than I expected, and I've been thinking about this story for so long, that so far it's kind of flowing out of me. so here's chapter 1!!! I probably won't be able to keep this pace up, just a heads up. *hides under a rock immediately after posting* just please bear with me while I figure out what I'm doing here, I guess. idk if it's a warning or not but english is not my first language and it's not beta-d. so. it is what it is . 'tough girl' is a very conscius nod to mizz @loveshotzz who had me on. the. floor. with AIRWIY

💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!! 💜💜💜

Fic Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter Coming Soon

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You woke up with a pounding headache. Sometimes they still came. Mostly like this, in the morning, out of nowhere and it takes about two or three aspirins for them to go away.

This is the first hiccup. The last time you had a headache like this, it was about finals time back in Bloomington. You just wanted to get out, you wanted it to be over, barely slept, barely ate, so the headaches were no surprise really. Then after graduation, when you were leaving one cursed town for another, you thought you left the headaches behind as well. Which very obviously was not the case. But they passed pretty easily compared to the previous ones.

The week passed in a blur mostly. You hung out at Family Video quite a lot and when you weren’t there it was mostly just getting used to the town. The first couple of days you find a diner where you can have coffee in the morning. The second morning you run into Steve.

‘Hey, stranger, how are you doing?’ He says with a boyish smile.

‘Just getting my morning coffee, trying to show this lovely town that I’m just like them, you know, coffee, pancakes, the works.’

‘Good thinking, you would be truly terrifying otherwise.’

‘You think?’

‘Oh, absolutely! 5”6 woman with a killer smile and - and I quote - decent cooking skills? Dangerous.’ He’s flirting with you but you pretend to be oblivious.

‘Well, wait ‘till you see my reward sticker collection. The lack of teachers shows, stacked up some pretty great stars and flowers and whatnot. Those kids won’t know what hit ‘em.’

Fine, maybe not that oblivious.

‘Wow, bringing out the big guns early, huh? How does one earn those stickers? Would some A-grade guacamole do the job at a dinner party?’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.’

‘Guess so.’ You reach the coffee shop and he’s opening the door for you with a sly smile. Oh, boy.

As you get to the counter, you see that a tiny brunette is already balancing some coffees and pastries there.

‘... and I’ll also take like four of the cheese sandwiches.’ ‘Coming right up! Hey, give those pastries back, I’ll get you a bigger bag.’

‘Thanks, Al.’

You don’t miss the way Steve stiffens a little beside you.

‘Having a party Wheeler?’ He says.

‘Oh, god, you scared me.’ The tiny woman said, clutching at her chest. Her big eyes and tiny pointy nose made her look very cute.

‘You know exactly that’s for those assholes in the office.’ She says with a frown.

‘I know, you looked very cute though.’ She smiles shyly at that, looking down at her feet. Oh, boy, indeed.

‘Hi, we haven’t met before-’ you reach out trying to cut the tension.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was so occupied with those goddamn sandwiches.’ She shakes her head and takes your hand immediately. ‘I’m Nancy, Nancy Wheeler. You must be the new girl. Robin told me all about you. Went on a tirade actually. You’re starting in Hawkins Elementary, right?’

‘News travel a little unsettlingly fast here.’ You let out a nervous laugh. ‘But yes, that would be me.’

She glances up at Steve, who suddenly finds something very interesting on the menu above the counter. He runs a hand up his neck and squints at the menu. Subtle, Steven, really. Seamless.

‘So, she told you about the dinner on Saturday as well?’

‘A little more actually, she invited me.’ She frowned again and it made you laugh again.

‘Good! That’s exactly what I was about to do.’

‘Great! She told me she was gonna bring a pie but I’m betting my left arm she’s gonna burn it, so we’ll bring a back-up.’

‘We?’

‘Jesus, what a fun bunch we are. My boyfriend, Jonathan, is coming too. But only if it’s okay with you! He's staying for a while, finally. A little socialization we’ll do good for him.’

OH. BOY. So many alarm bells go off in your brain you can’t even count them.

‘Next!’ Al shouts out.

‘Sorry, one sec.’ You excuse yourself and you count your lucky stars that it immediately snapped you out of it. You’re not sure you could’ve contained your face.

‘Hi, Al! Can I get a black coffee to go please?’

‘If you ask this nicely, you can have anything, sweetheart. Comin’ right up! Anything else for you? The muffins are fresh.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss that! Please, throw one in!’ You smile sweetly and he smiles back. On another day, in another café you might have suggested something very different this guy could do with his fresh muffin but you needed this town to like you. If anything happens or if you run out of gas in the middle of the road, you need to have friends. People looking out for each other. Looking out for you. That’s what these small towns are all about, right?

‘Jesus, keep it in your pants Al.’ Steve mutters to himself and both you and Nancy raise an eyebrow.

‘Okay, I totally forgot, I have an appointment with the…’ Shit. You’re blanking. ‘... the, uh, the school counselor!’ You say a little more loudly, you’re so proud of yourself. ‘So, I’m off.’ You slap a two dollar bill on the counter and start moving toward your exit.

‘Who? Miss Kelly? Isn’t she on vacation, still?’ Nancy asks. ‘I haven’t seen her in like a week.’

‘Well, I have an appointment with someone, maybe it’s not the school counselor. I didn’t, uhm, write it down. But I’ll see you guys on Saturday, right?’ You wave your goodbye and your lungs feel less tight right away as you get out of the diner, leaving a little dumbfounded Nancy and Steve behind you. Whatever you walked in the middle of, you want no part of it. No matter how boyish his smile or homely brown his eyes are.

***

Staying away proves to be way more difficult than you thought though. Robin is way too nice to say no to, and more importantly, you really like her. It also doesn't take long until you meet the other members of the party. You met Jonathan one time at the library you visited. He was with Nancy, looking for something they didn’t elaborate on. A very endearing stoner Argyle, a gloomy kid, who visited his not-a-girlfriend friend in the hospital every week, Lucas, his quippy and lovebly snappy sister Erica, a kid with the smartest mouth on him you’ve ever seen, Dustin, Will, who’s very soft spoken is really fast to become one of you favorites, not just because he’s really into art, Nancy’s broody brother Mike and of course the shy and sweet El. Or Jane. You’re not sure and nobody else seems to be either. But, hey, who were you to complain about weird nicknames? But all of that came with a lot of Steve on the side and keeping the flirting to the minimum was a real challenge. Especially ‘cause you liked it. He knew what he was doing and he was good at it. But it was impossible to miss how he softened when he saw Nancy, how something akin to hope flickered in his eyes.

It was also impossible to miss that they were hiding something. At one time Mike referred to the mall fire with air quotes and Robin immediately kicked him in the shin. Whenever Will touched his neck, everyone became tense. El kept looking around and spacing out sometimes, until Mike brought her back with a gentle tug on her hand. You’re not stupid, you pick up on these things. But you don’t ask too many questions. They’ll tell you if they want to. Or not. That’s also fine with you. Everyone has secrets and it’s not a surprise that a town like this may harbor more than one.

The second hiccup does come at the dinner though. You were nervous all day. And of course cooking and cleaning all day. You made lasagne and your favourite salad with grenadine seeds and walnuts, and some chocolate chip cookies, just to be safe. You bought wine and soda, a bunch of scented candles, you cautiously put up fairy lights, the first thing that made the place look more cozy, more yours. Your chest tightened at the thought a little. This is okay, this is your place. This is what people do when they have a place. You were just renting, of course, but the owners made it pretty clear that they’re not planning on coming back anytime soon, so they gave you the all clear on any makeover your heart desired. You didn’t know what your heart desired. Not yet anyway. You were so focused on just getting a place, any place, you would’ve taken a room in an attic without lighting. You’re a little startled by the doorbell as you get lost in your thoughts while tossing the salad.

‘Shit’ you mutter to yourself. You haven’t changed, your hair is a mess, you’re a little sweaty from all the work you’ve done and of course the table is not set yet. Great going, Peach. One hell of a first impression. Well, it wasn’t a first impression, not really, but still. The doorbell goes off again.

‘Coming!’ As you tear the door open it presents a bickering Robin and Steve.

‘... I took my eyes off of it for one second, Steve-’

‘Yeah, well the recipe clearly stated that you have to watch it very closely! Constantly!’

‘Oh, my go- Peach!’ Robin rasps as she notices you standing there. She basically throws herself in your arms. ‘I burned the pie.’ She says in a sad voice that reminds you so much of a kid who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. ‘I failed you, I’m so sorry!’ ‘Oh, honey, it’s okay! I made some chocolate chip cookies, Nancy is bringing some pie as well, we’re all good sweets, don’t you worry!’ You tell her, hugging her tightly and laying a kiss on the top of her head for good measure. ‘And next time just call me, my pies are the talk of every Thanksgiving. I can give you some tips and tricks.’

‘You’re an angel.’ Robin sighs. Above her shoulder you lock eyes with Steve for a minute. He watches the two of you with the most doughy eyes and smile you’ve seen on him so far. He waves a little and huffs out a quiet ‘hi’. You take one of your hands from the girls back and wave back to him. He keeps watching and you can’t take it. You pull Robin away, grabbing her shoulders.

‘Alright, early birds get the worm’ you clap your hands ‘which means, you guys get to help me with the finishing touches, while I go take a shower and change, because I may smell like an onion but I have so much flour and butter on me that if you put me in the oven for 20 minutes on 350º I might come back as a pie as well.’

You make them laugh with that and the little laugh that comes out of Steve makes you want to run away into the woods and scream, it's so sweet. For the love of GOD, girl, get it the fuck together. This time Robin’s prodding finger in your ribs is what snaps you out of your state.

‘You're the boss! We’re at your service, m’lady!’ she bows theatrically. ‘Band kid?’

‘Trumpet’ Steve says with a shit eating grin. Robin seems a little uncomfortable at that.

‘Figures. Band kids are always the best.’ You wink at Robin. ‘Stamina and nimble fingers. Exactly what you need in the kitchen.’ Wow, you’re staggeringly bad at this not flirting thing.

‘Well, damn. If you were recruiting I’d never even look at a swimming pool or a basketball.’ Steve counters with the beginnings of that same shit eating grin.

‘Jock?’ You ask, turning to Robin.

‘But a reformed one at that. Did some penance for his sins.’

‘By driving 12 year olds around town?’ ‘And by bringing wine and some beer to your dinner party, smartass.’ As he says it, he starts moving around you, already having rid himself of his coat and shoes. He leans close and almost whispers the last word in your ear. It makes the muscles in your neck flex. ‘So, where do you need us?’ Robin’s eyes ping-pong between the two of you so you turn around. ‘Right. Plates are in the cabinet above the sink, cutlery in that drawer, glasses are already on the counter and you have some napkins on the table already. I’ll turn myself into a human again and be right back! Don’t break anything, please, I barely have enough stuff as it is.’

Your turn to make your way to the bathroom but you still catch the sound of Robin’s swat that probably lands on Steve’s arm. They hiss something at each other, but you try not to eavesdrop more. Not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys.

By the time you make your way back, Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle are all there. The letter with suspiciously narrow eyes and mellow smile. You make a mental note to ask him about that sometime. As you make your way to the table, still drying your hair with a towel, Nancy gasps.

‘Oh, my god, I love your dress!’

‘Thank you!’ You answer as you reflexively look down at yourself, before hugging her. ‘It was my mom’s in the sixties. Real flower child shit, I love it.’ The dress is almost floor length, it has a warm, orange-ish shade thanks to the thousands of tiny flowers, but it also has a dark, almost black undertone. It hugs your hips and has small buttons running up all the way on the front, top three still hanging loose, revealing some of the lace underneath.

‘Hell yeah, brochacha, I dig your style.’ You giggle at Argyle’s antiques as you hug the two boys shortly as a greeting.

‘Hey, do you have a corkscrew somewhere in here?’ Steve calls from the kitchen without turning around. ‘Uhm, that’s a good question actually. Let me check!’ You make your way to the kitchen, and plop the towel on the counter temporarily. ‘I- oh’ Steve says the moment he turns around and sees you. You’re suddenly very aware of those top three buttons. You should’ve buttoned them. ‘Wow, you, uh, you look really nice.’ He says, running a hand up and down his neck once. So, it is a nervous tick. You hope to any higher power if they're there, that you don’t blush. ‘Thanks.’ The smile you can’t hide. You know it’s there, he knows it’s there. Well, fuck. ‘So, have you checked the bottom drawer? I think that’s usually the bastard drawer.’ ‘Bastard drawer?’ He asks with furrowed brows but still not taking his eyes off of the tiny flowers. ‘My mom used to call it that. It’s the drawer you just kind of throw shit in, shit you don’t know where else to put. It's kind of rude, now that I think about it.’ You grimace to yourself as you zero in on it.

He watches you as you move toward said drawer. He likes the way the dress sways with each step you take. It’s a slow, almost magical movement of fabric in his eyes. A mix between a witch and some sort of fairy. He likes that you’re still barefoot, you look at home, even though you’ve only been here for a little more than a week. He likes the way you tuck your wet hair behind your ear as you crouch down. He likes your wet hair too, if he’s being honest with himself.

‘Uh-huh! The bastard drawer never disappoints.’ ‘Way to go flower child!’ Argyle chimes from somewhere in the living room. Steve shakes his head at that. But you can tell, he’s hiding a smile. ‘Thanks dude!’ You shout back as Steve moves towards you. You think he’s going to help you up, but then Robin storms in. ‘Hey, Peach- oh, come on, I’ll help you up.’ Something flashes in Steve’s eyes as he leans back on the counter. ‘Do you need help with anything else?’ ‘You can help me bring in the drinks if you’re up for it. The lasagne need another 10 minutes but we can have some drinks until then.’ ‘Really? Me too?’ You snort. ‘I’m not your mom, babes, of course you can.’

The evening goes well after that. You get to chatting, you talk about uni, very briefly but you mention that you had a failed relationship as well, you gush about your favourite teacher and ask them about the children of Hawkins. They tell you about the town, about how they met, how they became closer when tragedy after tragedy struck. Robin mentions clumsily that Nancy and Steve used to be a thing, which in turn makes the whole table uncomfortable. Except for Argyle, who, god bless his heart, chimes in with a ‘This lasagne is schmashing dude’. Which eases the conversation again. ‘It is really good, Peach.’ Steve emphasizes, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. ‘When did you learn all of this?’

‘Well, growing up it was just my mom and me. We didn’t have a perfect relationship but she loved cooking. That was really the only thing we did together. Then she had to work more, so I had to do it on my own more and then when I was uni, it was comforting to do things we used to do together.’ You shrug a little almost as a sign that you don’t know what else to say. You do that a lot, Steve notes to himself. As well as the fact that your cheeks and chest get a little pink after two glasses of wine. Just some notes. You don’t know if it’s the wine or the fact that you haven't felt this calm, since what feels like a lifetime, but this sudden openness catches you off guard. But Robin jumps to the rescue again.

‘Oh, my god, that is so sweet!’ She squeals and she grabs your hand. ‘By the way, I never asked you about how that kind of date went?’

Now she is the one with the deer caught in the headlight eyes.

‘Duuuuude, you had a date? That’s awesome! How did it go?’ Argyle joins your inquiry. ‘Oh, it was… well, we- uhm’ she gets caught off by the ring of the phone which she seems very grateful for. You? Less so. ‘Who is- sorry, I’ll go get it.’ As you get closer to the phone, on the other side of the wall, your stomach starts to knot. No one is supposed to know this number. Maybe the school. Please, god, let it be the school. As you reach for the phone, you know it’s not the school. You’re so sure it makes you nauseous. Panic crawls up your throat, your hands are shaking but you know you can’t not answer. Normal people are not afraid to answer phone calls.

‘Hello?’ You call but nobody answers. You swallow with a big gulp. ‘Hello?’ You try again, this time squeezing your eyes shut and balling your hand into a fist. And that’s when you hear it. Breathing on the other side. You panic and slap the phone back on the wall.

‘Is everything okay?’ Steve asks and you hear the slide of a chair on the floor, and you start moving further into the kitchen. ‘I- Y-eah’ you call with a crack in your voice. You take a deep breath, trying to stady yourself. ‘Just ah, a wrong number. I’ll go heat up the pie!’ You try to think about the cold metal of the Colt on your night stand. It’s okay, you’re safe here, you can protect yourself, you made sure.

You’re already leaning against the stove when he finally catches up to you.

‘Do you need help?’ ‘No, no, I got it’ you call back over your shoulder, without turning around. You crouch down in front of the oven and open it. The heat comes rushing out but it’s still not enough to warn you. You grab onto the sheet with reckless abandon and promptly burn yourself.

‘Ouw- Fuck-’ ‘Shit, are you okay?!’ Steve comes rushing towards you as you hear the muffled sound of the others fussing in the living room. ‘Shit, come on, come here.’ Now he helps you up, one hand holding your wrist, the other settling on the small of your back as he guides you to the sink. ‘We have to put some cold water on it, so it doesn’t blister.’

You can only nod. The panic of the phone call is still at the back of your throat but now the burn of your palm feels a lot more urgent, so you will your body and your mind to work together and prioritize here. As the cold water hits the burn, you hiss and Steve apologizes.

‘No, please, it’s what you’re supposed to do.’ ‘So much for the pie tips and tricks, tough girl.’ He smiles at you a little mockingly. ‘I never said anything about kitchen accidents. You got nothing on me Mugsy.’ ‘Alright-’ Before he can really get going, Robin clears her throat loudly in the kitchen door, standing with crossed arms. ‘You guys okay in here?’ ‘Yeah!’ You say, pulling your hand away from Steve as gently as you can. ‘Yeah, just burned my hand. Nothing life threatening. But I will need someone else to put the pie in the oven for me after all.’ ‘I got-’ ‘I can do it.’ ‘Really, Robin? So, I’ll have to take care of two burns?’ Steve says, turning around with his hands on his hips. ‘Oh, calm your tits mom, I can put a pie in the oven on my own you-’ ‘Both of you can shut up, I’ll put it in.’ Nancy says as she pops in and comes directly towards you and looks at your hand with a concerned look. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Guys, it’s just a sheet that was a little too hot. I’ll live.’ Nancy nods but you know that she can see that you’re still shaking. She moves to the oven and Steve takes the opening to make his way back towards you. ‘Do you have some ice? You should put some ice on it for the night.’ ‘Hey, Steven!’ Robin calls out a little too loudly and a little too sharply. And you make a mental note to send her a gift basket because now that the panic and the pain are subsiding, you really don’t want to feel his breath on your cheeks and his fingers moving your wrist so carefully, like you’re made of glass. ‘Would you be a darling and help me open a bottle of wine.’ ‘You’re a big girl, you can open a bottle of wine on your own.’ He quips back. ‘Oh, now I can do things on my own?’ ‘It’s a bottle of wine not a piping hot oven, Buckley, there is a difference.’ They continue arguing but you can’t make it out anymore under the sound of running water and Nancy and your laughter. ‘They are literal children.’ ‘It’s cute, really. I always wanted siblings.’ You confide in her. How can you not? Her blue eyes have this shade to them. A shade that sees right through you. A shade that tells you there’s no use in lying. Or hiding for that matter. ‘Are you sure, you’re okay?’ She asks, quiet, sincere. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Had much worse.’ You smile at her and she doesn’t push. You’re thankful.

You almost can’t believe it but the rest of the dinner goes by without any more accidents. You guys come close when Robin wants to cut into the pie but Steve takes the knife out of her hand. Everyone wanted to help clean up but you swatted them away, insisting that you were the host and it was fine. You pack a box of leftovers for Argyle and he’s out the door. Nancy and Jonathan are the next, thanking you and even Jonathan shooting you a smile that tells you, he really did enjoy himself. By the time you close the door behind Steve and Robin, you almost forgot about the phone call. Almost. Not even a minute passes when there’s a knock at your door again. You huff out a laugh. ‘I told you, dude, that’s all the cookies I have, there’s- oh, Steve.’ You’re stopped in your tracks. ‘I- did you leave something here?’ ‘Yeah, I,uh, can you check if my wallet is on the counter, for me?’ ‘Sure, come in, I’ll be just a sec.’ You check but there’s no wallet. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t find it! Are you sure it’s not in the car, or-’ When you arrive back he’s leaning over the small dresser next to the door.

‘Oh, shoot! You know what?’ He says, feigning a realization. ‘It was in my back pocket. So forgetful sometimes. Night, tough girl!’ You’re a little confused but that doesn’t keep you from quipping back. ‘That nickname’s gonna stick, isn’t it?’ ‘Depends. Maybe I’ll think of something better.’ He says with a wink and turns on his heels.

After locking the door you glance down to the dresser. There’s a note on the block of Post-its you have there.

I’m very used to spending nights on my own in an empty house. If something spooky happens again or you need some ‘tips and tricks’ just give me a call.

There’s nobody there to see but you still feel like you have to hide your smile by trying to bite into your lower lip as you study his number.

Fucking hell. You really should’ve finished those goddamn buttons.

#steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington slowburn #robin buckley #robin stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #nancy wheeler #nancy stranger things #jonathan byers #jonathan stranger things #argyle stranger things #we'll see about that #WSAT #WSAT fic

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randomfoggytiger · 6 months

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Twenty questions for fanfic writers

Thank you for the tags, @baronessblixen, @xxsksxxx, and @slippinmickeys~!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

50 (ooh.)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

47, 807

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files; and The Beauty and the Beast (1987), once.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You"

"No More Paranormal than a Change of Wardrobe"

"Gold"

"The Next Chance"

"Celebration"

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yeppity yep!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Discounting the fics that partially resolve their angst in a second part, I've got to go with "I'm Tired", "What Must a Mother Go Through?", "Latkes", or "Did You Really Have to Bring That Thing?"

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

At least 3/4s of 'em. Today's example will be "Time Passing in Moments” (still has a hold on my fuzzy feelings.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet-- I've seen it done to others, however.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Smut's not for me~

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

While opposed to crossovers on principle, I've written three-- ironic, I know, namely: my first ever fic Son of Egypt (Prince of Egypt lite), The Hospital Where You Slept (While You Were Sleeping lite), and "I Know You. It’s What I Do." (for @amplifyme, who introduced me to The Beauty and the Beast 1987 and went above and beyond to pass on resources and interest. Incredibly grateful.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope! Don't expect them to get stolen, either, unless they're multichapter pieces.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! Not opposed, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope! I don't see it happening anytime soon, either, because my irl schedule is all over the place.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

MSR-- objectively, as well as personally.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have an idea blooming about reworking S8 in some way or form-- but there are already so many fics that tackle it from nearly every angle; so, I'll just reread those instead. (That, and I have to finish my S8 meta series; so....)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Pfffft... voice, I believe.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Characterization-- there's a reason I haven't created my own characters when writing, drawing, etc. ;)))

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Not opposed; but I'd have to learn another language first.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. Must have been in kindergarten or first grade.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Proud of 'em all-- especially the reception to "Son of Egypt"-- but Bill Scully's POV ("Mr. Mulder, I Know Something About You" series) was such an unexpected... everything. That, and the discussion between Mulder and Scully in "My Religious Convictions Are Hardly the Issue Here" were wound around a POVs I wanted to tackle.

Tagging (if you want~): @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @numinousmysteries, @skelavender, @virtie333, @suitablyaggrieved, @nachosncheeze, @living-in-unreality, @aloysiavirgata, @cecilysass, @leiascully, @pennyserenade, @invidiosa, @settle-down-frohike, @piecesofscully, @thescullyphile, @p34chi, @incidental-ao3, @cock-holliday, @ragnarockz, @frogsmulder, @bakedbakermom, @cutelilcurtain, @dreamingofscully, @freckleslikestars, @amplifyme, @scullys-scalpel, @ghostbustermelanieking, @o6666666, @sigritandtheelves, @contrivedcoincidences6, @two-microscopes, @sixhours, @jessahmewren, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @wexleresque, @danascullysjournal, @seek-its-opposite, @frostbitepandaaaaa, @oohnotvery, @atths--twice, @thatfragilecapricorn30, @storybycorey, and anyone else!

#ask game #tagged #Twenty questions for fanfic writers #thanks for the @s everyone!

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hughungrybear · 1 year

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Watching Dangerous Romance Ep 3:

1. I said this before, but the dynamics between Kang and Sailom do remind me of PeteKao (of Kiss series). Both Kao and Sailom are bright, poor students (albeit, Kao is already in uni when the series started) who tutors other students for money. Pete and Kang are both rich a-holes living with a single father who dotes and pampers them (although in Kang's case, it seems his father is trying too hard to be nice whereas Pete's dad is just awesome). Pete and Kao's relationship also started in animosity (with Pete beating up one of Kao's high school friends) and forced to doing school/uni work together (with fistfights in between). Only time will tell if the similarities will continue.

2. Speaking of Kang's dad, it's like he is trying very hard to overcompesate for something - and Kang knows it too. You can tell by the way his fists balled up and eyes glazed when his father says that he doesn't care if Kang's grades are below average as long as he passes. It's like his father keeps on telling Kang that he has no great expectations from his son but I think Kang hears it as his father not expecting that Kang has the capability to do great things.

3. Oh, another thing that is similar to PeteKao is the way it was pretty much implied that Kao is gay (like the way they are implying Sailom is during the motor bike ride) from the get-go. Pete is bi as he had numerous girlfriends before Kao. Not sure about Kang, but since he seems to have a crush on Pimfah (View), I'd say he is also bi.

4. Then I was hit with no English subtitles for Ep3 (2/4). Seriously, WTF 😭😭😭😭 Will edit this right after I find a way to watch this with subs.

I'm baaack. Forgot I have driving lessons this morning. All good now. Also, thanks to @frostluvrs for the link. However, I choose to watch the episode in BiliBili (cause last time I watched using KissAsian, it brought some computer virus with it 😅😅😅

5. Me when Kang went out to pee in the middle of a very expensive meal: Kang, I swear if you leave Sailom with the bill, I will hunt you down and give you a serious beating. <after 5 seconds> ok, we're good. For a moment, I thought Kang is going to a do a dine and dash just because.

6. Sorry, the whole English "studies" at the bar is hilarious to me. Especially when Kang started speaking Korean lol Also, Kang straight up asking Instagram accounts from strangers is creepy under normal circumstances 😂😂😂

7. Back to Kang's dad. I knew it. The way that Kang's dad dotes on him but not expecting any thing great from Kang is just 😭

8. Mark, you b*tch, there are plenty of places where you can get and pay for s*x. No need to harass an unwilling Sailom.

9. My gods, I also feel poor when the gang gave their birthday presents to Kang 😅

10. That's a sh*tty move, dad, reneging on the deal of buying a motorbike if Kang passes the exams. I know you meant well, but gods, learn to read the signs, man. And you're supposed to be a smart politician. Gods dammit. 🤬

11. Where is grandma in all these mess??? Also, what's with the flashback? Does Sailom have an unrequited crush on Kang ever since they were kids? And why would Kang need to beg grandma to rehire Sailom as his tutor? Ugh.

#dangerous romance #dangerous romance ep 3 #kanghan x sailom #kanghansailom #kangsailom #perthchimon #perth tanapon #chimon wachirawit

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goth-boots · 1 year

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Whew, ok, I'm ready to talk about my main Baki OC >:3

Yeah, I know her design may look too basic but! the story & the plot imho is perfect ✨

And who cares if it's cringe? Nobody ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Biography

So her name's Namiko Ogawa she's 23 years old. Confident, blunt, kind of arrogant, manipulative, smart? probably :D. Knows Japanese and English fluently, also speaks German. Originally from Okinawa but moved with her father to Osaka where she lived till she turned 18. Now lives in Tokyo.

6 y.o.:

The girl was adopted numerous times at a young age of 6. Already had a bad temper and caused lots of problems to those who adopted her (even tried to burn a family's property). The last person who took her was a man that owned a small dojo. Raizo Ogawa. He was a single careless man, his sense of justice and discipline differed from the standard ones. His way of teaching was quite unique. Namiko was able to learn all of the techniques in 10 years.

16 y.o.:

After some time Raizo became addict to alcohol and his relationship with his daughter worsened. The girl skipped most of her school classes (except for math and biology) and was rarely seen at home. She became a member of a sukeban, but never had a leader role due to her reluctance to be responsible for somebody. Everything was fine till Namiko was arrested. The girl started attending most of the subjects more often, but secretly continued to hangout with delinquents and juveniles.

18 y.o.:

At the age of 18 Ogawa went to university by manipulating and blackmailing the staff, because some of her grades, let's say, weren't that good. After 4 years of studying she went to Germany and stayed there as an exchange student.

23 y.o.:

She came back to Japan at 23 and now lives and works in Tokyo.

People

Raizo Ogawa. Namiko's adoptive father. Overall had a nice relationship with his daughter. They spent a lot of time together gardening or training. After one of his students died in a car crash he had a breakdown and became addicted to alcohol. That's when their relationship has gradually worsened. Died from cirrhosis when Namiko was 20. They solved all their conflicts before he passed away.

Places

The Depot. Namiko had an unpleasant experience with street fighting. She went to threatening places and frequently was on a verge of death. The most dangerous was the Depot. Place without any rules that was covered up by authorities. All kinds of weapons and techniques were allowed. That's a place where Namiko met her first real enemy.

Ta-da, and that's it :D

It's still a draft, but this text already looks like a decent story for a character 🤔

P.S. I'm silently crying because I wanted to draw her as Emi or at least like Kozue, but I ended up with someone else.. dunno if it's good or not, but I'm not satisfied with the result :')

Next time will try better 😤💪🏽

#why is it so hard to draw women in baki style ;-;#baki the grappler #baki oc

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caatws · 1 year

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Honestly there's nonsensical decision making to every single part of how Gamora's role and the guardians as a group have been written when it comes to life after Infinity War. I have been a fan of the mcu gotg since 2014. It was made known back then that the characters would be teaming up with the Avengers for a Thanos focused collaboration. The fact that Gunn didn't plan in advance or make any space to follow up on the potential impact of the collaboration was objectively a poor choice on his part. He wasn't blindsided and as much as I like what he's done in the past this isn't something I'm willing to give him a free pass on. Especially because it was his decision to base the mcu guardians around an abuse narrative. Minimum he should have been prepared for Gamora and Nebula to have some emotions that needed exploring after facing their abuser. Drax too based on his own writing of Drax wanting to take on Thanos. Rocket could be his favorite all he wanted but that doesn't change he included a whole host of characters in his trilogy who are all survivors with stories that would appeal to many people. He's said he wants people to relate to this story and who these characters are. It's asinine not to think about how Gamora's story might relate to people in the audience the way he loves Rocket. Part of being a thoughtful storyteller is thinking about the message that you send with what you put out into the world.

It would take hardly any time at all to sit back and reflect on what it would say to the audience that Gamora had zero funeral, no team moments going over her loss and that most characters are acting like they barely knew what was going on after her death. He knew Yondu deserved better than that and he should have known Gamora did too. It wouldn't have been hard to realize 2014 Gamora needed real development and closer relationships with the guardians because the story of the guardians is what he chose to write.

I'm not saying James Gunn is a bad person. I'm saying he had years to know where the guardians were headed when it came to Thanos. He knew he created a backstory of traumatic experiences related to Thanos for 3 of his core characters. He put effort into giving Yondu a proper funeral and still went on to do more that demonstrated he was important. He knew about and signed off on Gamora having very little character development as a result of Endgame. He was given the opportunity to do more with the guardians when it was decided there would be a holiday special. Even with all of this in place the best he could do was what we saw for Gamora in vol 3 along with zero mention of any characters beside Peter having lasting emotional effects from Infinity War and Endgame. I'm pretty sure that if I was still in school and turned in an assignment like vol 3 under these same circumstances, I would have received a failing grade. It's also wrong to make an open ending and then go online and pretend it only has one meaning when it comes to Gamora having one real family.

yeah, i think gunn either had less control over what happened in iw/eg than he let on (but then didn't want to change his vision for the final installment of the gotg trilogy being a rocket story) or he was just a lot more unserious about this stuff than i originally thought.

i think his favoritism toward rocket and yondu (cuz bestie rooker) were still present in vol 1 and 2, but it still meshed well with the ensemble stories going on bc there wasn't rly a reason to give any of the other characters more focus or detail than rocket or yondu back then. every character was on equal footing, in a way. but come vol 3, when everyone's lives and the established "normal" from vol 1/2 have been completely upended (plus add an extra 6-10 years of offscreen stuff, give or take, depending on the character), this approach no longer works. even bestie rocket's arc still suffers the consequences of this by not rly including or even acknowledging how those 5 years without his friends and family would've affected him.

i'd long gotten used to this uneven storytelling between characters in the avengers franchise, where the ensemble films often felt like The Steve And Tony Show(TM), which was part of why i appreciated the gotg films, since it felt like they didn't fall into this weird fake ensemble category. i still think vol 3 is a solid ensemble film, but it's definitely the gotg film that most starts to veer into unbalanced territory where the avengers films reside

and i know gunn wanted to try to tell le epic self-contained story or whatever, but like, it's the 3rd film in a franchise and we last saw these characters 4 years ago with the avengers in a totally separate franchise. treating it like it exists in some vacuum that makes it friendly to viewers who've never heard of the mcu in their lives or something is honestly just gonna make it more confusing than not and perhaps even frustrating for MOST viewers

#ask #the gamora situation

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kwockxpressions · 1 year

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Vianne Huynh

1. Name, Year, Major & Hometown

My name is Vianne Huynh! I’m from San Francisco, California, but now I’m studying as an NPB major at Davis.

2. What are you most proud of?

I’m most proud of how I got to where I am now, as in how I got to establish who I am as an individual. I’m glad that I’m starting to develop into my own person, making choices for myself rather than for the likes of others.

3. If you could choose a Sanrio character as a pet, which one would it be and why?

I would choose Kuromi. She's adorable, judged to be tough from the outside but a real softie on the inside. I feel like I could relate to some of her traits, such as being misjudged for how she chooses to appear. Also, she loves to wear black, perfect because I only wear black.

4. What is the biggest green flag in someone?

The biggest green flag in someone is when they hand make gifts. It shows that they're super thoughtful and really take the time and effort not only to think of and make the gift, but also to really understand who you are and what you like and dislike.

5. What’s your biggest ick?

People who are unaware of their surroundings, more specifically for people who bike. I hate it when bikers take up the entirety of the lane and bike 1 mph without giving any room to pass, and then decide to stop in the middle of the road to get off their bikes. I’m impatient.

6. If you were Kirby, who/what would you swallow and become?

I would swallow a computer to become a mastermind and take over the world with my big brain knowledge and my ability to hack into super secret databases.

7. What’s the most embarrassing moment in your life?

The time period between sixth grade and first three years of high school. It was not only embarrassing but my worst choice in clothing. I’ve learned a lot from making lots of mistakes and choices and that was really embarrassing. But now I’ve finally set myself straight. :)

8. When’s the last time you cried?

Right now actually, but I’m okay I just cry a lot (I'm sensitive).

9. What’s your most used emoji?

The skull emoji because I’m deceased from all the dumb things yall be saying💀.

10. What do you value in friendship and tell me about your best friend?

To me, friendship is an everlasting bond you create with another, one in which you are able to foster a sense of trust, support, and admiration between one another through their worst and best moments, and through each other’s lives as they change and grow. I greatly value the trust and closeness of friendship; the person who shares this bond with you is someone you can entrust your emotions to and express your vulnerability to. In other words, I value how friends are able to enjoy their time with one another, escaping the restraints of loneliness and insecurity because you're with someone you are familiar with and you feel safe, you don’t feel judged for who you are and what you do. But I also value the times when it comes down and you’re not in a great place, you can confide your feelings to this friend and relieve yourself of some of that burden that weighs you down and get the help you need. I value the unconditional support that friendship offers. I’ve known my best friend ever since we were kindergarteners running around the school playground. As we started to mature, we discovered the meaning of friendship and found each other: the embodiments of what we defined as a friend. It wasn't someone who would drag you down to bring themselves up, or take the moments you feel most vulnerable and use it against you, it was someone who genuinely worries and cares for your wellbeing, mental state, emotions; someone who asks “are you okay” not just for a response, but because they really do care. They are someone who sees that you aren’t okay and doesn’t hesitate to bike downtown on a busy late night to get you some warm Jook. They’re someone to invite you out to eat all the time when I’m scared to ask in the first place. They’re someone who goes to class alone to take notes for you when you’re overly stressed from exams. They’re someone who checks in on you when you seem upset and sits there, taking the time to listen to your rants and worries even though they should study for a test they have in an hour. I forever admire and hold a special place in my heart for them, for all the time and effort they have given me and our friendship.

#peppapigssnootybooties

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thebatfamfanatic · 3 years

Text

Six Times He Met Her

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, guy taking advantage of a minor in first chap, mention of underage smut in fourth chap, making out?, violence, mentions of blood/injury, main character death, adult language, angst

A/N: First thing I’ve written on Tumblr!! Tell me if anybody likes it, or if I broke your heart. And yes, I know I’m evil.

The first time he saw you was around 2:30 in the morning. Jason was squatting on the edge of a rooftop in Gotham, surveying the dark scenery below him.

Somehow, there was still plenty of traffic on the dirty streets, plenty of cars honking and driving around. Jason always wondered who the fuck needed to be somewhere at 2 am.

He fiddled with a loose seam on the Robin uniform he sported each night, hunting down the assholes of Gotham (pretty much 70% of the city) and putting them in jail, where they belonged.

At 16, Jason Todd technically should have been in bed, maintaining a healthy sleep schedule and doing some rich kid shit during the day. Of course, his adoptive (long story) father, Bruce Wayne, richest playboy in Gotham, employed him to be his little tweety bird sidekick at night, so here he was, at the rendezvous watching the streets. yay. A scream came from an alley nearby. Jason stood, stretched his legs, and leaped down from the roof onto the ground. He pinpointed the alleyway where the noise was coming from and raced into it. A girl, about his age, had been cornered by some bitch dude who thought he could take advantage of this girl. Not on Robin’s watch.

Before the girl could scream again, the guy was on the ground and Jason was helping her up. She shakily took the hand he offered her and looked him in the eye. Shit, she had gorgeous eyes. Jason froze for a second, lost in her beauty, before clearing in his throat.

“Hi. I’m Robin, uh, you probably knew that. Are you okay, ma’am?”

He hated the squeak that came out of his mouth. He sounded like a fucking 5 year old. The girl raised her eyebrow. She had recovered rather quickly. “You don’t have to call me ma’am. I’m not some rich-ass royal whatever from Britain.” Jason liked this one. Sassy, but just so. He inquired where she lived, and she gave him the address. With his grappling hook at the ready, Jason pulled her closer to him. She jumped at the sudden closeness, but seemed to enjoy it. Maybe? He didn’t know shit about girls.

Jason shot the hook, propelling them up in the air, and landed on a rooftop. They continued this routine until he got in front of her house. It was still several seconds before he released her waist.

She started to walk towards her door, before stopping.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Sorry, what?” Jason blinked.

“I thought you were smart, Robin. Its my name, dumb ass.”

Then Y/N disappeared into her house. Jason stood there foolishly outside on her front lawn for a while, thinking about the girl he had just met. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he realized 10 minutes later that he had forgotten to ask about where her family was and everything.

Oh well. Bruce would be expecting him anyways. Jason shot his grappling hook and started home, still dazed from the encounter.

The second time you guys met was two weeks later. Jason was just Jason Todd, a normal 10th grader living in the shadow of his (adopted) older brother Dick Grayson. Nobody paid much attention to him, and he didn’t really mind. Mostly Jason focused on getting A’s in class and then retreating into the library until Golden Boy’s after school clubs were over.

That is, until you walked in. It sounded as if you had just moved here, and for a minute, Jason felt a little sorry for you. I mean, Gotham wasn’t the greatest place to spend high school, or any grade, in his opinion.

You looked at your schedule from across the hall and then up at the locker next to him. For a second, your eyes met his and Jason was content. Lost in those brilliant colors. And then you looked away and started walking towards him. He realized just in time maybe he should stop leaning over your locker as you stopped next to him.

“Hi. Y/N. Just moved here. Looks like we’re locker neighbors.”

Jason was about to reply with “I know” but restrained himself. “Jason. Nice to meet you. Congrats on moving to this shitshow.”

He managed to not grin like an idiot as you laughed. The sound was music to his ears, like beautiful bells. God, he was being sappy.

“It’s not much of a shitshow when you’re here.” Ooh, she flirts too. Jason smirked as you opened your locker and dumped your stuff inside, pulling out the things you needed for your first class.

The first bell shrieked just as you closed your locker. “See you around, Jason.”

The small smile you gave him made his day, and he almost forgot to get to class. Yes, you were certainly one of a kind, and yes, Jason wanted you. The question was how to get to that point.

You guys had a couple classes together, and frequently sat at the same table during lunch, so it wasn’t long before you were quick friends with Jason. However, the next notable time you met was a little while after he got your number.

Jason was laying on his bed, scrolling mindlessly through Tumblr as he thought about ways to ask you out.

Y/N, would you grant me the honor of going out with me? No, too Romeo and Juliet.

Hey, want to grab ice cream? He had to make it clear what his intentions were. Then it wouldn’t be weird if he kissed you, right?

Oh, god, if he fucking kissed you….what would that be like? Before Jason could start fantasizing, his fingers were flying across the keyboard and he had sent a text to you. What did he do, what did he-

Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to see that new movie this weekend. It seems like something you would enjoy.

Hm. That was actually pretty good. Where did he come up with that?

Jason had just started inspecting his fingers for some kind of sign of being possessed by smooth-with-girls-syndrome when you responded. He looked up and read it quickly.

Sure, I’d love that! Thanks for thinking of me ❤️

A heart. You had put a heart at the end of it. Did that mean you knew it was a date?

Jason sighed. He certainly hoped so.

The weekend date went good. By the end of it, Jason was sure you knew it was a date. The second one passed, and then the third. The third one was when you hesitantly pecked him on the cheek. The fourth was when he kissed you actually. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was just enough for him to take you on a fourth date. An actual “will you go out with me on a date” kind of thing.

He took you to a restaurant in the fancy part of things. You two ate food that two broke 16 year olds technically shouldn’t have been able to afford, but Bruce helped Jason out.

Jason drove you home afterwards and discussed the topic of the upcoming summer during the car ride. What you were doing, where he was going. The entire time, Jason had butterflies in his stomach. He wasn’t sure how to act. Was he messing it all up, or were you actually into him?

Once he parked in front of your house and walked you up to the stoop, you looked at him. He noticed you were biting your lip nervously, and god, why did he think that was so hot? “My parents aren’t home.” It was the softest Jason had ever heard you speak, but he knew what you meant. He smiled gently, and kissed you again. This one was destined to last longer, and before either of you realized it, you had opened your door and you were leading him to your bedroom.

That night was one neither of you would forget, and by the end of it, Jason had officially asked out successfully.

You and Jason spent a lot of time together after that. You met his older brother, Dick (who was very happy for Jason, too happy in his opinion) and his dad, Bruce Wayne. Bruce was cool, but very busy all the time.

By two months, Jason still hadn’t told you his identity as Robin, and he was running out of excuses. One day, you confronted him, assuming he was cheating on you. He tried everything, but he had to go out on patrol.

Jason left that night assuming you were broken up. The entire patrol, he wasn’t himself. Truth was, he loved you so much he was afraid of losing you. That had become his greatest fear. It was that night everything went wrong.

You were out taking a late night walk. Down by the pier, a cold wind was blowing, and as you walked past warehouse after warehouse, you pulled your coat tighter.

You were affected as well, and confused about where you and your boyfriend stood. Did you guys just breakup? Did he love you? Did–

A scream echoed from one of the warehouses. You turned, afraid of stepping closer but afraid of leaving the person. Eventually, your curiosity won over and you climbed up several crates to peer into the window.

What you saw inside almost made you scream yourself. Robin, the hero everybody talked about, lay defenseless and bloody on the ground as a tall man-the Joker- whacked him over and over again with a crowbar.

You gasped, wanting to help, but you knew that would be foolish. You would just get in the way for a minute. Tears started to form in your eyes as Robin weakly cried out from the pain. He looked so…helpless.

Joker relentlessly beat him with the crowbar, and Robin’s mask began to come off. You rubbed the tears from your eyes just as the mask fell to the ground.

“No.” was the only thing that you could muster. Jason lay on the ground in the bloody Robin suit. Jason fucking Todd. There was your boyfriend, being beaten to death by the asshole of all assholes. That was why he kept disappearing at night, because he fucking protected the city!

You were mad at yourself for being so cruel to Jason without knowing what was really going on. You barely paid attention as Batman and Nightwing suddenly burst through the windows.

Joker laughed, and said something you couldn’t hear from the outside. Probably taunting Batman as he watched his apprentice get beat to death.

A fight broke out, Batman lunging at Joker as Nightwing rushed to Jason, laying broken on the ground. You had just enough time to duck as a Batarang came swooping out of the hands of the Caped Crusader and straight through the window you were looking through.

It was then you realized how close Jason was to death, and what you needed to do. The window pricked your jacket as you jumped through it, but you didn’t care. Gymnastics back in 6th grade helped when you landed awkwardly. Nightwing spun around, and it wasn’t hard to figure out that was Dick, which meant Bruce was Batman.

However, none of that mattered when Jason was half dead in front of you. Nightwing- Dick- made no effort to stop you as you knelt in front of Jason. “No, no, no.” You cradled his head in your hands, trying hard not to recognize how limp his body was, and how his chest barely moved as he struggled to breathe.

Jason’s eyes were closed, tears running down his face silently. You were crying as well, mumbling curses and things that made no sense.

“Please, don’t be dead. Please, I-I love you.”

You watched Jason make no acknowledgement he could hear you, watched him breathe once more. His chest rose and never fell.

You screamed and buried your head in his costume, not caring about getting blood on your face. Dick pulled you away wordlessly, out of the warehouse. You barely registered that the warehouse exploded behind you a few seconds later.

Dick let you sob into his shoulder for what seemed like hours. Him and Bruce exchanged a short conversation, both riddled with grief.

Six times you and Jason had met, and that was the last.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd angst #jason todd smut #jason todd fluff #dc comics #robin!jason

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eloves-writes · 3 years

Text

a failed attempt to hate you

(tristan dugray)

a/n: i can only apologise if this writing is terrible, i wrote most of this in the middle of the night hopped up on medication for my disgusting cold. i hope it makes sense. anywho thanks for reading, enjoy, mwah <3

screw mr medina for making you help tristan study. you knew he knew from rory your inherent disdain for him, and it wasn’t your fault he was falling behind therefore not your responsibility to help him (as you had told mr medina last tuesday, with no effect). it was now sunday morning and you held little hope he would actually show up this time; he had somehow managed to cancel on your little study date 6 times already and it had only been 5 days since you were handed this apparently mammoth task. honestly, you didn’t expect him to show up at all, especially not anytime before noon- for which reasons you had made the decision put on your usual lazy sunday morning reading in bed get-up, which included (but was not limited to) an oversized rock concert shirt rory’s friend lane had given you in an attempt to clear her closet of non-christian attire, nothing but underwear underneath since you wouldn’t plan on leaving the comfort of your bedsheets for many hours, and a loose silk scrunchie you accidentally stole from rory keeping your hair out of your eyes.

your book of choice today was ‘harry potter and the goblet of fire’ , the most recently released chapter of the boy wizard’s adventures at hogwarts. the clock beside you read 9:15 as you comfied yourself for a morning of magic and adventure, which naturally was ended a mere 8 minutes later at 9:23 when the doorbell rang downstairs. you assumed your mother would answer it, but when it rang a second time you remembered your parents had both gone out to watch your sibling’s soccer match and you’d have to get it yourself.

it didn’t even cross your mind to put pants on, or that it may not be the postman at the door, until you opened it to see your very favourite chilton student whose eyes had hastily wandered to your bare legs. typical high school boy, you thought to yourself before your brain actually grasped the situation and kick started into action.

‘tristan. hi.’ you said with a slight shock in your voice.

‘erm, hi. i hope i’m not interrupting anything,’ he smirked, glancing down at your thighs again.

you rolled your eyes so aggressively you hoped mr medina could hear it from wherever he was spending his day, irritating boy-less and free to do whatever he wanted with his time.

‘you’re not,’ you quipped. ‘i just didn’t expect you to actually show up this time. and early may i add, i’m sure we said 11.’

‘we did, but i’ve got plans later so i thought i’d come by earlier and get this over with.’

‘how did you know i didn’t have plans? i might have been busy before 11.’

he pulled a face of amusement and you could swear you saw a hint of sarcasm shining through his eyes too. ‘right. are you done talking now or can i come in?’

‘you can come in, i guess,’ you sighed, closing the door behind him and showing him to the kitchen table. ‘wait here, i’ll go and get my books.’

‘grab some pants whilst you’re at it.’

‘stop talking,’ you called as you walked upstairs.

you came back downstairs a few minutes later fully-clothed and carrying your english notes to see that tristan had wandered from the chair you specifically remembered telling him to sit in, and was instead tracing a finger along the bookcase that stretched across the far wall of your living room. for a moment you just watched him nosey into your life; the framed certificates, the family photos, the 5 tapes of ‘beauty and the beast’ stacked atop of each other because it was your favourite film when you were 9 and practically every living relative had bought you a copy. beside those was a picture of you dressed as princess belle at disneyworld with chocolate ice cream smeared from cheek to cheek, a huge smile plastered between. tristan picked it up and turned to face you.

‘thoroughly adorable. seriously, you should go for this look more often.’

‘ha ha,’ you grimaced, snatching it off him and placing it back on the shelf. ‘are we studying or reminiscing on my past fashion choices?’

‘oo, someone’s in a good mood this morning huh,’ he teased. you pulled another face, once again silently cursing mr medina for completely ruining not just your day, but in fact your whole week. by god this boy got more irritating the more time you spent with him- it had only been 10 minutes, but it was 10 minutes longer than you ever previously had or ever wanted to.

‘can i get a drink before we start?’ he asked, redirecting the conversation and walking past you back into the kitchen. he began opening various cupboards, searching for a glass. ‘where’s the-’

‘why yes, tristan. you can have a drink,’ you snarked, opening the cupboard behind him with a dramatic flourish. he raised his eyebrows at you and reached forward to grab a glass, leaning over you as he did so. you caught a whiff of his cologne and almost forgot to dislike him for a moment.

‘there’s, um, soda in the ... fridge,’ you told him, voice unwillingly faltering as he looked down to meet your eyes. he had pretty eyes. pretty, blue, sparkling, stupid, annoying, asshole eyes.

you found the thick tension sickening. you refused to be another girl at school who simply swooned over him when he walked past your locker. you didn't like him. you were here to teach him english. because he was dumb. and actually, his eyes weren’t that nice.

he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and you both sat down at the table and began reading through your analysis of ‘to kill a mockingbird’, adamantly pretending not to see him staring at you the whole time.

why? he had had every popular and pretty girl in the whole of chilton, how was he ever so starved of female attention that he would look at you so admirably when you liked to make it clear you despised him? in fact, you enjoyed making a special effort to flip him off, or pull a face at him when he walked by, or kick his chair extra hard in spanish, or... oh shit. you had seen it from an outside point of view now, and it was glaringly obvious; maybe you did like him, just a little bit. shit. rory owed lorelai 10$ and a cheeseburger from luke’s, though you didn’t want to have to admit she was right when she’d said you were like a kindergarten boy pulling a girl’s ponytails because he thought she was pretty.

‘hey tristan,’ you started, breaking the comfortable silence between his questions and suddenly nervous to talk to him. stupid, it was still the exact same boy you’d been complaining about all week, nothing new.

he looked up from your notes. ‘what’s up princess?’

that was definitely new.

‘don’t call me princess’ -he smirked irritatingly- ‘do you need to stay much longer? i mean, is there anything else you want help with?’

‘trying to get rid of me?’

‘no! no. i just thought that you’d only stay and pretend to listen to me for like, half an hour then vanish. it’s 11:30 and you’ve been through my whole binder.’

‘it is? time flies.’

‘tristan.’

‘i do care about my grades, you know. and you’re a good teacher, i might have a chance at an A.’

‘why didn't you show up the last 6 times we planned then?’

he put down his pen- your pen, actually. it had pink sparkles on the lid. ‘got to keep up my street cred.’

‘ha ha. funny,’ you replied as blankly as possible, pulling back a smile you could feel in your stomach. you made eye contact again and, like every other time since you’d sat down and started studying, you held each other’s gaze for longer than necessary. funny how realising you like someone makes you suddenly act like it.

‘i should get going then right,’ he said, picking his jacket from the back of his chair.

you felt weird, almost as if you didn't want him to leave after praying earlier he wouldn't show up. alas, your parents would be home soon and you would be willing to bet money that tristan would have some interesting jokes about your being home alone that would not slide with your dad.

‘yeah. i hope you get that A,’ you said, accidentally smiling as you walked him to the door.

tristan turned to lean on the frame of the now-open door and put on a face of mock surprise. ‘my, my, y/n. was that a kind comment and a smile? you’re spoiling me.’

‘shut up, i hope you fail.’

he smiled back. ‘you really mean that?’

‘i guess not.’

there was yet another beat of heavy silence.

‘see you monday.’

you closed the front door as he walked down the drive, but noticed tristan’s car keys still sat on the kitchen table. a porsche, of course. you picked them up and reopened the door to his fist poised to knock. the two of you laughed awkwardly for a second.

‘i forgot my-’

‘you forgot your-’

another awkward laugh. jesus christ this was uncomfortable. you passed him the keys, and with absolutely no warning at all, your lips were suddenly met with his. they were soft and confident, and his free hand held your face as you tried to process the new situation. you quickly melted into the kiss, letting him take control until he pulled away and smiled that sparkly smile you didn't hate as much as you tried to.

‘didn't see that one coming,’ you said breathily, brushing some loose hairs off of your face.

‘i knew you didn’t hate me.’

‘ever the arrogant twat.’

‘hey, does this mean you’ll stop kicking my chair in spanish?’

‘absolutely not. in fact, i think i’ll kick it harder.’

‘as long as you let me do that again.’

tags: @leossmoonn for inspiring me to start writing again, @account123445 & @lmaoidekanymore6 for asking me to post tristan fics! (couldn’t figure out how to make the tags work but if you read this, you know ✨)

#tristan dugray #tristan gilmore girls #chad michael murray #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fic #gilmore girls fanfiction #can't think of anymore tags so i'll just hope this does ok on its own

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’) and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And -

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

��Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar.

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him.

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned.

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is!

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does?

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.”

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat.

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different.

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth.

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation.

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more.

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #best friend!harry styles #loose ankles #lol #one of my fav things ive written #i got carried away during the smut.... sorry

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willyoulovemeinthemorning · 4 years

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The Prodigal Daughter Chapter 1

Summary: As the secret daughter of Jason Gideon, you’ve always had a certain proclivity towards profiling. After finishing the Academy, you finally have your chance in the BAU- only months after your dad’s passing. Will it all be too much? Will you find yourself sharing another proclivity with your father for a certain genius with big puppy dog eyes? A/N: Hello! This is my first fic in a very long time, but this story idea has been living in my head for upwards of 6 or 7 years! Please go easy on me, and I hope you enjoy! a big thanks to @candlesandsoftrain for being a great beta! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader  Category: Fluff/getting to know you games with the team Content Warning: nothing in this chapter except lots of flirting, tension, sexually charged drinking games, etc. Later chapters will include NSFW Word Count: 4000+

Chapter 1

The years moved by much too fast for your liking. You were older than you were willing to admit, and the years had been hard. Time moved so oddly- it was so difficult and slow when it was happening, but when you looked back, it was as if it sped by like a freight train.

Today was your first day at your new job- you were 27 and you’d been waiting your whole life for this day to finally come. After hearing stories about your father all through your life; catching the monsters in the dark as well as those that hide in plain sight… you wanted to be a superhero too. And lucky for you, you had a certain proclivity towards reading people. So, you became a profiler. And after years of grueling school, training and fighting to earn your place with no one knowing the legacy in your blood line, you did it.

No, those weren’t tears in your eyes… it was just dusty in the bullpen, that was all. You could feel him everywhere. You knew this was where he lived and breathed and worked for so much of his life. Your mom never understood how you ended up being so understanding about never seeing him, while your brother spent so much of your lives incredibly bitter and angry at him for “abandoning” you both. You always told Stephen that dad spent every minute of every day trying to make the world a safer place for the two of you to grow up in. And now you could finally continue his life’s work.

You caught a few pairs of eyes looking at you when you entered the bullpen for the first time, walking through like you’d been there a million times before- because in your imagination, your dreams, you had. Dad was always so descriptive with his words, and it was never hard to get lost in his stories.

You walked right to the Unit Chief’s office, knowing that Agent Hotchner was already in there waiting for you. You were supposed to have your first meeting on Monday, but when the team didn’t get back in time from their last case- a strangler in Minnesota, he had called you and you rescheduled to accommodate those dang annoying serial killers. Now it was Wednesday, and you could feel the tired energy in the room. It was filled with the sounds of scribbling pens and pencils on paper, the groans and squeaks of chairs as everyone tried to stay comfortable while doing their paperwork. You spotted a few very attractive people around you, but tried to keep your eyes forward as you headed for your destination.

After knocking on the door, you heard a shuffling of papers as a low, gritty voice welcomed you, “Come on in.”

“Hello, Agent Hotchner. Nice to see you again.” You offered your hand, which he took with his baseball mitt sized one. It was rough and strong, and reminded you of your fathers when you were young. You could tell these hands had seen a lot of conflict.

“Y/N , you’ve grown up a lot since last I saw you.” He had a kind smile on his face, which surprised you, even after all this time. Aaron Hotchner was always such a serious man, even when you were younger. “And please, call me Aaron. You know that.”

You chuckled in response. “I know, but it feels weird to call you that now that you’re my boss.”

“Hotch will do then. Morgan will give you quite a hard time if he hears you calling me ‘Agent Hotchner’, I can promise you that. Sit, sit. Let’s get through all the necessary annoyances so I can properly introduce you to your new team.”

After all of the finalized paperwork and introductory nuisances, Hotch finally stood up, indicating it was time to enter the bullpen again, but with a promise of introductions to your new team. You felt a small pang in your heart. You wished your dad could have been here to do this instead of Aaron. He took notice of your second of discomfort- something you were sure to get used to quickly working with profilers.

“Y/N, he’s here… in you. I know how proud he would be of you.” He said to you with a hand falling to your shoulder.

With a smile, you accepted the comfort, turning to look at him again. “Would you mind… could we see Uncle Dave first? I think it would make me feel a little better to have him next to me for this.” That damn dust was at it again. You were fine, really. You’d been preparing for this emotion for months now- there was nothing to surprise you.

With a gentle smile, Aaron- no, Hotch, you remembered- nodded. “Of course. Follow me to his office.” It didn’t escape your notice that, as you followed him, you were on your way to your dad’s old office. Each step brought you to a place you’d heard about, thought about, dreamt about, but had never seen. But when you walked in behind Hotch, you knew this was nothing like your father would have kept it. It just screamed Rossi.

“Y/n! If it isn’t the smartest and brightest star from the Academy, falling right here into our laps at the BAU!” Dave cheered as he saw you, shooting up from his chair and almost running to you, pulling you into his arms while Hotch closed the door to offer you all some privacy.

“Uncle Dave, you can’t believe how amazing it is to have you here on my first day.” You said into his shoulder, holding him close. He was always such a big supporter of your career- there every step of the way whenever your dad couldn’t be. You always said that you were lucky- god blessed you with a loving, mildly helicopter mother, and two superhero dads so fight all the monsters for you.

“You’re gonna be great, kid. Unless your academy grades and reputation were all a lie to get you out of their hair!” He laughed, low and warm.

You giggled, pulling back from him and punching him lightly in the arm. “Rude.” You took a deep breath, and both men noticed that you were preparing yourself to say something important. “Aaron, Uncle Dave... I made it here on my own, with my mother’s maiden name and no one knowing who my father is. I am so proud to be the daughter of Jason Gideon, and I miss him every day… but I think I want to keep my birth last name a secret for now, if you’re both okay with that. They legally changed my name when I was a baby, and while I would be so proud to have his last name again, I’m- just not ready to hold up his legacy just yet.” You explained to them, hoping they understood. Your parents had decided very early on that they didn’t want you to have the last name Gideon. It was just- too dangerous. Your father had put away too many bad people, especially people that preyed upon little girls, to risk your life that way. So while you thought of yourself as Y/N Gideon in your mind, you’d never said it out loud before. Not once.

“Of course, kiddo. Whatever you want, we’ll follow your lead. Hopefully Garcia can’t find anything with your last name, but we’ll have Kevin keep an eye on her search history in case she finds anything. But if you’re worried about anyone finding out, I would tell her and promise her to secrecy though. Because if super tech genius finds out before you tell her… everyone will know.” He explained, and you laughed. You’d heard about Garcia. Your dad used to drive her crazy. You considered Rossi’s advice and nodded, understanding and deciding to think on it.

“Ready?” Hotch said after a moment, gesturing to the bullpen, where you could see several people grouped up at a desk, staring into Rossi’s office with curiosity and perhaps a little bit of uncertainty.

“As I’ll ever be.” Rossi squeezed your hand and you smiled at him, a big toothy smile shining back at you. With two men you knew you’d already trust your life with by your side, you walked out of the room knowing that these people who you already knew so much about would soon also hold your life in their hands. “Team, I’d like to introduce you to the new member of our team, Y/N L/N. She’s transferred in with top marks from the Academy, and she’s been highly recommended by all of her professors.”

You blushed at his compliments, rolling your eyes at him. “I didn’t have the highest marks in ALL of my classes. Shooting targets took me a while.” You smile, waving at the team awkwardly. “Hi everyone, it’s an honor to be here with you. I’ve heard so much about all of you. You’re all pretty famous around the bureau. I can’t wait to meet you all and get to know you as my team instead of people I’ve been idolizing for 10 years!”

Everyone laughed, and a tall, dark and handsome man walked forward with a giant grin on his face. “Hey, Y/N, I’m Derek Morgan. You are welcome to continue to idolize me as much as you’d like.” You could have snorted, he was so much like your dad described.

“Nice to meet you, Agent Morgan.” You said with a mildly flirty smile, holding your hand out to him happily. No worries for you, you were definitely going to like your job if you had him to look at all the time.

“That’s enough touching for now, little newbie,” a big beautiful blonde said from behind him. “That is my man-candy you’re ogling and groping, thank you very much.” There was no venom to her words, just something that you could only describe as adorable teasing. She was so colorful, it was almost as if there was a light shining around her. She was just a glowing ball of sunshine… You knew you’d be fast friends with her. “I’m Penelope Garcia, resident tech Goddess and most loyal beck and call gal.”

You took her hand and shook it, before doing a slight curtsy, earning you a giggle. “An honor to meet you, Tech Goddess Garcia.”

“Ignore her, they’re perfect for each other because of their over inflated egos.” You heard a blazé voice coming from the other side of Derek Morgan. “He’s eye candy for us all, much to her dismay. She’s never been one for sharing. I’m Emily, one of the few normal ones here.”

“Normal, pfft. She’s far from normal. You should hear her talk about her cat. Jenniffer Jareau, but my friends call me JJ.”

You took both of their hands in firm handshakes, grinning at them both. “Nice to meet you, and thank you for the permission to ogle, Agents. As far as normal, I sure hope not. Normal is vastly overrated.” You grinned at them. Damn they were cute. Was this whole team models who decided to become do-gooders and join the FBI?

“Halloweentown, 1998, said by Debbie Reynolds.” A small voice in the back of the group piped in, confident in words and speed, but somehow… demure and shrouded in uncertainty, too. The team parted so you two could see each other, and you swear your heart stopped beating for a few seconds. In front of you was the prettiest, most adorable, hottest guy you’d ever seen. He had a sexy professor thing going on, but simultaneously looked like he was an anxious teenager, terrified of being bullied by this newcomer.

You longed to hold him and protect this stranger from the rest of the world and heal any wounds he had succumbed to in the time before you. He was staring at you too, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, pupils a little bigger than you can only assume they would normally be. After a snicker broke you both from the weird moment, pretty boy smiled a little and gave an awkward wave. “Hi. Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Oh. God. Your heart stopped a second time, and you swore, this is what a stroke felt like. You’d heard about Spencer for the last ten years. Your father loved him almost as much as he loved you and your brother. Maybe even more sometimes. The BAU resident genius, IQ of 187, eidetic memory, born in Las Vegas and wasn’t allowed in most casinos due to his card counting ability. Ability to empathize and love in a beautiful and incredible way- your father adored him, and because of how he spoke of him, you… you’d always had a crush on this faceless idea in your head with his wild mop of hair and tall, lanky frame. You had a general picture from all these years, but nothing had prepared you for this.

“H-Hi. I’m Y/N. N-Nice to meet you.” You said, trying your hardest not to sound like a little school girl with a crush on her teacher. You’d just met the man, for god sakes. You heard another snicker, and this time you knew it was from Morgan just from the proximity of the sound and the testosterone you could feel from the gesture. You tried to ignore your flaming red cheeks, and held out a hand a second before remembering that he hated being touched by strangers. A big germaphobe, always calculating the risk of what contact could mean for him. But before you had a chance to pull away, he reached out and took your hand, giving it a squeeze. You must have looked as shocked as you felt, but no one else noticed because everyone was staring at Reid with the same expression you were wearing. And to be honest, he looked just as surprised, if not more so.

Garcia made a breathy squeak sound, and somehow, that broke the tension of the moment, and you and Reid pulled away at the same time, both looking like you’d just been shocked by electricity. You stretched your hand out, staring at it, feeling on edge all over again, thinking about how good his hand felt in yours, and how good it would probably feel other pla-

“Well, I hope you all will be on your best behaviors, and treat Y/N like you would want to be treated as a newcomer in a team like ours, seeing what we see.” Hotch finally broke the silence. “Y/N, if you have any problems, come find myself or Rossi and we’ll help sort them all out.” Nodding, you looked at him and smiled, suddenly very embarrassed that your boss and your uncle just witnessed all of that. As profilers, they were going to come to so many conclusions, and each was more embarrassing than the last.

“Pretty boy and pretty girl, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-” You heard Derek sing-songing and he walked away, looking like the cat who got the cream. He was interrupted only when Emily punched him quite hard in the arm, looking at you with a wink and a smirk as she headed back to her desk as well. You tried to avoid looking at the genius again, but it was… difficult to say the least. You wanted to memorize everything about him. You wanted to pick his brain and listen to every fact he’d ever memorized. You wanted to experience him in all the ways your father had gotten to and more.

You watched as the team dissipated and then your eyebrows furrowed. “Rossi?” You asked, stopping him in his tracks as he was headed back to his office. “Where’s my desk?” He looked over his shoulder at you and you could tell he was holding back a shit eating grin as he pointed with his thumb to the desk directly across from Reid.

Fuck. You both looked at each other… or well, you looked at him, and he looked away like he’d been caught doing something and sat down, looking at his paperwork blankly. As you headed to your new desk, you’d give anything to know what was happening inside that massive brain of his.

Staring at your empty desk, you imagined what you could put there. Pictures of your family, pictures of your friends and your cats… One day you would put up a picture of your father… one day. For now, you grabbed your briefcase from your side and opened it up. You started unpacking some of your first day necessities; pens and notebooks, little toys and bright objects to remind yourself that there is good in the world. Your pile of books out; you always kept at least ten books on you at all times. One for every kind of mood you could be in- and at least three that you hadn’t read yet and were planning on.

As you prepped your desk, you could feel those eyes on you, analyzing your every move. You wanted to look up and see if you could find what he was figuring out within those eyes, but you tried to keep busy so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself again.

“Another book nerd, I see.” You heard that deep, caramelly sweet voice behind you. Derek sat on your desk right next to you and smiled a toothy smile at you. “Pretty girl likes to read, huh?”

Smiling at him, you raised a brow. “Reading is an exercise in empathy; an exercise in walking in someone else’s shoes for a while.” You were about to quote the originator, but someone else beat you to it.

“Malorie Blackman. British children’s literature writer and science fiction author.” Your head snapped to the person in front of you, who wasn’t looking at either of you.

Smiling at him, you nodded, and then turned to Morgan. “Yup, Malorie Blackman. Empathy is a huge part of the job, right? Reading allows us to experience a million different perspectives- which, as proflers, is necessary to catch the bad guys. I read so I can try to understand as many perspectives in this world as possible.”

Derek looked a little impressed, at least, and you couldn’t get a read on the gorgeous mop of brown hair on the desk across from you. Derek picked up one of the books still on your desk, not organized in your little library yet. “I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings?” He comments, and you catch Spencer’s eyes flick up at the title, curious.

“It’s my favorite. Not only do I love birds, but I’m a very big Maya Angelou fan. I’ve… always kind of felt like a bird stuck in a cage. Flitting about, trying to figure out what to do with my life and who I am... No book has ever made me feel more seen or understood as a human being.” You caught those big, interested eyes and you almost felt like you might have shared too much. You’ve always been an open book, but somehow, the way he was looking at you made you feel more vulnerable than you had… ever.

Derek nodded and smiled, putting the book down on your desk. “Well, lady genius, I’m going to try and get everyone to get together tonight for drinks, would you be interested in getting to know us in a more fun environment, or would you rather just go to the library with Pretty Boy over here and nerd out together?” He teased, making both of you blush.

“I-I don’t know. I’ve spent all of the years of my adulthood studying and sleeping and working to get here, so I haven’t really… spent a lot of time at bars?” Admitting that wasn’t the best feeling, but better to be honest than try to make up a lame excuse.

“Do I hear we have a light weight to peer pressure?” Derek said, loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone else. JJ and Emily looked enthused, and Rossi poked his head out of his office to chime in.

“Someone’s convincing Miss nose in a book Y/N to go out for drinks tonight? I’m in and I’m buying!” That was met with an uproarious approval from everyone on the team, with the exception of Reid, who was just looking at you, seemingly waiting on you to decide.

You bit your lip, noticing how Reid’s eyes fell to your lips in reaction. Well… if you could spend more time with the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen looking at you like that more… “Well… I guess. Sure. Sure, okay, I’m in.” You finally agreed, everyone whooping and hollering in celebration at you giving in. “Doctor Reid? What about you?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, and you could swear you saw his eyes dilate more.

“Oh, pretty boy barely ever comes out drinking with us anymore. He’s always holing himself up in his apartment- books from floor to ceiling, books in the fridge, freezer, on the bed, in his drawers and closets…” Derek teased, reaching over to Spencer and ruffling his hair.

Reid looked at Morgan and shoved his hand away and tried to fix his hair, rolling his eyes. “I do not have books in my freezer. That would be a terrible spot to put them, it would completely ruin the delicate spines.” You smiled at him in support, and he sat up a little straighter. “I… I’m in. For tonight.” He looked right at you when he said it, and you couldn't help but feel a little flutter in your stomach at the idea that he was going just to get to know you.

Morgan seemed to be thinking the same thing, and the face he gave Reid as he stood up and sauntered away said more than he needed to outloud. Once Reid looked away from Morgan, your eyes met and you both smiled again. “You’re a fan of Maya Angelou?” He asked, nodding towards your book.

“I am. I was always drawn to books that had birds on the covers, but then I actually read it and realized how beautiful it is on the inside.” You held the book in your hands gently. It was a mutual love, one your shared with your dad.

“The number of bird species in a person’s surroundings correlates directly to happiness levels.” He said, smiling at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. The attention should have made you uncomfortable, but it just made you feel warm… important.

“Really?” You searched his eyes, wondering how much information was in that brain, stacked away for use when necessary. “That’s so interesting. I thought most people found birds annoying because of all the noise.”

He shook his head. “On the surface, they think it’s annoying, but once one becomes used to the sounds all around them, they find the background noise comforting. Most people find absolute silence much more disconcerting.”

“Absolute silence, for sure. But comfortable silence between two people who find solace in each other… I think that’s my favorite background noise.” He looked at you as you spoke, a small bit of hope flickering in both of your faces. You’d felt… alone, since your fathers spirit left this world months ago. It had been so hard to be at school and unable to go to his services, terrified of people finding out who your father was and that information altering your career. You hadn’t even applied to the bureau until you had your recommendation letters in order- you didn’t want Aaron giving you any false starts just because he knew. You liked to visit his grave once a month and tell him all the things you wrote in your letters to him. You carried around his private notebook as a reminder of the people in the world he saved, the people you wanted to save. You clutched your briefcase close, knowing you couldn’t put it in your desk with Reid watching you so closely. You’d find time to slip it in later, when no one was looking. With that eidetic memory, you knew he’d recognize it immediately, and you didn’t want his curious gaze to ruin your secret just yet. You wanted the team to form their own opinions of you before they knew... because the moment they knew, everything would change.

Next chapter

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gale-gentlepenguin · 3 years

Text

Gale's Story Idea: 'Those of another world must die' or 'Isekai no mono ha shi ke re ba naranai'

(I probably butchered the Japanese. But the point is to give it a light novel title feel)

(Since a few people have been asking what my light novel idea was. I decided to explain it and go a bit more in-depth)

Premise: Rumors have been circulating about a Killer known only as 'Hero Eater' is targeting heroes in the Human Kingdom of Itsumo. But not everything is as it seems, Itsumo has many dark secrets and the kingdom may need a change...

The world of Itsumo.

Now the setting would be similar to most fantasy Isekai worlds. Money consists of Gold, silver, Bronze coins. Platinum coins are for the super rich.

Magic exists, Magical items exist. Levels exist.

There are dragons, goblins, the typical fantasy fair/ D&D/MMORPG feel but with a lot more twists

Summoned Heroes

When it comes to Summoned heroes things get different.

1. 'Heroes from another world' are treated above the standard people. As being summoned from another world gives them stupidly over powered abilities compared to the average citizen of Itsumo. The Elites show them favoritism.

2. Aside from obviously enhanced strength, speed, durability, and magic. They level up faster, have overall higher stats, and Summoned heroes also get some sort of Overpowered ability.

3. These over powered abilities or OPAs are ranked from S to E. Depending on that OPA, determines your lot as a 'Summoned Hero'

4. E's are the lowest. The skill is just slightly useful. Summoned heroes are still MUCH stronger than the average soldier. So these heroes are often brainwashed Coerced and put as soldiers on the front lines, or bodyguards of the elite. (Basically they are just glorified meat shields.)

4.5 There is nothing ranked lower than E. Those summoned ALWAYS have a OPA.

5. C and D Ranks are considered worlds more useful. These heroes depending on their abilities are thrown into a field where their skills can be utilized. These heroes are usually thrown a boon by the king and get funding. These heroes are the ones responsible for the innovations in technology (such as guns, refrigeration, etc). (Though in truth they have done a lot of f***ed experimentation)

6. A and B Rank are considered 'Heroes of the Kingdom'. Those heroes are the ones that you see going around and fighting demon hordes with ease. The ones you see with the harems (usually of whatever their fetish is). They basically have license to do WHATEVER they want, so long as the King doesn't intervene.

7. S Ranks. These summons are incredibly rare, but their skills are 100% broken. To put it in perspective. 1 S Rank hero could easily beat 10 A ranks without breaking a sweat. This is where the OPA's become near god like. Fortunately for some reason, only 7 S ranks can exist in the world at a time. Only when 1 dies can a new S rank otherworlder can appear. Currently the King has some of them watching over different parts of his kingdom. But all of them are considered Legendary.

8. (Little known fact that summoned heroes are often loners, losers, incels, neets, and other lesser freaks of society. Who else would willingly go to another world if their life is actually good?)

9. Some heroes do start out doing good... but power corrupts

_____________________________________________________________

Religion:

The Religion of Itsumo in stated by King Tyran. Insists that there is a kind and loving goddess (Named Oveun Ativ) that blesses Itsumo with the heroes that appear. Basically making those from another world as 'Her blessed children'.

So often regular citizens range from worshiping them or at the very least respecting them. (Though this is simply a front, the average citizen HATES these arrogant s***s. Considering the awful stuff they put them through.)

The Church also has a monopoly on Hero summoning. The ritual that they use is as follows.

1. A young girl will be chosen once a year from every village. (basically not where the nobles live.) It was considered a great honor. (and if the town didnt comply the church would inform the king and that town would be burnt down and all of the young maidens there would be brain washed and taken anyway) A maiden will be trained in magic for several years until her 18th birthday. During this time she must not have relations with men, must not touch the blood of an animal, must read the sacred scriptures and serve the church without question. (Indoctrination)

2. According to the church, the Summoning ritual will then have the young Maiden perform the summoning magic in which if performed successfully, will summon the hero and she will take the form of a portal of light which summons him. After which she will ascend and become an angel that serves the goddess. (This is not true. Its a virgin sacrifice. Those girls are killed in a ritual. Its f***ed up what the s***)

3. If a maiden summons a B or A rank hero she is regarded as an example for others to follow. For she clearly followed the doctrine of the church. She was likely Heavily rewarded by the goddess.

4. If a Maiden summoned C or D rank, they are not discussed often except by friends and family.

5. Maidens that summon E ranked Heroes are considered disgraces. Maidens that clearly did not follow the teachings of the doctrine. Their names are stricken from the records.

6. Maidens that summoned an S Rank hero. Are written into the logs as Blessed by the goddess. They are treated like Saints and some worshiped like deities. Some doctrine claim that they serve at the hands of the goddess after achieving this.

_____________________________________________________________

Economics

Summoned Heroes basically caused Economic collapse for adventurers.

Summoned heroes often hunt monsters and get rare drops, and often those with rare skills can get much more value than typical adventure guilds.

Merchants initially loved Heroes getting them rare drops but when many other worlders started selling so many Rare drops like they were common... it made rare items worth much less and drove value of such items and materials down dramatically. Newer merchants will rarely buy goods from adventurers because of this.

Blacksmiths and artificers initially also had it great. They now get access to powerful materials for cheap. Since their work is labor intensive the value of the item is much less impacted on the product. Though Other worlders with Craft skills have popped up and open businesses that have been driving other types of stores out of business since they can easily craft higher grade weapons for cheaper and faster thanks to OPAs.

The only real way to make money was in the service industry. With rare items and monsters easily hunted and sold for cheap, Restaurants, inns and Taverns have less of a thin margin. And with Otherworlders constantly moving about, the inns had constant customers. Many of these customers would throw money around and expect to be waited on hand and foot. Inns that had pretty women were often the most popular.

Brothels were very popular among Summoned heroes. Though the places that experienced the most traffic were the ones that had more ... unique characteristics. (Animal ears, pointed ears, Wings, horns.) Beast-kin were often very requested.

Societal Impacts

Women would often try to sleep with Summoned heroes. Children made with those of another world often had a chance of producing offspring with an OPA. Which meant that the kid could have a much better life.

The 'Trope' of offering the daughter for saving them was more of a way to ensure their Family had a better life. But in reality this just meant Summoned heroes often obtained harems. This resulted in declining birthrates as many summoned heroes didnt actually often marry humans. Most would simply keep the harem. Or if they did marry they would often sleep around.

Heroes that dismissed companions often left them as single mothers. Some would be lucky to remarry, but many were left single due to social stigma. The claim is that men felt insecure marrying women that have been with heroes, because how could they compare. (In reality it was more like they felt the woman had little self respect to be willing to partake in a relationship with a hero with a harem.) And the off chance the hero did comeback to the woman to find her married, the new husband was likely slaughtered. (This selfish mentality of treating women as things to be owned was disturbingly common in the summoned heroes mind)

____________________________________________________________

The Main Characters.

Oralee: A maiden that was raised in the church as long as she could remember. Her family had a lot of faith in the church and were honored that she was picked. She followed the doctrine to very high levels. Never ate meat, Never even made contact with another of the opposite sex. She dreamed of summoning an S Rank hero and bringing great honor to the goddess (As a recent S Rank passed away and hasnt been replaced yet). Though the night she along with her fellow maidens were supposed to summon heroes. The 'Hero Eater' arrived and started killing everyone.

Hunter "Hero eater": A high level individual. A skilled fighter with a plethora of weapons in his arsenal. Skilled in strange magic that seems unorthidox yet effective. He wears a skull mask with a black cloak. He wields two daggers. One Named Malice, and the other named Mercy. His goal is to kill every other worlder he comes across. What is his motive? Does he want revenge? Power? Fame? Why did he spare Oralee. What does he look like under that mask?

#gale's story ideas #do not steal #og story #og ideas #OC #Those of another world must die #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: corruption #tw: brainwashing #tw: mature themes #reblogs feedback and questions are appreciated #isekai

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fortisfiliae · 4 years

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Promised Part 17 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: None, finally

Word count: 1.2k

Part 17 - Epilogue

The year after the incident at the chapel in Ramsbury went by very uneventfully compared to your last year at Hogwarts and the weeks after, even though so much was changing. Boring was certainly not the right word to describe it. Everyone involved had wished for a bit of peace and was more than happy to live a quiet life for a bit.

Marvolo’s body had been buried appropriately. A small bribe had been enough to make the Mediwizard who had examined him confirm that he had died naturally, of old age. Marvolo had been right after all, they must have really been a bunch of quacks in St. Mungos.

Morfin wasn’t to be found anywhere. Gaunt Manor had been empty, apart from the two house-elves, when your family, Tom and you had gone there. He must have apparated to the manor after Nagini had attacked him, however. A great amount of Galleons and some potions were missing from his chamber when you searched through it. Hokey and Scrook wouldn’t tell anyone what they had seen - they were still loyal to their Masters. They didn’t want to be freed either, even begged not to be given proper clothes. So Tom gave them to Hepbzibah Smith, an old witch who was known to be an avid collector of magical antiquities and was looking for elves to serve her.

Since Morfin wasn’t there to inherit any of Marvolo’s riches, they were passed down to Tom directly. He owned Gaunt manor now, as well as the mountains of Galleons that were locked up in the Gaunt’s vaults at Gringotts. While Gaunt manor had been tempting to pack your bags and move into, both of you didn’t fancy the thought. The house was linked to countless haunting memories for Tom and despite its enormous size, it was way too cold and rigid for your liking and reminded you too much of the Gaunts themselves.

So Tom sold it to a wealthy family, muggles as far as you were aware, which must have made Marvolo turn over in his grave one last time.

Tom bought a house in your home town shortly after, smaller yet still as boastful as you had expected it to be. It even had a telephone installed, which you didn’t mention to him after you had given him a look when you had seen it, to which he had just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

You didn’t move in with him immediately, as your parents didn’t allow you to leave your home unmarried. They allowed you to visit him, though, and you did so as often as you could.

Life had gone on as it always did and you had gotten a job right after school. The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers had reached out to you after they had seen your grades and gotten a letter from Professor Slughorn. They had asked if you wanted to be trained to become a Potions Master, which was an honour not many witches and wizards were granted with. It hadn’t taken long for you to accept, so you were in close contact with one of their tutors, a witch by the name of Guiliana Toffana.

Tom had taken on a desk job for the Ministry, which paid well even if it wasn’t the most exciting work to do. He had plans though, wanted to work himself to the top one day. And for all you knew, there was no one stopping him from doing so.

Camille had started working as an assistant at Ollivander’s Wand Shop in Diagon Alley. The year had been hard to bypass for her, as she wasn’t able to see Ben as often. They sent each other owls almost daily and the only thing you worried about was that none of you were in Hogwarts anymore to help Ben out with Herbology. Tom had suggested that your little sister Elsie could help him study, as she had started her first year and had been sorted into Gryffindor.

On 1st July 1946, one year and one day after your almost-wedding, Tom invited you over to his house. You would have lied if you had said you weren’t expecting it. And he met your expectations by getting down on one knee. He asked you to marry him again, 366 days after he had done so the first time. And your answer was different now.

Only a few weeks later - you would have never thought it to be possible to organise a wedding this quickly, well, what a bit of pocket money was able to do - the big day had come.

It couldn’t have been more different from the day in Ramsbury. Your whole family, even the distant aunts and cousins, as well as all of your friends had been invited. Everyone gathered in a small castle north of the Peckforton Hills in Cheshire, where the ceremony and subsequent celebrations were to take place. Even muggles would have described the place as magical. Its old walls and lush, green lawn inside the courtyard reminded you of Hogwarts a lot.

You wore an elegant white dress, not Mother’s, but one that you had picked out yourself. One last look into the mirror before the ceremony would begin and, you even had to admit to yourself, you had never looked better.

Father had to help to calm you down before you entered the chapel with him. Walking down the aisle with the music playing and all eyes fixated on you was scarier than fighting the Gaunts had been. But Father was there by your side, leading you up to the altar safely.

And the moment you spotted Tom waiting for you there, all nerves were soothed. He bit his lip while you approached him slowly, his eyes wandering up and down your figure. A smile, one that even reached up to his eyes, formed on his face and didn’t seem to leave after he had taken in the sight.

Ben, his best man, stood behind him, and only watched Camille, your maid of honour, from the side as tears of joy ran down her face.

The officiant’s speech got drowned out by your thoughts, as you lost yourself in Tom’s eyes, standing face to face with him in front of all of the guests. The way he looked back at you, deeply but still collected, led your mind to wander.

Love surely wasn’t like it was described inside a book, no, but when the people involved were honest and trusting, it could turn out to be even better than words were able to ever describe it. You both had changed so much since you had gotten close. And you were going to change with every day that you would spend together. There was much work to be done still, many compromises to be made and a lot of healing yet to start. But you were sure that with an open heart and a tiny bit of luck, you were going to make it. And you couldn’t wait.

Time had passed by so quickly until now and it would pass by equally as fast from now on. Every day was just another grain of sand falling down the hourglass that was life. But now that every grain had Tom in it, they seemed to drop differently. Happier, more meaningful and full of expectation for what’s to come. Every grain was to be cherished and the two of you promised that to each other when you both said the words. “I do.”

The end.

Well, we’re done :’) I’m a bit sappy, it’s hard for me to let this story go. I actually can’t believe I pushed through and really finished it. 43k words, a short novel. Wow. And I wouldn’t have been able to do it, if all of you hadn’t liked, shared and commented on this story. I really need the feedback and you all were so kind and gave it to me. So, credits to you, we made it. And as always, thank you for reading!

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ruthoakenshield · 2 years

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Miss Fay and Richard (Part 3)

*** This tale is for 18+ AGE READERS ONLY!!!

**** This part mentions a drunk driving accident, multiple deaths in Fay’s family as well as Elder neglect, so if this triggers you, proceed with caution!

* I do not claim any rights to the businesses or products mentioned by name. The Squeaky Peanut Bar and Grille are of my own invention as is Miss Fay. The other actors mentioned I have no claims to and this is a work of FICTION. No disrespect is intended to any of them. Fluff and smut to come later on. ;)

Feel free to share on this site only and reblog or tag others who might enjoy it, but please give credit where it is due. thanks guys and gals!

As always, constructive criticism, comments, and praise is always welcome. I’ve been in a bit of a writer’s slump, so if it is shit, I’m sorry. You’ve been warned! LOL!!! ;)

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Need to catch up with the first few chapters? (Read Part 1, Chapters 1-5 HERE) (Part 2, Chapters 6-10 HERE)

Chapter 11

Heading home, you sigh and stop at the pharmacy to stock up on facial tissues and more Listerine mouth wash to gargle with. You also pick up a couple more of the gel facial masks to keep in the fridge and some Nyquil and Dayquil, knowing you’d need it and wander through the aisles looking to see if there was anything else you’d need. You find a diffuser to use with essential oils and decide to get it and a jug of distilled water. You already had your essential oils you used from a medical grade company, so you put the diffuser in your basket as well.

Not finding anything else, you head for the check out and pay for your purchases, then head home after stopping for some groceries. You get your purchases brought in and put away, then sigh and go to see what the options were for supper at the hotel. Not liking the option for the continental meal, you head over to the hotel’s diner. You settle on an individual chicken pot pie with a side of fries with ranch dressing.

~~~~~

Aiden had told Rich about meeting you while they were up in his suite visiting and getting caught up on life since they last saw one another. Rich had mentioned that he wondered what family members had passed away that you had to have a joint service for them and wondered how close together they had passed time-wise, and wondered what they had passed away from.

“I dunno what they passed away from, Rich, she didn’t say. She said it was her two parents, her sister and her Grandmum. I guess her Parents and Sister were cremated and her Grandmum wanted a casket burial. She said her Parents were placed in a mausoleum, and her Sister was buried with the Grandmum in her plot. It sounded like her Dad was some kind of veteran though, she said the government covered everything for the funeral except the urn.” He tells Richard.

“Hmmm.” He replies, rubbing his beard. Guess I’ll have to ask her about it one of these times.” He says, curious. “She said she had been living off the inheritance for a year and a half now and had mentioned she was trying to be careful to make what was left last as long as possible. I’m not sure how much she has left though if she is hesitant to buy a raincoat and rainboots. I wish I knew what size boots and coat she wears. I’d just have my PA find her one and I’d get them for her.” he says.

Aiden shrugs. “I dunno what to tell you, Rich.” He replies. “How about we head out to go see how she’s doing and if she needs anything for tonight?” he suggests. Rich nods, so they head down to the Lobby.

You were sitting with your back to the lobby and didn’t notice Aiden and Rich coming down from Aiden’s room. They were heading out to check on you when your red hair caught Rich’s eye. He grins and was going to sneak up on you, but Aiden stopped him, realizing what he was intending to do.

“No, don’t scare her like that. It’ll make her upset with you, Richard. She told me when we visited in the laundry room that she didn’t like being scared. It’s why she won’t watch or read horror stories or movies like that.” He explains. “I think something from her past traumatized and scared her badly and now she hates being scared and sad.” He explains quietly

Rich frowns but nods. They come over and flank you on either side. “Mind if we join you, Little Red?” Aiden teases. You grin at his nickname for you and nod to the seats. You had just taken a swig of your tea and he grins. “Sorry, I guess we caught you with your mouthful.” He teases and you nod, then swallow.

“How are you feeling?” Rich asks. “Eh. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. Always does. I’m just hoping the coughing won’t bother filming. If it gets too bad, I’ll just have to go sit outside and if someone needs something they’ll just have to poke their head out to tell me.” you say with a sigh and look down at your hands.

“You said you get this often?” Aiden asks. You shrug. “I get it, for some reason, when I have wet hair and go outside when it’s cooler weather. Usually, it’s in the fall, or winter. If I take a shower and have to go out somewhere and don’t put a hat on and don’t have time to let my hair fully dry, then I get this. It’s miserable and sucks, which is why I don’t do it now that I realize what keeps causing it. But I didn’t realize that it rains that hard here and that the wind gets as bad as it does. I’ve never seen it rain horizontally from wind before.” You explain.

“Oh. Yeah, it does that here occasionally.” Aiden remarks. You sigh and shrug. “So, what are you going to do tonight?” Rich asks. “I dunno. Probably eat, and take my meds, then either watch a movie, or just go to bed. These head colds always zap my energy and leave me feeling just exhausted when I have them.” you say with a sigh. “Its hard to sleep cuz my head gets so congested, then as it progresses, I can’t sleep cuz I’m coughing so much and have to sit up more. I can’t sleep sitting up, for some reason, I have to lie down when I sleep.” You explain.

The server brings your food and asks Richard and Aiden if they wanted anything, they both place orders and tell you to go ahead and eat. “We’ll catch up when our food arrives.” They tell you.

Nodding, you start eating and groan at how good it tastes. “Oh, this is absolutely wonderful!!!” you tell them. “Ooh, I might have to give it a try tomorrow then!” Aiden says. You grin and nod.

The three of you sit there visiting for a bit, then their food arrives and they enjoy their meals too. “So, Leanna, you said your family passed away recently, what did they die from?” Aiden asks.

You sigh. “My Sister was killed by a drunk driver going the wrong way on the highway. She had been back home to visit my Grandma, who was in her late 90’s and my Sister had stayed too late and it was dark when she left. She hated driving at night as she was legally blind in one eye, although she could see well enough to drive and function as long as she was using corrective lenses.

The drunk driver hit her car and several others before a semi-truck driver saw what was happening and purposefully jack-knifed his semi to stop the idiot before he killed more people. The drunk driver was driving down the middle of the highway, going the wrong direction and clipping the vehicles in both lanes, which made them roll, and go into the ditches.” You explain. “He died when he slammed into the side of the semi’s wheels and cab.

My family used to be close knit when I was younger, but something changed and as I got older, things just kind of began falling apart. My sister lived an hour and a half from where we were born, and my Uncle lived with my Grandma. He was supposed to be taking care of her, but wasn’t and was neglecting her care. He only took her to her Dr. appointments and got her groceries. He did nothing to help her with housework, or yardwork, or snow removal, and didn’t make sure she was bathing properly and didn’t make sure she was changing clothes not taking her meds. She often just lived in her housecoat and night gown.

It infuriated me and I often got mad at him and threatened to report him for elder neglect, which is a felony here. He just laughed me off, not taking it seriously. I worked doing elder care for many years. It’s not like I was pulling the knowledge out of my ass. I knew what was acceptable care and what wasn’t. The shit he pulled would never have been accepted if an inspector would have come to check on things.” You explain.

“Anyway, when she and my Parents were told of the death of my Sister, my Dad had a massive heart attack and didn’t make it. Mum couldn’t handle life without him and died a few days later in her sleep. My Grandma, too had a heart attack when she was told of my Sister’s and Dad’s death and she didn’t make it. I found my Uncle dead when I went to talk with him about estate stuff.

His pacemaker was keeping his heart going, but he was brain dead. The Paramedics and Doc said he had had another massive heart attack probably from all the stress and it kicked out a blood clot that lodged in his noggin and caused the stroke, which killed him. My other Uncle handled his funeral and estate stuff and we both handled Dad’s and Grandma’s estate at first, but we were constantly at odds with each other.

I finally had to get Grandma’s lawyer involved though. The Uncle kept wanting to just throw out everything and ignore Grandma’s list of things she had set aside for certain family members. It had been notarized and so it was considered part of the will, which he was required to follow. It pissed him off so he said I could handle the estate stuff for Grandma then. He got snippy with me after that and refused to help.

So, I got stuck trying to deal with cleaning and emptying out three estates at the same time. Two in my hometown, and one an hour and a half from home. Luckily, my Sister rented a place, so I picked out what I wanted to keep and put it in my vehicle, brought it home and put it in storage. Then had her friends and church family come and take everything else to give to folks in the community who needed it. They had a huge rummage sale with the stuff and then gave me the money from it to help me with the moving expenses and gas driving back and forth from my home to hers.

I finally had gotten the last of the estate stuff dealt with about three months ago now.” you explain and sigh.

Both Rich and Aiden look at you in shock. “You had to deal with it all by yourself?” Richard asks. You nod. “Yeah, aside from the lawyer helping me with the legalities of it all. I’m just grateful that the government paid for all of Dad’s funeral and cremation stuff and the mausoleum vault, and that Mum’s urn could be put in it with his. He had a full military service, graveside, when we went to put him and mum in the vault.” You say. “I have his flag in the RV, it’s up by the TV.” You say.

“Wow, I’m sorry, Leanna, that you had to go through all of that alone and that your Uncle was being such a pain in the ass.” Aiden says. Rich nods, “It’s hard enough doing one family member’s death and estate stuff, I can’t imagine having to deal with five people’s deaths in the family all at once and three estates.” Rich tells you.

You shrug and sip on your tea. “I had to explain to the city officials why nothing was being done with the two properties in town, because they wouldn’t get off my back about it. Once I spoke to them and explained what I was having to deal with all by myself, they were more understanding and cooperative.

I had to deal with my sister’s estate first because she rented the main floor of a house and lived an hour and a half from me, and it had to be cleaned out and emptied by the end of the month or I’d have to pay for another month’s rent on it. The owner was nice though and understood my dilemma when I explained what was going on.

He apologized for my losses and offered to give me the security deposit back once I got the apartment cleaned and emptied. He told me who to use to have the carpets cleaned and when they heard what had happened to me, with the five family members passing away because of the drunk driver, they did the carpet cleaning for free!” you tell them.

“Once I got the estate out of town dealt with and settled, then I could work on my Grandma’s estate. I was able to contact my cousins and informed them what Grandma had left them. They asked me to send them pictures of the items, so I did. They told me what all they wanted and asked me to mail the items to them, so I did. The rest they told me to donate or auction off as they did not want them. I had them put it in writing and mail it to the lawyer what they wanted to keep from the items Grandma left them and what they wanted done with the items they didn’t want.

They wrote him the letters and once I picked out what I wanted to keep, we put everything else up for auction, and made it abundantly clear with the auctioneer that antique dealers and collectors were not allowed at the auction. Between the two estates in town, plus what I was left as inheritances from them and the life insurance policy balances I had a nice little nest egg to live off of.

I’m just being careful not to spend it unwisely and am trying to not live beyond my means. I have limited space available in the RV and have to be careful what I buy and get for gifts from people I meet. Its easier for me when people give gifts of things that will be used up, like food and gift cards, or flowers. But if it can’t be used up, I have to be careful what I keep so I don’t end up living in a bunch of mathoms and clutter.” You explain and yawn.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m getting sleepy.” You say.

They chuckle. “It’s alright, Leanna. You’ve had a long day. Go get some rest, Sweetheart.” Aiden says. Rich nods. “Did you take your meds, Leanna?” he asks. “No, not yet. They’re 12 hour ones, so I can’t take them until 8pm. I usually overlap them by a half hour, since it takes about that long to kick in. So, by the time the first dose wears off, the second one is kicking in. I’ll probably take them at 7:30 or so.” You explain.

Rich nods as they both stand up. You stand as well and grab your coat and mug. The three of you go to pay for your food and Rich insists on paying for yours. “Rich, you don’t have to pay for mine, I can pay for it this time. It’s not that much.” you say. “Please, Sweetheart, let me pay for it. Money isn’t that much of a concern for me. I know you are trying to be careful with what you spend. Please, let me pay for it.” he pleads.

You sigh, “Alright.” You say, caving into his pleading puppy eyes. He grins and happily pays for your food and his. Aiden just chuckles as you roll your eyes.

They insist on walking you back to your RV and you give Aiden a mini tour of the inside. While he distracts you, Rich quick looks to see what size your jackets are that you have thrown in the overhead bin. He sees your boot from yesterday and grabs it to look and see what size it is. Quickly he texts the sizes to his Assistant, so she knows what sizes to look for.

“Wow, this is nice! I see what Rich meant though that the designers went kind of overboard with sleeping spaces, and skimped on decent storage. All you seem to have are these little narrow cubbies.” Aiden says looking around in your room. You head back towards the sitting area and nod.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about putting these two mattresses into storage under the RV and perhaps seeing if I can figure out how to dismantle the upper frame for the top bunk. I like having the drawers on this section here of the bottom bunk and could just put the storage above them. Perhaps I can fiddle with it on my next day off. I’ll have to go look at closet storage options and write down the measurements of the space I’d have available to work with. I’ll have to figure out what to do with the little tv’s too. I don’t need them in here. They are brand new and never been used.

It’s kind of stupid to have four tv’s in one RV. Personally, I don’t like having a TV in the bedroom. I only use the one in mine for YouTube, when I have wi-fi available, I’ll pull up a fireplace video and have it on that until I’m ready to go to sleep.” You say.

Aiden laughs and nods. “Bedrooms are for sleeping and having sex in, not for watching tv. That’s what the den or family room or living room is for!” He says. You grin and nod, so does Rich. “Well, if you want help with the remodeling, let me and Rich know. We’ll help if we have time off from filming.” Aiden says. Rich nods. You grin and nod, thanking them both. They head over to the door and tell you that they hope you feel better soon. Then head out.

Chapter 12

Rich gets to his vehicle and grabs the basket he had his agent create with the alcohol and stuff for making hot toddies and buttered rum drinks. He carries it back over to the RV and knocks on the door.

You answer it looking confused. “Oh, hi Rich. How come you’re back so soon?” you ask. He smiles and pulls the basket out from behind his back. “Here. I remembered you mentioning you were out of these for making your hot drinks. Thought I’d get them for you as a ‘Get well soon’ gift.” He explains.

“Oh! Sweet! Thanks!” you exclaim and reach down to take the heavy basket. Rich lifts it up so you don’t have to bend down so far. “OOOhhh, it’s heavy!” you say and carry it up the steps to put it on the counter. Then you come back down the steps. “Thanks again for the meal and the alcohol gift basket.” You tell him and smile sweetly.

Rich grins and nods. “Is it okay if I give you a hug, from one friend to another?” he asks shyly. You think for a moment, then nod. It makes you smile seeing his eyes light up and he steps closer, as you come down a few steps and let him hug you. He stands there, wraps his arms gently around you and hugs you for a few minutes giving you an amazing, warm, comforting hug. You just bask in it and enjoy how it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, and how wonderful he smells. Rich lowers his head to rest on yours as he breathes in the peppermint and lavender scent of your shampoo.

You can hear his heart racing as he hugs you and feel him sigh, then lets you go. “I hope you start to feel better soon, Leanna. I know it’s no fun being sick and having to work. I got the flu when we were finishing up with filming the Hobbit and worked through it. I was miserable and achy and way too warm.” He tells you. “Rest as much as you can, okay?” he coos as he caresses your head and face.

Looking up at him, you nod, a little dazed by his amazing hug and wishing you could have another one, preferably all night long to keep you nice and warm. He leans down, cups the side of your face in his warm hand, then kisses your forehead then tells you he’ll see you tomorrow. “Night Rich.” You murmur. He smiles, nods and heads out to his car. You close the door and squeal quietly, then make sure the door is locked, and that the two front doors of the cab are locked, then go to unpack the gift basket.

He had gotten you the biggest bottles of Jameson and the Sassenach whiskeys, and a huge bottle of Captain Morgan spiced Rum that he could find, apparently. There was also a bag of brown sugar, one of cinnamon sticks, a jar of whole cloves and a bag of lemons as well as a tub of Irish butter. The butter and lemons you put in the fridge, the three bottles of alcohol, go into the freezer, and the spices and sugar all go into the cabinet.

You open the card and say, “Awwweee!” as it was a green background with a hedgehog standing on its hind feet, holding a banner that says, ‘GET WELL SOON’ and it’s wearing a white nurse’s hat with a red cross on it. Under the hedgehog it says, ‘Here’s a giant hedge-hug’. When you open it, the inside says, “Get well soon, Sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you healthy, happy, and cheerful again. Get some rest and we’ll make sure to take care of you. ~ Richard” in what you assume is Richard’s penmanship. You like how he writes and smile. The card you set on the counter next to your Smaug statue.

Quickly, you pull the Yeti containers from your messenger bag and the travel silverware. You get them washed up and set them on the collapsible drying tray to drip dry overnight. You pull out a can of tomato soup to make tomorrow morning for lunch tomorrow and pull the package of Goldfish crackers to put into it. You still have one of the bananas and an orange left, so you decide to have those tomorrow for a mid-morning snack with a muffin from the hotel.

Looking at the now empty basket from Richard’s gift, you wonder what to do with it. You walk around the RV with it, looking to see where it could be utilized.

It was a pretty grey one with a silver bow tied to the handles on either side. You decide to put it in the bathroom on the counter to put things in.

Taking a pair of Velcro style command strips you attach them to the underside of the basket then attach it to the counter in the corner of the bathroom. It looked pretty there with the bows on it. You put a spare roll of toilet paper wrapped in plastic wrap in the basket, along with a bottle of Jasmine hand lotion, a tube of jasmine body cream, and a pack of lavender shampoo and conditioner bars for when your old ones run out in the shower.

Tiredly, you get ready for bed, put your hair up in 1/2” braids all over your head, then take your meds, and crawl into bed with your phone. Making sure it was plugged in, and the alarm was set, you quickly fall asleep.

Chapter 13

Over the course of the next three days, your symptoms progress like you said they’d do and you are miserable. You end up coughing a lot and tell the director that you’ll sit outside the door so your coughing doesn’t disrupt the filming and ask him to tell everyone that if they need something to poke their head out to tell you. Luckily the weather cooperated for you and you were able to sit in the fresh air.

It worried you, though, that you were coughing up crud and it was getting more yellowish green in color. Your chest ached something fierce from the constant coughing and your entire body ached from it. You were still battling chills and were hot then cold off and on constantly. You were also more tired and not very hungry as well. The only reason you ate was because your friends made you and would get on your case when you didn’t.

They were all worried when your cough started getting worse. But you just assured them it always did this and that you’d probably end up having to go to the doctor by the end of the week to get meds for it since it was probably the start of pneumonia.

It was Friday and you were miserable. Your coughing was now a deep, rumbling cough that often left you short of breath and you could feel it popping and crackling as you’d breathe in. You spent the week sitting outside on your bench from Gus and would run and get things as the cast and crew needed. Always, you were careful to use hand sanitizer whenever you picked up things for them and were careful to cover your mouth and nose when coughing.

Rich and Blythe often came to check on you in the evenings and would make sure you ate something for supper and to check to see if you needed anything for the night.

Towards the end of the day on Friday, you were feeling incredibly warm and headed home. Your coughing was exhausting you and draining your energy. You had gone into the RV, taken a cool shower, then gotten changed into your purple and dark grey camo pants and your dark grey shirt that says, ‘I can bend steel, what’s your superpower?’

Feeling dizzy, you padded back to the kitchen area in bare feet and was going to get your phone to text Blythe, but a wave of dizziness hit you and you blacked out and collapsed onto the floor and started to have seizures from the high fever you had been battling.

~~~~~

Blythe, Richard and Bernard all climbed into Bernard’s vehicle to go see how you were doing. They arrive and park in the lot, then go and knock on your door. They could see the lights were on in the RV, but no one answers. Frowning, Blythe tries to call you. They could hear your phone ringing inside, and it sounded like it was close by the door. “Hmmm. She’s not answering.” She says, after hanging up.

“Maybe she left her phone in the RV and went to have some supper in the hotel, let’s go look.” Bernard suggests. They all head to the hotel and enter the lobby. Rich looks around and doesn’t see you. Going over to the front desk, he asks if you’ve been in at all this evening. “No, Sir, Miss Fay hasn’t been in since this morning when she had breakfast.” the front desk clerk tells him.

Rich is getting worried now. He goes back over to Blythe and Bernard. “They said she hasn’t been in since this morning.” He tells them. Blythe frowns, “I have the key for the RV door with me, we had better go check and make sure she is in there and is alright.” She says.

They hurry back over, and Blythe unlocks the door. Richard, enters first, then Bernard, then Blythe. When Rich gets to the top of the stairs he looks over and sees you on the floor, seizing. “Blythe, go call 911, she’s collapsed and is having a seizure!” he tells her. She nods and quickly dials the emergency number and talks with the dispatcher. “Rich turn her on her side so if she pukes, she won’t breathe it in.” she tells him, relaying what the dispatcher says.

Bernard comes over and feels your forehead. “She’s burning up, we gotta get her cooled down.” He tells Rich, who’s holding your head steady as you continue to seize. Bernard digs in the fridge and freezer and grabs the cool gel masks and tosses them to Rich. He puts one on your face and the other on the back of your neck.

Bernard finds your two huge gel packs in the freezer and wraps them in a hand towel and holds one on your back and the other on your chest, keeping you steady as you seize. Slowly, your body stops shaking from the seizure as the coolness from the packs drop your body temperature. Luckily you hadn’t puked.

Blythe waits for the paramedics to arrive and directs them to the RV. “She’s been sick all week after getting soaked to the bone and chilled from the rain on Monday.” She tells them. “Her cough has gotten worse as the week progressed. We came to check on her and found her on the floor having a seizure.” She explains.

A crowd now is gathering at the door of the hotel, having heard the sirens get close then stop right outside the hotel. Some staff from the Squeaky Peanut peek out their door too to see what is going on.

The paramedics nod and enter the RV with a stretcher and their gear. A gurney from the ambulance waits ready outside the RV. Coming over, they see Rich and Bernard holding cool packs on your head and torso. Kneeling down, they begin to check your vitals and frown, hearing how labored your breathing is and how much it’s popping and crackling as you breathe in. Your heart rate is fast too.

“I take it she was burning up?” the EMT asks. Rich nods. “Not sure what her temp was, but she was having a seizure and her hair was wet and cold. I assume she took a cool shower after work trying to cool off. She’s a runner for the studios we’re filming at and she’s been running for us all week while battling what she said was a headcold. She had a sore throat and head congestion the morning after that heavy deluge on Monday and she’s got no tonsils nor adenoids, she said.

She also told us that this often happens when her head gets wet and cold, and that the sore throat goes up into her sinuses and gets them all congested since there’s no adenoids to stop it, then it drips down her throat and she ends up with either bronchitis or walking pneumonia.” He explains as he holds your head of copper tresses.

“How long have you been here with her and how long have these been on her?” the EMT asks, indicating the cool packs.

Bernard looks up at the microwave’s clock, “Been here maybe 5 minutes or so. Got the cool packs on her shortly after we found her. She just stopped seizing before you came in.” he replies with a worried expression. The EMT nods.

They check you for any head injuries, but other than a goose egg where your head hit the floor when you fell, they don’t find any injuries from the seizure. Your eyes dilate properly when the EMT checks them, so he doesn’t think you got a concussion when you fell. They put an oxygen mask on you after Rich takes the gel mask off your face. They get you transferred onto a stretcher and get you strapped down. While they do that, Bernard puts the cool packs back where he got them from.

The EMT checks your temp and it’s at 103.5 he frowns and checks it again on the other temple and it comes out the same temp. “We need to get her to the hospital, her fever is too high. It’s probably what caused the seizure.

“How come she isn’t waking up?” Bernard asks. “Some people go unconscious when they have seizures. Hopefully she’ll wake up when we can get this fever down.” He says and they lift you up to carry you carefully down the narrow steps of the RV. Richard and Bernard follow, both worried for you. Rich grabs your messenger bag, phone, wallet, and your keys. He shuts off all the lights and closes the door, locking it.

“What hospital are you going to take her to?” he asks.

“Are you family?” The EMT asks.

“Sir, we’re as close as she has to family. Her birth family died recently, leaving her by herself now. We’re her coworkers, and have been very concerned about her since she started working with us. We’ve been coming and checking on her all week.” Blythe tells them.

They nod and tell the three actors where they are taking you. “One of you can ride with us, but you’ll have to wait in the ‘family room’ once we get her there.” the EMT says.

Blythe and Bernard look at Rich. “Go with her and we’ll meet you there, Rich. I’ll let the director know what’s going on.” Blythe says. Rich nods and climbs up into the Ambulance with your stuff. The doors are shut, and you’re whisked off to the hospital.

Blythe and Bernard sigh, “I hope she’s going to be okay.” Bernard says. “I suppose she’s gotten worn down having to deal with the stress of dealing with her family passing away and all the estate stuff, then moving here and adjusting to working again doing all the running for the studios.” He says rubbing his chin.

“Probably. Let’s go let the Hotel know what is going on and ask them to keep an eye on the RV and the SUV for her so they know why she hasn’t come in after a few days.” Blythe says. Bernard nods.

They head into the lobby of the hotel and ask for the manager. He comes out and they explain who they are and tell him about what just happened. “Oh no! Oh, I hope she will be alright! We were wondering why the ambulance arrived here.” the manager says, worriedly.

“We hope she’s okay too. Could your employees keep an eye on her RV and the SUV parked at the nose of it for her? We aren’t sure how long she will be in the hospital. We’ll cover any bills coming due that she has with you.” Blythe asks.

“Oh, yes, we can keep an eye on the RV and the SUV for her. She pays us an amount we agreed on at the end of each month for her to ‘rent’ the spot out in the parking lot and we let her use the amenities and the continental meals as well as the electricity and water hookup.” He says.

Blythe and Bernard nod. “I have a key for the RV, so I’ll probably be seen coming and going from it.” Blythe tells the manager, “Just so you know and aren’t alarmed seeing me going in and out from it.” she says. He nods and tells them to let you know that they all wish you a speedy recovery. “I’ll make sure to tell her when she wakes up.” she says.

They head out and get in Bernard’s vehicle. He drives them to the hospital while Blythe contacts the Director and the studio, to let him know what is going on. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep me posted on her condition.” The Director says. “I will.” She tells him and hangs up.

Chapter 14

Bernard and Blythe arrive to find Richard pacing in the waiting room for the ER. “Any news?” Bernard asks. Rich pauses and shakes his head as he chews on a fingernail. “God, I hope she’s alright!” he mumbles.

“Come here, Richard.” Blythe says and he comes over. She reaches up and pulls him down for a hug. “She’ll be alright, Rich. Try to think positive.” She coos and he sighs and nods, hugging her back.

They all sit down and wait for any news on you. Rich messages Aiden letting him know what happened and soon he is joining them, waiting to hear how you are.

~~~~~

You are rushed into the ER and put in an exam room. The nurses get you out of your clothing and into an exam gown, then check all your vitals and frown hearing your lungs struggling.

The Doc comes in reads through your chart, frowns, then examines you. His frown deepens when he hears the popping and crackling sound in your lungs and how you’re struggling to breathe. He orders blood tests, chest x-rays and a CT scan of your lungs to see what is going on. You are taken to Radiology to get them done, then are brought back to the ER room. A port is placed in your chest, and you are hooked up to heart monitors, an O2 sensor and an oxygen mask is placed on you.

The doctor orders that the nurses give you something via IV to get the high fever down, then give you some bronchodilator meds to help get the inflammation down in your lungs. They also put you on antibiotics to get the infection down once they know what is causing it. You are also given IV fluids to keep you hydrated.

A couple hours after being brought in, you finally wake and are confused as to where you are. Looking around, you realize you are in a hospital room. A nurse comes over and greets you. Lifting off the oxygen mask, she hooks up the oxygen hose and puts it on you so you can talk and still get the oxygen. “What happened? How did I get here?” you ask.

“You blacked out in your RV due to having a high fever and your friends came to check on you. When you didn’t answer, they came in and found you having a seizure on the floor.” She tells you.

“Oh. How high was my fever?” you ask. “Well, when the paramedics arrived, your friends had put cool packs on you, which dropped your temp enough to stop the seizure. When they went to load you into the Ambulance they checked it and it was at 103.5°F.” She tells you.

Your eyes open wide. “But my normal body temp is 97.6°F!!! For me, a temp like that is like a normal person having a 104.5°F temp!!!” you tell her worriedly and start coughing. You hold your chest and groan as you cough.

“I’ll make a note in your chart that your normal body temp is 97.6° instead of the normal 98.6°F. She says and goes over to the computer to do so.

“Just try to breathe slowly and try to relax.” She says.

“You have a very severe case of Pneumonia, Sweetheart. We’re waiting for a room to get prepared, and we’ll be bringing you up once it is ready. I believe your friends who found you are all in the waiting room.” She says. “Did you want the Doctor to let them know what is going on?” she asks.

You nod. “Yes, he or she can let them know what is going on. They are probably worried sick about me. They are about as close as I’m going to get to having family now. My birth family are all dead.” You tell her.

“Alright, I’ll make a note of it in the chart so those treating you will know.” She says. You sigh, cough, and nod. I’m just going to go back to sleep if it’s alright. I’m so exhausted.” You tell her. “That’s fine. How about we put the mask back on you though, it looks like your O2 levels are going down again.” She says with a frown.

You shrug, so she puts the oxygen mask back on you and you go back to sleep, coughing occasionally.

~~~~~

After a couple of hours, the Doctor comes out to the waiting room and asks for the family of Miss Leanna Fay. Blythe and the other actors get up and come over to him. “Miss Fay’s family are all dead, but we are her coworkers and are about all the family she has left now.” she tells him. “Oh, okay. Well, she woke up a little bit and okay’d me to let you all know what is going on.” He explains.

Miss Fay had been getting treated for several autoimmune diseases prior to coming here, so I had to get her medical files transferred. It seems she was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, Lupus and also Hypothyroidism, which means her body’s thyroid is not working properly and is not producing enough of certain crucial hormones. The lupus causes all kinds of problems in the body, but for her, it is causing the hypothyroidism as well as inflammation in her joints, and her lungs, among other things.

This inflammation weakens her lung function and her immune system, which is why she gets sick so easily when she gets wet and chilled. I went back through her chart, and it seems that this time, she was battling both an RA flare up and a lupus flare up on top of the head cold, which made the pneumonia more severe than it normally does. I’m assuming the move here was causing stress for her which often can trigger Lupus flareups.” He explains.

“Actually, Sir, it was probably her having to deal with the death of her entire family due to a drunk driver. It happened about a year and a half ago and he killed her Sister. When the Parents and Grandparent found out, they all had either heart attacks or strokes and did not survive. Her Uncle who was taking care of her Grandmother, was also found dead from a massive heart attack and stroke.” Aiden explains.

“Yeah, she had 5 family members die within a few days of each other and an Uncle who was making it difficult for her to deal with the three estates, one of them being out of town by an hour and a half.” Richard tells him. “She said she just finished up dealing with the last of the estate stuff a few months ago.” He adds.

“OH! Yes, that would do it then!” the Doctor explains. “Due to all the stress, it weakened her immune system, triggered the Lupus, and all that plus this head cold, just kind of sent her body in a downward spiral, unable to handle everything. She now has a very severe case of pneumonia that we are treating her for. I’m concerned, though, about her lungs. They were VERY congested, and her Oxygen levels were very low. The nurse said Miss Fay told her that she feels just exhausted, so I think I’m going to keep her here for a week to 10 days, depending on how well and how fast she recovers. She needs to just rest and get the infection and mucous worked out of her lungs.” He tells them.

They all frown and nod. “Can we see her?” Blythe asks. “We’re waiting for a room to open up and be cleaned. Once we have a room for her, we’ll let you know when we are bringing her up to it and you may join her. Understand though, Pneumonia is contagious. Make sure you wash your hands frequently and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to wear masks when visiting her. We’ll have a box of them at the door to her room that you may take one to use while there as well as hand sanitizer both inside the room’s door and outside it.” he tells them.

The actors all nod. “Thanks for letting us know Doc.” Aiden tells him. He nods and tells them a nurse will come get them when the room is ready. Then he heads back to continue helping other patients.

Blythe goes and sits down and sighs, looking down at her hands and rubbing them gently. Aiden looks puzzled and comes over to her. “You alright, Mrs. Danner?” he asks. “I didn’t realize how much pain she must’ve been in. I know people who have Lupus and I know people who have RA. Both are incredibly painful when flareups happen.” She says quietly. “I know that hypothyroidism also makes one very tired all the time and that it causes a lot of health problems too. It amazes me how well she hid it. She was always such a quiet little ray of sunshine.” She says.

“Well, some people just choose to suffer in silence, I guess.” Aiden says. “I suppose they feel like they don’t want to be a bother to others and don’t want them worrying for the person with it.” he tells her. “Apparently Miss Fay is one of those people. Remember, she kept telling us not to worry about her?” he asks. Blythe nods. “I just feel so bad for her, Aiden. Her life must have been just miserable having to deal with all her health issues, plus the estate stuff, the funeral stuff, the deaths. I wonder if she’s even taken the time to mourn those she lost.” She says.

“Well it seemed her family used to be close knit. She said that as she got older, things started to just fall apart with her family. She didn’t say how or why, but I get the feeling that they weren’t all that close anymore for one reason or another.” Rich says, sitting beside Blythe and rubbing her back gently. “All we can do is be there for her when she needs the help, Blythe. We just have to keep reminding her that it is okay to need and ask for help and that it is not a bother for us to do so.” Rich reminds them.

“She’s going to be pretty tired. Severe Pneumonia takes 6-8 weeks to recuperate from before you’re finally feeling back to ‘normal’ again. I know, I had it in NZ near the ending of production for the Hobbit.” Rich tells her. “I got the flu, then it turned into pneumonia. It took me quite a while and a lot of naps to get the rest I needed between all the post production and promos.” He says. “Oh yeah! I remember that. You were really sick when we were filming the Ravenhill scenes with the green screen Azog!” Aiden says.

Rich nods. “Yup. It sucked. I was exhausted, and shouldn’t have been working, but we had no choice. If I didn’t film those scenes sick or no, we’d have had to push back the release date. We were cutting it close as it was. I think PJ, me and someone else all ended up sick at the same time.” Rich says. Aiden nods.

Just then a nurse comes out and tells them to follow her. “Here is the bag with her clothing in it.” she says, and Blythe takes it; then they all follow the nurse down the halls to where the other nurses were waiting with the gurney. You were laying on your left side with the oxygen mask on and all kinds of IV’s hooked into the port on your chest. You were sound asleep and quite pale. Occasionally, you’d cough, but kept your eyes closed. They had several warm blankets over you and tucked in around you. Rich chuckled at all the braids you had in your hair as he caressed your head gently.

They followed the nurses, who pushed the hospital gurney into the elevator. Everyone piled in and it took them up to the third floor and the nurses rolled you out of the lift and down the hall with the actors following. They get to your room and the nurses have the actors wait in the hall while they get you settled. A few minutes later, the door opens, and the nurse hands them all a mask to wear and tells them to use the hand sanitizer when entering and when they leave the room. Everyone nods and does so, then enters the room.

You were still asleep and were propped on your left side, facing the windows. The actors stand there gazing at you for a few minutes, then shift around and get settled. Aiden and Bernard go to the gift shop, but find that it’s closed now, so they go to a grocery store to find some nice flowers for you and a balloon.

Rich and Blythe sit flanking your bed and hold your hand or rub your back gently as you sleep. They talk quietly about this upcoming week’s filming schedule and frown realizing that they all will be filming during the day and have evenings off. “Hopefully she can get rest during the day. I know it’s hard to get it at night since they are constantly coming in to check on patients.” Blythe says. Richard nods.

After a while, Bernard and Aiden return with a ‘get well’ card, balloon, and a pretty bouquet of flowers.

The balloon was tied to the vase of flowers and had a couple of emojis on it and word bubbles saying things like: hang in there… get well! Hugs! Sorry you are sick! Then in the center of the balloon it says, ‘feel better soon!’ Each thought bubble is in a different color and the background is a yellow.

Ironically, the balloon matches the bouquet of flowers almost perfectly.

The card they got you said, ‘You’re a tough cookie…” on the outside with a gingerbread person under the words. Then on the inside, it has another gingerbread person standing on a box with the words, ‘hope you recover soon!’ inside the box. Both Bernard and Aiden signed the card.

They placed the flowers on the window ledge and put the card on the bedside tray. The group of actors let you sleep for as long as you needed. A few hours later, around 10 PM, you finally wake as a coughing fit hits as your lungs try to get rid of the mucous that had built up in them.

Richard hurries over and helps you to sit up, gently patting your back, so you can get the mucous worked out. He tells you to spit it out if you can get any loosened enough to do so. You continue to cough and nod in reply to his statement. Blythe grabs the shallow kidney shaped bowl from off the counter beside the sink, and hands it to you as you sit and cough into the O2 mask. Finally, you are able to work some of the phlegm out and tilt the mask up long enough to spit it out into the bowl, then replace the mask.

They could see the phlegm was a dark green color indicating infection, and Blythe takes the bowl and rinses it out dumping it down the sink drain. She dries it off and sets it on the bedside table for you. You sit there feeling absolutely miserable as you lean against Richard, and he gently rubs and pats your back.

“It’s alright, Sweetheart.” Bernard coos. “We’re here for you. Just rest now. Here, have something to drink. The nurse brought you some warm water with lemon and honey in it to soothe your throat.” He tells you and hands you the mug with the bendy straw in it.

You take it and tilt the mask down to your chin so you can slowly drink some of the warm water. It soothes your sore throat and feels good. After drinking your fill. You hand it back to him and put the mask back on, as it was easier to breathe with it on, than when it was off.

Leaning against Richard you sigh and wince as it hurts your chest. You feel like you just want to cry and be held, but are too exhausted to even do that. Rich’s warm, large hand just continues to gently rub your back in comforting circles and you feel your eyes getting heavy again.

“It’s alright, Leanna, go back to sleep. Get all the rest you can, Sweetheart.” Aiden tells you and reaches over to your face and gently puts his fingers over your eyes, silently telling you to close them and rest. You do and soon, you’re sound asleep again. He caresses your head and looks at Richard. He nods and gently scoots out from behind you, helping you to lie back on the bed. The moment you are lowered, though, you start to cough and wake up again.

Again, they help you to sit up and work out more of the phlegm. By now, tears trickle down your cheeks as it hurts your chest to cough and you cling to Rich’s arm that was wrapped around your front as he leans you forward and gently pats your upper back. You cough and cough and struggle to breathe, finally, you get enough of the phlegm worked out that you can quit coughing for a little bit.

Again, Blythe rinses out the bowl and dries it, then places it on the table. She takes a clean washcloth, wets it with cool water, then comes over and gently caresses your face and eyes with it, then replaces the Oxygen mask.

You’re so exhausted that you just pass out as Rich holds you and sighs. He adjusts the hospital bed to a reclined position and gently leans you back against it. Blythe helps him prop pillows around you to keep you still and they let you sleep. She slips out letting the nurses know that you woke and had a pair of coughing fits. “Was she able to cough up anything?” the charge nurse asks.

Blythe nods, telling them it was dark green in color. They frown and nod. “Let us know if she coughs up anything more. The Doc wants us to collect some of it for testing.” She says and hands Blythe a sterilized collection cup with a lid. “Have her spit it into this and then seal it up. Bring it out to one of us and we’ll mark it with her name and send it off for testing.” She instructs.

Blythe nods. “We won’t be able to be with her during the day, as we’re filming. Is there someone who can sit with her and help her. She is struggling to breathe from these coughing fits and it seems to help if someone can pat her back to help get the gunk out. She passed out in our arms after this last one.” Blythe asks.

The charge nurse nods. “Yes, we have ‘sitters’ who can sit with her during the day and evening when no one is available from your group. Just let us know when you are heading out and we’ll have one go and be with her.” the charge nurse instructs. “Alright, thank you.” Blythe replies and then goes back in with the collection cup.

She tells them the nurse’s instructions and they nod, setting the cup on the bedside table. They let you sleep as needed and they doze as well. Richard and Blythe staying at your bedside and resting their heads on the bed, while Bernard sits in the recliner and Aiden in another side chair by the window.

Whenever you wake, Rich and Blythe help you sit up and help you to work the phlegm out of your lungs. Rich alternating between patting your upper back gently to loosen the phlegm more, and rubbing it in gentle circles between coughing fits. You spit out the phlegm into the collection cup and cry as your chest aches. Blythe seals the cup with the lid, setting it on the counter for now, then again, bathes your face with a cool washcloth and replaces the oxygen mask. Once she does, you pass out, exhausted, and Rich gently leans you back onto the bed and your little nest of pillows.

It's hard on them all, seeing you struggling to breathe and get rest. Every hour it seems, you are waking to cough and cry. By morning, they are all tired, having rotated halfway through the night. Bernard would hold you and pat your back as you’d cough while Aiden would rinse out the bowl after each coughing fit and would bathe your face with the cool washcloth. Meanwhile, Rich and Blythe slept.

You lay there clinging to Bernard’s arm after this last round of coughing. Aiden had cleaned up your face and tears, and sat rubbing your back gently. “Sweetheart, we gotta get going now and get ready to film for the day, alright? We’ll let you rest, and we’ll come see you when we are done for the day, Okay?” he coos. You just nod tiredly. “Someone will sit with you to help you with the coughing fits and get you whatever you need, Sweetheart.” Bernard tells you as he eases you back onto the reclined bed. You just nod, exhausted. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. We’ll see you later on.” He coos.

They step aside and wake Blythe and Richard. “Come on, you two. Time to wake up and go get ready to film.” Bernard tells them. They both wake and yawn. “How is she?” Rich asks as he stands and stretches. “Exhausted.” Bernard says quietly. “These coughing fits are really zapping her strength.” He tells Richard.

Richard sighs and nods, wishing he could’ve kept you from getting so sick. He goes over to you and caresses your copper hair. You open your eyes a little and gaze up at his masked face. You can see the concern in his eyes and the worry. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. We’ll be thinking about you all day today.” He murmurs as he leans down and places a soft kiss to your forehead after shifting his mask out of the way. Then replaces it after he kisses your forehead. “Sleep now, Luv.” He coos and puts a hand over your eyes.

Rich feels your eyelashes caress his hand as you close your eyes. He caresses your face then they quietly head out and let you be to rest. Blythe lets the nurse know they are heading out for the day and a ‘sitter’ comes to be with you.

Chapter 15

You spend most of the day sleeping, waking only to eat meals, which they make you do to keep your strength up, and when the Doctor comes to check on you, or the nurses come to make sure you are drinking and doing the breathing tube exercise thingy that measures lung output.

You’re coughing more now and spitting up more phlegm with the help of the nurses or the sitter patting your back to help loosen it so you can get the mucous worked out. It’s exhausting and leaves you in tears as it makes your chest ache. The nurses give you meds for the pain and you go back to sleep.

Each evening your friends come to see you, and occasionally will call up to the wing during the day on their breaks to talk to the nurses to see how you are doing.

Everyone is concerned at how exhausted you are with this. Then your period arrives, and you just lie there and cry, curled up in pain from the excruciating cramps. The nurses frown, that the pain meds aren’t even phasing you and you just lay there and ball. The nurses notify the Doctor, and he orders an ultrasound of your womb and ovaries to see what is going on.

You are taken down for the procedure and they get it completed and get you cleaned up, then you are wheeled back to the room where you pass out and sleep for much of the morning.

The Doctor frowns seeing the results of the ultrasound.

You have uterine fibroids that are taking up much of your womb’s space. He orders that your hormone levels be checked and discovers your estrogen levels are off the charts they are so high. Frowning, he looks into what would cause this imbalance. All kinds of tests are run checking all your mineral and vitamin levels. He talks with several medical doctors, and they all have the same conclusion… that you have either a D&C, or lazer removal of the fibroids, which will damage the uterine lining, increasing risk of a miscarriage and regrowth of the fibroids, or a hysterectomy to permanently eliminate the problem.

You are livid and adamantly refuse all three options. “If it can grow, it can shrink!” you demand. “I want another opinion!!! You are NOT removing or damaging my womb!” you growl through the mask. Despite the Doctor’s insistence that the fibroid cannot shrink, you call bullshit on him. “GET ME A NATUROPATHIC DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY!!!” you demand and start coughing and cry. He sighs and heads out to make calls to see if there is one nearby who can come and see what he can do for you.

You’re crabby and miserable when Rich comes to see you, having finished his scenes for the day. When he enters with a bouquet of flowers and a few balloons, he frowns seeing you curled up tight in a ball, crying. Rich quickly sets the flowers on the windowsill and comes over to you, scoops you up in his arms and sits on the bed with you in his lap.

“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” he asks, drying your tears. “I got my monthly and it’s hurting SO incredibly bad!!! Nothing is making the pain go away! They did an ultrasound and found out I have fibroids in my womb. They want me to have a hysterectomy or a surgery that will remove the fibroids, but damage my womb! I don’t want to do those options! I want to be a mom someday and get pregnant and have my own babies!!!” you bawl as he holds you and rocks you gently. “So, what are they going to do to help you then?” he asks.

“They just kept insisting on the surgery and told me that the fibroids will keep growing and will never shrink. I called bullshit on them. If tumors and cancer can grow and shrink, then so can fibroids, they just don’t want to admit it because they make their money damaging or eliminating our wombs so we can’t have babies!” you say and cry some more.

“I demanded they get me a Naturopathic Doctor to treat this. My friend has the same problem and had the same thing happen to her. She found a great Naturopathic Doc and he treated her for the issues that caused the fibroids, and they went away. As long as she follows the regimen that he suggested, she doesn’t have any problems from them anymore and they shrank and disappeared!” you tell him still crying.

“So, fibroids are like a tumor?” Rich asks. You nod. “Kind of. They supposedly are not cancerous though. Something made them grow, and if the Doc would take the time to figure out what is making them grow, then we eliminate whatever it is and it eliminates the means for the fibroid to continue growing. If that happens, it starts to shrink and go away.” You explain.

Richard nods. “Well, I’m here for you, Sweet Leanna. If you need help paying for the treatment, I am willing to help with it.” he coos as he dries your tears. “Why?” you ask sniffling as he caresses your head. “Because that is what friends do, Leanna. They help however they are able to. We love you and care about you, Hunny. We want to see you back at 100% again. I wish I could take all this pain you’re experiencing away from you, but unfortunately, I can’t.

Hopefully, they can find you a Naturopathic Doc who can help you get rid of these fibroids and the pain.” He coos. You sniffle and nod. “Now, what do you need for now?” he asks quietly.

“Will you just keep holding me like this?” you ask. Rich nods and holds you as he sits on the bed, leaning against the reclined back of it. He hums softly as he holds you, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. Eventually, you fall asleep, and he feels you go dead weight. Rich sighs and can tell your scent has changed with the arrival of your period. You smell sweeter now. He sighs and lays you down in the bed, slipping out from under you.

Quietly he covers you back up and kisses your forehead, then puts his mask back on. Slipping out of the room, he sanitizes his hands and goes to talk with the nurse. “We don’t have any Naturopathic Doctors working here. They’re a bunch of hooey and do more harm than good, as far as I’m concerned.” She says.

“The Doc is making calls to see if there are any nearby who are willing to come and see what they can do for her, but he is not convinced it will work. She might as well accept it and have the surgery. She’ll never be able to have children of her own. Not with fibroids the size of cookies growing in her womb!” she tells him.

Rich growls, annoyed with her lack of compassion and caring. “I’m not so sure I agree with you. I do not want her having that surgery unless all other options are exhausted first. Surgery should be a last resort, not the first. Something caused these to grow. It is the Doctor’s job to find out what it is and correct it, not destroy her only means of conceiving children. It’s inhumane and greedy.” he growls at her.

“I am doing just that, trying to find out why these grew in the first place and correct the problem, but modern medicine tells us that unlike tumors or cancer, fibroids cannot shrink. There’s no evidence of it happening, as far as we know.” The Doctor says, coming up behind Richard.

Richard turns to face him and growls, “I disagree, Doc. I’m positive that there ARE evidence of it happening, it’s just that modern medicine refuses to acknowledge it because it means you have another option that eliminates the need for expensive and money making surgeries that cause damage to women and strip them of their ability to bear children safely after that if at all.” Rich rumbles.

The Doctor sighs, “There’s an imbalance of her hormones that is causing the fibroids. Her estrogen levels are off the charts and I’m not sure why. I called around and consulted my colleagues, but they all insist on this surgery and seem unwilling to try to find the root cause of the problem, and just insist on eliminating it instead.

I informed Leanna of this, but she continues to refuse, and has now demanded a Naturopathic Doctor. We have none here, so it would be out of network and her insurance will not cover any out of network treatments. I highly doubt that any Naturopathic Doctor will be able to do anything for her, Sir. Uterine Fibroids cannot shrink from what I have been taught.” He tells Richard.

“Then perhaps you need to be reeducated.” Rich growls. “If your way is not working, then it is best we seek alternatives to it. I’ll not have you damaging or removing the one thing that allows her to conceive, if there are ways to clear up the fibroids without causing damage to the womb and it’s lining.

Surgery should ALWAYS be a last resort. Isn’t that part of the doctor’s creed??? DO NO HARM???” Rich growls.

The Doctor sighs and nods. “I have contacted the Naturopathic Doctors near here and am waiting for a reply from them. I need her to sign this release of information sheet so I can share with the Naturopathic Doctor what is going on, our tests and results and so he can share information with me. I want to monitor things and what he is doing to see if it is going to work or not. I do not expect it to, but you never know.” He says.

Rich nods and looks at the ROI paperwork. “Are these the businesses that have the Naturopathic doctors?” he asks. The Doc nods. “As soon as I get a response saying they’re willing to take her case, I will need the one for that Doctor’s business signed.” The Doc explains.

“Contact them again and let them know that she is my close friend and that I wish to pay for any treatments they recommend for her to get this situation fixed. I want to see her back at 100% and I don’t care how long it takes to do so as long as she gets there.” Rich says.

The Doctor nods and goes to make calls back to the businesses he had contacted. An hour later one responds and says he’ll come up to the hospital to review the chart with both the patient and the Doctor. A half hour later the Naturopathic Doctor arrives at the hospital and is directed up to the floor to speak with you and the regular medical Doctor.

You are woken up and have a coughing fit for several minutes, then once it calms down, you sign the ROI paperwork so the two Doctors can share information and work together to monitor and treat your problems. The Medical Doctor pulls up your medical history on the hospital’s computer and the Naturopathic Doctor reads through it all. It takes him nearly an hour to read through everything and he is making detailed notes about things. Once he finishes, the Medical Doctor is called back, and the Naturopathic Doctor discusses his opinions about everything going on. He asks why the Medical Doctor didn’t run these specific tests and hands him a separate list of tests that need to be run.

When the Medical Doctor inquires why they should be run, the Naturopathic Doctor explains why, and the Medical Doctor’s eyes widen in surprise. “OH! I never thought about that being one of the main problems!” he exclaims. “I’ll have the tests run right away.” He says and goes to order them be done. Soon, a phlebotomist arrives and does the blood draws and finger pricks to run the tests.

While you four wait for the results, the Naturopathic Doctor explains his plans for treating you if the tests come back like he thinks they will, judging by all your symptoms and medical history.

He explains that this took time for your body to get like this and that in order to correct the imbalances and problems, it will take time, dedication, and patience to reverse the trigger that is causing them. You sigh and nod. “I just want to get better, I don’t care how it is done as long as it doesn’t damage my womb and doesn’t increase the risk of miscarriages or requires the removal of my womb. I want to have my own babies and be pregnant and have a family someday. I’m not willing to give up on that dream yet.” You say.

Rich grins hearing that. “We’re in this for the long haul, Sweetheart. If this is what you want to do, then I’m willing to help you out paying for it. Money is not an issue for me, I will do what I can to help you recover and get back to 100%. No matter how long it takes, Leanna. I’m here for you, if you want me to walk this path of healing with you.” He tells you. Your eyes get glassy, and you look down at your hands. “Why? Why would you do that for me?” you ask quietly.

Rich smiles and tilts your face up to his. “Because you are my friend, and I love and care about you, Leanna. You are a tough little coppertop cookie and you have been through so much heartache and constant pain. I’d take it from you if I could, but I can’t, and this is as much as I can do for you right now. You need this to get better, Leanna, if this is the path you wish to explore and take to see if it can help get you back to 100%, then I am willing to take it with you and support you as you take this journey.” He murmurs, caressing your hands with his. “Now, is this what you want to do? Are you willing to stick to his regime and follow it to see if it gets you back on track with your health?” Richard asks.

You look up at his face and his gorgeous sapphire eyes with gratitude and nod. “Very well. Once we get the results, we’ll take this path together, alright?” he coos. You nod. “Your regular Doc here will monitor the progress since he wants to see if it is going to work for you or not.” Richard tells you. “Okay.” You reply and lean against Richard, feeling grateful that you don’t have to go through this alone.

The two Doctors talk through the Naturopathic Doctor’s plans, and he continues to explain each part and walk the three of you through it all. You agree to do his program and so he has you and Richard sign the paperwork for the program and payment for it and the supplements, and gets things in order. By evening, the results came back, just as he thought they would. The Medical Doctor and the Naturopathic one sit and discuss the results and work out more of the details now that they know what all you are dealing with.

The Naturopathic Doctor heads back to his business to get all the supplements ready for you and writes the dosages on the caps of each bottle or affixes a label with them on it. When he has it all ready and rung up on the computer, he calls Rich’s cell and Rich pays for it over the phone with his credit card. Once the payment processes, the Naturopathic Doctor says he’ll bring the supplements back up to you and go through them, so you understand when to take each one and what each one does to help you start to recover your health. He calls to let the Medical Doctor know as well, and they both meet back at your room.

Each supplement is explained to you, Rich, the Medical Doctor, and the Nurse who enters each one into the computer with the directions for taking each one and the specific purpose for taking them. They get you started on them, and the supplements are given to the nurse for now, to be kept by the hospital until you are released.

“It’ll take a month or two of taking these regularly before you’ll start to notice a difference, Leanna. But be patient and keep taking them as directed. Many of your hormones, vitamin and mineral levels are too low, while others are way too high, and your liver isn’t filtering things properly because it is too clogged up. These will help to detox your liver gently and get it functioning again and the other ones will help to stabilize your different hormone, vitamin and mineral levels.

As they begin to stabilize, you’ll notice that you feel better, have more energy, the pain and inflammation should start to go down. As your hormone levels even out, many of these female problems will start to go away and slowly get better.” He tells you.

“Here is the folder I promised you with all the results for the testings, as well as explanations of everything we discussed and my plan for your recovery. The supplements will automatically ship to your PO box each month and Rich’s card will be automatically billed for them as per the agreement he signed.

I will want to see you once a week for the first month to monitor things and track the progress and make sure you’re taking the supplements as directed. Set a reminder on your phone if you need to, in order to remember to take them.” he suggests. “After the first month, then we can space out the visits more and go from there. Okay?” he asks.

You nod and thank him for doing this for you. “Happy to help, Miss Fay. You are not the first one I’ve had to treat for this. With the change in diet and the supplements, I’m sure we can get you back on track. I’ve been doing this treatment for over 20 years now, and many women have been able to save their wombs and gone on to have successful pregnancies and given birth to healthy children thanks to this plan we’ve used for a very long time. I know it works, the fibroids WILL SHRINK and eventually disappear, and eventually, we’ll get you back on track and healthy once more.” He says with a smile. “It will just take time and dedication on your part to stick to the plan.” He assures you.

Nodding tiredly, you rest against Richard as the three of them talk a little more, then the two Doctors head out leaving you with Rich for the night.

You lie there resting against Richard’s side as he gently rubs your back. You were glad to no longer need the Oxygen mask, as the antibiotics and other meds worked their magic on you. You were thankful for this wonderful man holding you, who has stayed right by your side as often as he could. Blythe, Bernard, and Aiden too, all visited you when they weren’t recording. Some of the other cast and crew came to visit you throughout the week and wished you a speedy recovery as well.

Looking up at the huge collection of ‘Get well’ and ‘Feel better soon’ balloons, you giggle. Rich looks down at you and asks what’s so funny. “I think I have nearly every get well balloon and ‘feel better’ balloon ever made!” you say, and he chuckles. “Probably. You have many who miss you at work, and are hoping you are able to fully recover and come back to run errands for us. We’ve missed you a lot, Leanna.” Rich says as he kisses the top of your head and plays with a curl.

You sigh and play with his fingers on his free hand. “Thank you for being so good to me, Rich. Ever since you scared the living daylights out of me that first day you came into the sound stage, you’ve been kind and respectful.” You say quietly.

Rich smiles. “You’re welcome, Leanna. You’ve captured my attention since I first held you in my arms to steady you after I startled you. You’re like a delicious little enigma that the more I get to know you, the more layers of you I discover. It’s like a never ending Christmas gift. Each day I learn something new about you or see something new that I love or appreciate in you.” He purrs in his low, silky tone.

“I enjoy being around you and seeing you smiling and being so happy despite the pain it sounds like you are always in.” he murmurs.

You nod. “I’m always in some degree of pain. It’s tiring and difficult to hide. I guess I just got tired of everyone saying, ‘You can’t be in that much pain!’ or ‘You’re too young to be hurting like that!’ Or ‘Just you wait till you’re old, then you’ll know what real pain is.’.” you tell Richard. “I was tired of being disbelieved, rebuked and torn down for saying that I was in pain, so I stopped telling people that, and learned to hide it so no one knew.” You say quietly.

It makes Richard’s chest ache to hear you say that you are always in pain. He wants desperately to take the pain from you, but knows that he can’t other than by helping to pay for the Naturopathic Doctor. “Sweetheart, will you do something for me?” he asks quietly.

You look up at his face and those gorgeous blue eyes, “What do you want me to do, Rich?” you ask. He gazes down at you and gently caresses your face, hoping he has earned enough of your trust not to send you running at his request. “Will you be my girlfriend and let me take care of you from now on? I don’t want you to have to go through this anymore, being alone. I love you and care deeply about you. I want to walk this path of life alongside you, holding your hand and giving you support and encouragement when you need it and doting on you and pampering you if you’ll let me. I want to grow old with you if you’ll have me.” he murmurs in a quiet, warm tone as he caresses your face while you gaze up at him.

Closing your eyes, you focus on him and how he makes you feel as he holds you and caresses your head and back. You consider his request and realize you feel safe with him and feel incredibly loved and cherished when he holds you. His big, warm hands with those lovely, long fingers caress your face with such gentleness and love that you’re sure it would turn you to a pile of goo if you let him touch the rest of your bare skin like this.

His warm voice calms and soothes your frazzled nerves and makes you just want to cuddle him all the time. Those gorgeous sapphire eyes you love to gaze at make you feel so incredibly loved and wanted. You feel like you could drown in the depths of those blues for all eternity and die a happy woman.

You take his free hand in yours and caress his fingers gently, then bring them to your lips and kiss each one. “I’m not sure why you want such a broken thing as me, Rich, I’m not pretty, nor am I healthy, nor am I anything much important. But if you want me then I will be your girlfriend. You have treated me with kindness and respect and never pressured me for anything. You’ve sought out my happiness and have taken care of me and gotten me the help I needed when I couldn’t do it for myself.” You reply and see his face light up with happiness and relief.

Richard gets a huge grin on his face and peppers your face with soft, whiskery kisses and he hugs you tight. “I love you, Leanna, thank you for giving me a chance to get to know you and appreciate all that you are. Thank you for not pushing me away like you did with the other men who asked to date you.” Rich murmurs into your hair, “Thank you for lowering the walls you had put up enough, to give me the gift of your presence, your friendship, and for agreeing to be my girlfriend. I promise, Love, we’ll walk the paths of life together if you’ll have me, and grow old with me together as a couple.” He purrs in your ear, still cuddling you tight.

Giggling, you hug his arms and nod. “I feel safe in your arms. I know I can trust you and that you won’t hurt me. Thank you for wanting me, Rich.” You reply and the two of you sit there, cuddling and Rich peppering your neck and shoulder with soft, whiskery kisses, little licks of his tongue and little love nips. He revels in how sweet your skin tastes and smells. It’s delectable and he basks in the heady scent of your sweet musk and the peppermint shampoo that was used to wash your hair her at the hospital.

Soon the two of you fall asleep, cuddled tight in warm embraces.

~~~

Yay for Leanna and Rich!!! Don’t worry, there’s more fun to come!!! Part 4 coming soon!!! :) Thanks for reading and leaving comments! It always fills my heart with happiness and love!!!

@lathalea @e-m-christina @linasofia @criminaly-supernatural @sketch-and-write-lover @blankitdblankityboom @nightsong @theknightoferebor @sazzlep

#Richard Armitage #new story #just finished it #surprise ending #multichapter fic #more to come #discussions of the past #trigger warnings #drunk driver accident #death #elder neglect #medical history #lupus #rheumatoid arthritis #Uterine Fibroids #Naturopathic Doctors

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