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neonghostlights · 6 months

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i have a request !

popular cheerleader reader comes back after summer break sporting a small baby bump. it’s eddies. theyve been in a secret relationship, drama ensues!

This is cute! I changed it around just a bit but I still hope you like it!!

Warnings: Sunshine!Mom!Reader x Dad!Eddie, Food/Eating, Pregnancy, Nausea and Vomiting (Morning sickness), Cravings, Protective Eddie, everyone’s in their early to mid 20's.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Surprise!

It was the summer after college and everyone was leaving.

Not permanently, thankfully.

It was a weird feeling to have the little family you had built over the years break apart and go their separate ways, even if it was only for a few months.

It was like a coming of age moment in a movie. You were adults. College educated adults that were having one last piece of freedom before settling down at boring jobs you would work at for the next forty something years before you had to retire.

Nancy and Jonathan were going back to the small California town that his mom, Hopper, sister and brother were located. They would spend the whole summer there before their new jobs as a journalist and photographer at a New York newspaper.

Steve was going to Washington state for some training before he started his new cushy business job. He was excited and nervous of course but hiding it behind a suave exterior. He bought some fancy new cologne to go with his new suits and you had a feeling that he wouldn’t be coming home alone at the end of the summer.

Chrissy and Robin would be spending the summer in Florida at one of Chrissy's cousins' beach houses. Robin was terrified to meet Chrissy’s family but soon got over it when Chrissy reminded her of the days they would spend in the sand with the cool ocean breeze kissing their skins.

That left you and Eddie. The two polar opposites of your group of friends.

Eddie was rough edges, spicy cologne and wild hair from head banging while playing his guitar.

You were soft skin from your vanilla lotion, sweet lips from your strawberry lipgloss and a lover of fluffy pillows that look like clouds.

You were sensitive, easy to tear up at the wrong tone of voice. Eddie was the opposite, using brash words and sticking his finger up to anyone he thought had done him wrong.

It wasn’t like you and Eddie hated each other. You just weren’t super close. He was kind to you, never mean. And there were times he would speak up for you at restaurants when they got your order wrong and you were too anxious to complain.

And there was the time he punched a guy in the face at the bar for putting his hands on you without your permission.

But those were things you thought came from being in the same friend group. You stood up for each other.

You knew without your mutual friends around that you and Eddie would have no reason to see each other over the summer. It would be like you two were strangers for a few months before the people you loved came home and gave you a reason to be around each other again.

You hadn’t had any jobs lined up or anything exciting to do over the summer. The job search local to Hawkins had come up dry. You dreaded the thought of having to move far away just to put your degree to use and to make enough to pay the bills.

Steve was the last to leave. You and Eddie stood at Steve’s doorstep, waving at him as you saw him pull away in the cab to go to the airport.

There was a brief and awkward silence when the tail lights disappeared around the corner. The last thread holding you and Eddie together stretching and stretching until it broke right in front of your eyes.

You turned to give him an awkward smile and wave before climbing down the cement steps of Steve’s home and heading towards your car. You thought about maybe curling up on the couch to watch a romantic comedy that would make you laugh and cry simultaneously.

A good laugh/cry was good for the soul.

When you hit the last step you heard Eddie clear his throat behind you before calling your name.

“Do you wanna go get some pizza?” He asked you, hands shoved in his pockets as rocked back and forth awkwardly.

You nodded, a small smiling gracing your face as you stared up at him.

Maybe you wouldn’t have to spend the summer alone after all.

You fixed your skirt and then fixed it again.

“Relax,” Eddie muttered in your ear as he came up behind you, pulling you against him.

“Do you think they’re gonna be mad?” You asked again for the twentieth time that day.

“No,” Eddie answered again, also for the twentieth time that day.

Everyone’s return to Hawkins happened to land on the same weekend. You were excited to see your friends again after so long apart and to hear about everything they did.

You were so excited t4o get your secret off your chest. The weight of it was crushing you and you weren’t sure you could keep breathing if you didn’t let it off your chest.

Eddie was cool and calm as usual, the only sign of his stress being his chewed down nails. You had wrapped some bandaids around the ones that bled earlier.

Nancy and Jonathan showed up to your apartment first with some cool photos they took while hiking in California. There were some of the pretty sunset and also some of Jonathan lying on a rock when he got tired halfway through and threatened to crawl back down.

Chrissy and Robin showed up next, smelling like coconut and happiness. Robin gushed over the bonding she did with her girlfriend's family while Chrissy stared up at her in awe. The both of them looked even more in love than they were when they left.

Steve showed up last, dressed in his suit. He apologized for showing up late, blaming a last minute meaning that was part of his training.

The slight blush on his face and lipstick on his color had you thinking that it wasn’t the training that made him late.

You didn’t want to embarrass him so you didn’t point it out.

Robin didn’t catch the memo though, teasing him gently before pulling him in for a big hug.

You didn’t have anything big planned in your small apartment. Eddie had ordered some pizzas which you were excited for. You had been craving the cheese and pepperonis so bad that your mouth had watered all day at the thought of finally sitting down to eat.

The first one to notice something was off was Robin. She sat in the middle of your couch with Steve on one side of her and Chrissy on the other.

You hadn’t done anything particularly incriminating except for getting up and making an excuse when Eddie sat too close to you. He shot you a look that told you to chill out as you fumbled to the other side of the room, faking an interest in Jonathan's new camera.

You caught the way Robin’s eyes danced between you and Eddie, probably putting together pieces of a story that you were thinking of the best time to tell.

You shied away from her accusing eyes until Eddie went to go get the pizza from the delivery driver at the door.

You offered to help him, following him to the entryway that didn’t shield you from your friends' gazes as much as you thought it would.

“I can help,” you offered, holding out your hands to take some of the weight off of Eddie.

“It’s too heavy, baby,” Eddie said as he brushed a kiss across your temple as he walked into the living room.

You sighed. It was hard having to keep your distance from him after three months of always being alone together. You had gotten into a routine of soft kisses and music playing as you made breakfast together. He had practically moved into your apartment at this point.

You were both aware that you were moving fast but it was the way the circumstances lined up for the two of you.

You sat on the floor next to Eddie, ready to dig into the pizza you had been dreaming about. Eddie smiled at you knowingly, he knew how much you had wanted this.

He fussed over you before you ate, making sure you had a pillow to sit on and a blanket covering your lap so you wouldn’t get cold.

You were both so caught up in your little love that you didn’t realize the hush that fell over the group as they took in what was happening.

Steve broke the silence leaning over to open the pizza box as it sat on top of the coffee table. You did a little shimmy, excited for the food.

That was, until the smell hit you.

It hit your stomach, nothing like how you imagined all day. You felt the cold sweat break out on your forehead and you realized what was about to happen.

“Excuse me!” You yelled into your hand as you crawled over Eddie and ran into your hallway bathroom.

You heard Eddie curse and get up to chase after you as you made it to the toilet just in time to retch.

The morning sickness had been awful and you thought since you had been craving the pizza you’d actually be able to keep it down this time.

“You’re okay,” Eddie assured you as he crouched beside you, wiping a wet cloth against your face. The room still spun as you closed your eyes and leaned against him.

“We gotta figure out a way to get some food in you,” Eddie worried, chewing at some of his poor nails.

You reached up, pulling his hand out of his mouth.

“Doctor said this is normal. I’ll be able to eat eventually,” you told him as you pushed up, some of the dizziness easing and your senses clearing.

“Give your mom a break, kid,” Eddie whispered towards your stomach. You weren’t showing yet but Eddie made it a point to talk to your baby daily. He wanted to make sure his baby knew his dads voice.

You thought it was adorable.

“You’re pregnant?!” You heard Steve practically yell from the bathroom doorway, a glass of water held in his hands.

The rest of the group crowded behind him, staring at you and Eddie sitting on the floor with wide eyes.

“Surprise!” Eddie said in an enthusiastic voice.

You thought you were gonna be sick again. This wasn’t how you wanted to tell them. You wanted to break the news to them gently that while they were away you and Eddie had fallen completely in love.

You hadn’t meant to get pregnant so soon into your relationship but you wouldn’t do anything to change it.

You held your breath, tensing up as they all continued to stare at you. Only letting out a breath in relief when you heard the loud voices of them arguing over who was going to be the favorite aunt or uncle.

“I told you it would be okay,” Eddie mumbled into your neck as he pulled you close.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, ignoring the fact that you were both still sitting in front of the toilet.

“I love you, but you need to brush your teeth,” Eddie said to you, making you laugh and roll your eyes at the same time.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson request #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie x mom!reader

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hotvintagepoll · 22 days

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Propaganda

Kim Novak (Vertigo, Bell, Book, and Candle)— She fought as much as she could to be able to preserve her own identity within the crushing hollywood system. She refused to change her czech last name and fought for a higher salary once she discovered her male counterparts were getting payed significantly more, which was an incredibly risky thing to do. She went through so much hollywood bs like she was forced to drop her affair with Sammy Davis jr. She played her iconic role in Vertigo thinking about her own oppressive and significant changes she had to undergo in order to fit in the tight hollywood mold which i think is partly why the movie is so beautiful and timeless. She is a gorgeous soul and a great artist.

Fredi Washington (Imitation of Life, The Emperor Jones)—She was a beautiful woman whose movie career was struck short because she refused to pass as white, but she did get to star with the greats like Cab Calloway, Hattie McDaniel, Paul Robeson, Duke Ellington, Louise Beavers, etc. Being a person of moral and conviction is hot. Also, she knew ballet and was a beautiful dancer in general.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kim Novak:

Fredi Washington propaganda:

Short Hollywood career for being too light-skinned to play maid roles, but too brown to be cast opposite a white man in the time. Civil Rights activist. Worked with Paul Robeson to create the Negro Actors Guild. Heavy work in theatre and the NAACP.

#fredi washington #kim novak #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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sprout-fics · 10 months

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Falling Down to Earth (Part One)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind

(Part Two Here)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 7.6k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity Warnings: References to childhood verbal abuse A/N: Three part character study of the medic named Fix, therapy included

There's exactly nine hours and ten minutes on the plane ride from England to Washington D.C. for you to finish falling down to Earth.

You sit in a far corner of the C-17, curled up on a seat and away from the other troops. Mostly American, some Canadian. They chatter for the first hour or so, and there's excitement, relief that buzzes through them. There’s smiles and laughter that drowns the fatigue of the things they've seen, the nightmares they'll all have. It doesn't matter right now. They're going home. Home to loved ones and familiar places, to joy and relief before the memories set in.In their camaraderie, someone produces a deck of cards, and there’s jovial laughter and friendly jibes as hands are played.

You listen from afar, gather bits and pieces of their lives- where they were stationed, for how long, where they're going home to, the people waiting for them. There’s an ounce of something that remains untouchable between them, refusing to speak of the bullet, the bombings and bombardments that scream in the silence of your mind. Some of them exchange numbers, share pictures of spouses, children, pets. There's a woman a little older than yourself who confesses she'll be proposing to her girlfriend the moment she lands, and the announcement is met by cheers and hardy claps on her shoulder.

You should join them, let the brightness of their joy drown away the dark pit that opens inside you with every mile that grows between you and the men you called brothers. Instead, every bit of illumination in their eyes seems to only make you sink further into yourself- wanting that happiness desperately for your own tender soul and far too afraid to reach for it.

There's no one to return to when you get home. Nobody to embrace you as you land, to burst from the door of a house and cry as they wrap their arms around you. Nobody to take you out to drinks even as you search the crowd for a familiar dark hoodie, a baseball cap, listen for a smoky, gruff voice or the lilting accent of a Scot. The only people for you are the people you've been forced to leave behind, staring across the sea and hoping maybe they'll think about you too.

You see the way the other troops eye you from afar, see the lost shape of you in your eyes that have long since stopped being able to shed tears. You think maybe one of them will come over, try to drag you from your thoughts, and for a moment you want so desperately for that to come true. It doesn't, and as the buzzer sounds and everyone finds their seats, you feel yourself descending to Earth once more, buckling away that horrid loneliness of you for whatever task comes next.

True to story, there's a small crowd of folks who welcome back the returning heroes with signs and embraces and delight. You tug your cap down a little farther, push past them and towards the direction of the base gate to grab a cab to...somewhere.

There's no one here for you. Not that you expected there to be. It's been a long time since you talked to your family. They'd tried to contact you while you were in university, and even now you can remember your father's commanding voice, warning you against the foolishness of your current path. He had been tempered only by your mother, with her docile, sad tremble, pleading for you to listen, to come home.

You stopped having a home with them a long time ago.

The last time you had heard from any of them was from your brother, the golden child, asking if you'd please consider coming to his candidacy announcement. Sweet, apologetic, filled with false niceties the result of only forceful ignorance.

"I don't know what happened between you and Dad, but maybe consider he said whatever he did because he cares about you?"

You hung up the phone, took your deployment papers, and never looked back.

Now, in a city that you've grown up in, one that feels like a foreign land, you falter, look to the wind for guidance. Air rushes past your form as you feel the center of yourself falling, an Icarus desperately reaching for the sun as you hurtle down into the dark waves of the ocean below. There’s no hands to catch you, nothing to stop your fall as you desperately grasp for an anchor against the gravity that forces you down into nothing.

You turn on your phone, watch it light up and prepare to call yourself a cab to a hotel. You're pretty sure your lease ended a long time ago, apartment cleaned out of the few things remaining there. You didn't bother to check, never expecting you'd be anywhere but here.

Surprisingly, you see a little green bubble pop up from one of the only numbers you have saved.

Laswell.

Fix. It reads, and you can almost hear Kate's clipped, wry tone in her words. If you're looking for a place to stay, come to this address. I've got a spare bedroom, and it sounds like you could use it. Let me know if you make other arrangements.

Attached is an address on the other side of the city, an hour's drive from where you are. You're ready to tap on it when there's one more message that appears beneath your thumb.

Text me when you get this. The boys want to know you made it home safe.

You're glad Kate isn't here to watch the sorrow color your eyes at the reminder of the men who have left you behind. You send a quick reply, summon a ride, and once more feel the world spin once more beneath your gaze as it rushes upwards, uncertain of where you will at last land when you sink through the clouds and into the ruin of yourself.

--------------------------------------------

It’s a nice house, you think.

Pressed up against a small thicket of trees, the brown brick bungalow exudes solitude, tucked away at the end of the aspen lined lane. The roof slopes steeply upwards, shingled and crossed over at the eaves with German styled paneling. It's older than many of the homes on the same street- newer, trying to appear older than they are with the faux stone exteriors and freshly installed windows.

The house before you is one of the few that has remained the same, steadfast against a changing world. Worn, tiles on the roof in need of mending, the stone steps gritty with dirt and age. It's quieter, yet somehow warmer than the homes around it. Like a hearth, it beckons you closer, offers the temptation of sanctuary. You can see a window jutting out into the direction of the side yard, a hidden perch that whispers of a quiet, needed withdrawal.

A glance down at your phone shows Kate’s message, the white letters contrasted against the gray darkness of your screen.

I won’t be home until after dinner, but Paula will be home. She’ll show you around :)

You shoulder your bag- standard issue military duffel- onto your back, trying to swallow down the gnawing sense of reluctance that paces the inner confines of your thoughts. The wince at the motion comes before you can stop it- the reminder of your suspension still scathing fresh against your skin. The lace of pain in your side instantly summons the memory of words fired between the sterile whiteness of a hospital room, aching with that same hurt.

“You have nothing to prove, Fix.”

“I have EVERYTHING to prove!!”

Even now, the freshly healed bullet wound you’d carefully concealed aches with an insistent, dulled sharpness against your ribs- almost worse than Price’s devastating command, thundering down onto you with dreaded finality.

“You’re suspended. Come back when you’ve got your head on straight.”

It hurts.

Not the wound itself, but the consequences you’ve reaped in the act of hiding it from the others- thinking that your injury would betray your own inner weakness. Deeper than a bullet, the horrifying, dreaded result of your own actions wind around your limbs like shadowy tendrils, dragging you down with an inertia you can’t control, wax wings melted by the sun.

Yet here the windows of the house glow warmly in the drawing dusk, candles in the dimness flicker, summoning you into their gentle embrace.

The hollow knock on the old wooden door seems to mimic the emptiness in your own heart, crying out in an emptiness you’ve always known, one you won’t be able to fill even with the insurmountable number of your disappointments.

The one who answers the door isn’t Kate. No, it’s a figure that’s a bit shorter, brown-eyed, coiling hair pulled away from her face. Still, the warmness of her eyes when she smiles, the brightness of her stare feels familiar, welcome.

“You must be Fix.” Kate’s wife greets, standing aside as your toes balance on the threshold. “I’m Paula. Please, come inside.”

You murmur a thanks, quiet and muted, eyes gazing down at your feet. You shuffle inside, perch precariously in the foyer as she shuts the door behind you.

This feels…wrong.

You desperately want it to not be so. You want to enjoy this- a warm house, a friendly face, a place to stay, to catch yourself. Yet there’s ghosts here, ones that whisper of chandeliers and polished centerpieces, beautiful tapestries and furniture meant only to look at. An artificialness you thought you abandoned long ago but persists even now. The scent of your father's office in your nostrils mutes Paula's gentle words.

“You can put your bag right here, we’ll get you settled later.” Paula gestures to a couch in the room beside you, where a dozing German Shepherd lies splayed against a frayed blanket. He gives you a few lazy thumps of his tail, raising a grey muzzle before flopping back once more. “Don’t mind Whiskey, he just had a run in the backyard, he’ll come say hello in a bit.”

Wordlessly, you drop the bag down on the cushions, turning back to Paula. Yet when your lips part, there’s no words. What do you even say?

I don’t want to be here. I want to be with them. This feels too much like the home I used to know, the same one I want to forget.

…Do you know where I can find myself again?

Your eyes find Paula’s, and all those words seem to be conveyed in your gaze alone. Heartbreak, bitter disappointment, longing, despair, a fury muted only by your own inescapable loneliness.

She takes a step forward, and you almost want to retreat, to press yourself away from her on instinct, a fragile thing that even a gentle touch might shatter. Yet there’s no threat in her eyes. Instead, there’s a warmth, a sadness that’s stifled by something that feels dangerously close to tenderness, to hope.

When her arms wrap around you, it feels less like a sentence and more like the inevitability of falling into a place where you want to rest the tender, hurt fringes of your soul.

You bury your face into her shoulder and sob like the child you never got to be.

--------------------------------------

True to her word, Kate comes home well after dark, bags under her eyes heavy as she drapes her jacket across the back of the couch. Whiskey, who until that point had been sitting attentively by your feet as you idly stroked his ears, barks and bounds over to Laswell, feet splaying forward and tail wagging. You watch as the fatigue in Laswell's eyes brightens to fondness, and she kneels to offer the German Shepherd a ruffle of his neck and a few tender words.

When she stands, she notices you past the door of the kitchen, perching on one of the barstools as Paula finishes making dinner.

"Fix." She offers in greeting, and she sounds oddly pleased, different than her usual, severe instruction to you and the team. "Good to see you."

You swallow around a piece of cracker and cheese and offer her a hesitant, shy glance with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Hi Chief." You supply in turn, and Kate waves a hand at you as she passes into the kitchen, Whiskey at her heels.

"You can drop the honorifics." She tells you, humor concealing the drain the day has had on her. "You're in my kitchen eating food from my pantry. This is about as informal as it gets."

"That would be my kitchen, actually?" Paula supplies her with an arched eyebrow as she stands over the stovetop, overseeing the steaks in the cast-iron pan. Yet as Laswell reaches her the feigned annoyance in her eyes fades to something sweeter, and she cranes her head as Laswell delivers a fond peck to her wife's cheek. "Hi hun, long day?"

"Aren't they all?" Kate replies, peering over Paula's shoulder and making a pleased noise at what she finds.

You shift a little where you sit, feeling suddenly as if you're deeply intruding on a very private moment between the two women.

Kate seems to notice, and she turns to you, grey eyes regarding your stiff, uneasy figure perched beside the counter. You're still dressed in your fatigues, haven't yet retrieved a change of clothes from your bag still dropped onto the couch. It makes you feel strangely out of place. Within the dim, ambient light of the kitchen, in a place that feels like the tender warmth of a hearth, the green and grey camo of your uniform makes you seem a whole world away.

You think Laswell might follow you there, might immediately ask about what happened in England, about your fight with Price, about the healing bullet wound in your side, about how long you'll be here.

Instead, Kate smiles and asks: "Chocolate or pistachio?"

You falter, perplexed by her non-sequitur, eyes blinking as you provide: "Choc...olate?"

Kate nods sagely and vanishes back in the direction of the living room. You hear her rustle around for a moment before she appears once more, hands full before she deposits a plastic container on the kitchen counter in front of you. You blink at the dessert, once more feeling a bit out of place with the strange mundanity Kate has bestowed upon you.

"Cannoli." She quips, and it startles a little gasp from Paula, who turns and delightedly snatches a plastic container from her wife's hands.

"Eastern Market?" She asks happily, and Kate nods, looking a touch pleased with herself. "No wonder you were so late."

Kate offers a tired shrug, taking a bite of her own dessert, to which Paula tsks.

"Dessert before dinner?" She inquires, and again Kate shrugs. Yet this time there's that wry smile of hers tugging at the corner of her lips as she leans against the counter beside you.

"Who's to say we can't?" She replies, and when she glances at you her eyes flicker down to your own dessert and then up to you with a meaning there you don't fully understand yet. Her grey gaze rests on yours as if she's trying to convey a message through her stare alone. It remains to be deciphered, unwritten and unspooled just like the depths of you.

When you take a bite, the sweetness coats your tongue, and there's a small, foreign part of you that twinkles with joy, like the barest sound of wind chimes in a warm breeze.

-----

Kate shows you to your room after dinner and dishes. It's sparse. A bed, a dresser, a desk, a lamp, a closet. The window you saw earlier looks into the backyard, a cushion seated inside the frame like a silent lookout. It pleases you, oddly, scratches the part of your brain that instinctively seeks perches from which to set up a sniper position.

"It's not the Ritz Carlton." Laswell tells you as you stand, frozen on the threshold. "So, you'll have to bear with it."

"No." You whisper mildly. "It's...it's perfect."

You've spent so much time sleeping in trenches, on rooftops, on planes and in safehouses and not sleeping at all that this- this room with the downy white comforter and the soft hazy light of the lamp by the bedside...is more than you think you deserve.

You lower the duffel onto the bed with a considerable amount of hesitation, feeling Kate's eyes on you as you trace the print on the decorative pillow nestled at the headboard. She's silent, in that way of hers that you know is watchful, contemplative, discerning the secrets of others like sifting sand through her fingers in search of sea glass.

"Thank you." You offer after considerable silence, feeling and gratitude beyond words, trying to swallow down the protests that threaten to spill outwards.

I don't deserve this. You think. How can I possibly stay here, with you, after you chose me and I failed? How can you forgive me for that?

When you turn to Kate, she somehow sees all of this and more written across your gaze, and she sighs.

"Fix." She begins, and normally that's enough to make you panic, shift inwards and prepare yourself to be defensive, to receive orders and bury any doubts in exchange for duty. You expect instructions, constraints, consequences in the way you've lived all your life.

Yet Laswell holds her breath, looks at you with an emotion that feels too wise and sibylline to be pity or concern. Instead, it reminds you of the prophecy she held in her gaze in Ethiopia, where she told you to find her once more, had drawn you in like a moth to flame as if she knew you needed to be burned whole to find yourself amidst the ashes.

"Whatever you need." Kate offers at last. "I'm here. I mean that."

You want to believe her, want so desperately to bask in her comfort and ask of her more than you can bear, but the whisper of something deep and dark and unknown coils in your ear, drags you down and muffles any other sound than "Thank you."

It doesn't seem to satisfy Kate, because the line of her mouth goes taut and grim, form a little tense and it's hard to not think of it as disapproval.

"There's something else." She supplies in the silence that follows. "Price...mandated that you see a therapist while you're on leave. I'm supposed to sign off when you're fit to return to duty."

You can acutely hear the sound of your own heart hammering in your ears, feel the world spin in dizzying chaos once more as you process Kate's words.

"I thought you should know." Kate tells you as your face shifts in something close to fright, anxiousness. "But in exchange you can't keep pretending like there's nothing wrong."

There is nothing wrong. You want to tell her, knowing that it's a lie. So instead, you offer her silence, refuse to damn yourself further with your protests.

Kate paces over to the desk, pulls a drawer and produces a journal, places it gingerly on the surface of the desk before looking back to you.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. You don't even have to tell your therapist if you want. If you tell no one else, at least try and tell yourself."

You don't respond. What is there to say? Confess why you know you're here, that you think this is wrong despite that? That somehow for all the ruin in you, you're being punished?

Kate holds your gaze for a long moment before she closes her eyes, seemingly in resignation, pacing over to the door.

"The others..." She tells you, halfway turned to you, dim shadows slating across her form. "They care about you, Fix. We all do. I hope you remember that."

There's a pain then, one that flashes through you, makes something dull and rotted inside you crave towards brightness. You don't truly understand why it hurts until much later, curled in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness and trying to uncover the secrets of your own heart.

You think, deep inside, it's because you want to care about yourself too.

-------

The days that follow inch by.

You try your best to make yourself at home, memorizing the schedules of the women who host you. Laswell wakes first, at an hour most would consider ungodly, making herself a meager breakfast composed mostly of coffee before she kisses Paula and heads out towards the Pentagon. Paula follows later, flitting about the house muttering about misplaced papers, keys, glasses, her purse. You learn the first evening with them that she's counsel to a large immigration defense firm in the city, her hours intense but fairly flexible. She's usually back by early afternoon and manages to retain a wealth of energy Laswell seems to lack upon her arrival. The days repeat themselves, and every morning you watch them leaves, ears ringing in the quiet, empty house they've left behind.

You try to relax, as Laswell has ordered you, at least for the first few days. You read books, leaf through the Washington Post, go on long, rambling walks with Whiskey and end up with his head in your lap as you flick through movies on TV. You watch the characters there fall into silly, desperate love, jump from burning buildings and look into the camera with dewy, glowing gazes. It feels so foreign to you, so very detached from the things you've experienced, the life you've led.

The journal on your desk goes untouched.

Kate arrives back in the evenings, and sometimes she's too tired to even talk, forcing herself to eat and then collapsing on the couch for an hour, Whiskey splayed across her front. You join her in mutual company, curl onto the other sofa and sink into the confines of your own thoughts in mutual silence. Sometimes you join Paula in the kitchen, aid her in washing dishes and cleaning the remains of dinner. Yet the unwavering warmth in her, the brightened chatter she offers feels too sharp, too indulgent against your frayed, muted senses.

Instead, you find yourself with Kate, who talks in a low, quiet voice. The tone of her feels like the ocean casting gently against a pebbled beach, rhythmic and soothing, cradling you as the clipped, wry intonation of her drops away in the solitude of evening. You feel for the first time as if you're observing not Laswell but Kate. Somehow softer but just as resilient, a glimmering glass that reveals the machinations of the world itself.

Kate talks to you about music, about politics, to which you find yourself closely aligned, about pop culture that Paula chimes in on, about her travels. She regales you with stories about her missions abroad, spending time in the dust bowls of the Middle East, of beautiful tea shops and warm people. She spins images of ruined buildings but the people there straining against injustice and wanting desperately to not just survive but to thrive. She tells you of trips down into the heart of Sub-Saharan Africa, of tracing networks of terrorists through jungles and of the many languages she's spoken to find them.

She doesn't tell you about the lives she'd lost as a result.

She's careful not to talk about work, you notice. Any intel she has to share, that which you would normally be privy to, remains conspicuously absent in your conversations. There's no discussion of intel on AQ, on Russian gangsters or foreign mercenaries or underground criminal networks. She's purposeful, calculated, and more often than not you're led by her conversations so much so that you forget the questions you want to ask.

What did you find? Where? Who? Will you send them? Which ones?

...How are they?

The mere thought of the 141 aches you to the bones, makes you hurt so badly it cracks at the very foundation of you. You haven't heard from them since you left England, and every day that passes you catch yourself staring into the messages last sent by them. Gaz, inviting you to come watch a soccer match with him and Price, one that ended up drawing all of you as Soap groaned in defeat and Gaz stood proudly on the couch whooping at the TV. Price, reminding you wheels up in fifteen, suggesting you double check your medic kit one more time before you all leave. Soap, a selfie of you and the others at a bar, where Price and a dark hooded figure sit passively in the background.

Ghost, with your message a parting, aching gift you sent while you were recovering from your original injury after being shot. He had texted to let you know he and Price would arrive shortly, bring you a change or two of clothes from your bag, that they were five minutes out.

You had sent back "See you soon."

It's on more than one night you hug your phone to your chest, chest lacing with a pain where you can't discern the phantasmal from the physical. It feels like a curse, one with no remedy, a dangerous, sacrilegious hypocrisy you scream against with no escape. It's a reminder that you, you were the one to put yourself here, the rope that bound you to them frayed by your own mistakes and snapping into nothingness, watching them rise far above you atop the summit of impossible expectations you built for yourself. You scrabble to climb it anyways, carrying stones to place at the zenith so you'll never reach the apex of your own victories.

You shake apart in your bed at night, tremble in the dark and find echoes in your sorrow. You feel your chest weigh down with the poisonous solitude and sink you further into the abyss of the ocean, far from the sun. It's dark, cold, insufferably lonely and despite the soft comfort of your bed it feels like at the slightest touch you'll splinter into irreparable fragments of yourself.

You wish you were still with them, and the pain of it draws you taut like a bowstring. Their fingers skim along your thoughts and memories, along the tether of you so they can listen to the hum. At a moment's notice they'll recoil away from you in your thoughts, snap and release. You crave the temptation of allowing yourself to shudder into their grasp, their hands embracing you and tracing along your surface like trying to coax poison from a wound. You want so desperately for them to not leave you behind, to stay in their hearts where they might someday accept you with grace, listening to the whisper of your surrender in being loved by them.

When you wake in the mornings you don't recognize the birdsong outside, mistaking it for the whistle of impending missiles.

You sometimes wonder if they died while you were asleep.

------

It's that second week into your stay that you go to see your issued therapist for the first time.

Despite your protests Paula takes time off work to take you there herself. You assure her you can call a taxi or even walk there if you have to. You've hiked kilometers wearing your whole gear set and pack before, this is not difficult. Yet Paula merely hushes you, reminds you once again of your injury, and you realize it's a lost cause to argue with her.

Even so, you squirm uncomfortably in the car on the way over, cheeks warm, feeling like a little kid again being taken somewhere you don't want to go. The sensation follows you inside, as you sit ramrod straight in the waiting area, too tightly wound to relax even an inch. Paula had given you the grace of leaving you there by yourself, but for some strange reason you wish she hadn't. Even in your shame of attending this mandatory punishment you wish selfishly that maybe she'd return, cover your hand and let the erratic thump of your heartbeat settle in your lungs.

Eventually the door to the interior office opens, and out steps an older man, hunched over with a cane, grey hairs sticking out from under a cap that reads 'Vietnam Veteran'. He glances at you over his glasses, pauses just long enough to give you a nod with a smile that barely contains the grimace underneath. It's only once he's passed that the doctor behind him calls for you, and you shoot to your feet, a live wire rigged with electricity.

The inside of his office is...quiet. It's a little strange, admittedly. There's knick knacks scattered across the shelves, wedged between acclimations and awards, plants with long stems spilling across the windowsill behind his desk. More of them perch on various stands and stools, tenderly cared for and alighting the space in greenery. The bookshelves scarcely contain the number of books within them, some stacked slightly askew to make room for more. Yet despite the crowdedness it isn't messy. It simply feels...full. Cozy, like the warmth of an open heart.

"Fix." You correct him when he sits across from you. You realize he doesn't bother with a pen and paper, doesn't sit in front of a laptop screen. You weren't sure what you were expecting- perhaps a dry, sterile office in pastel colors with motivational poster and a man clinically scratching down shorthand with a murmur of 'and how does that make you feel?'

"Fix." He agrees with a kind smile, and the sound of your own name is enough to make your leg stop bouncing.

He doesn't launch straight in, taking a moment to inform you of your rights and responsibilities as a patient, the things he is and isn't allowed to share. He reminds you that you still need to pass a psych eval before you're cleared for duty, and you swallow the urge to ask him if you can do that part already, recite the answers you already know and get back to where you belong. Yet you know Laswell, with her keen perceptive eyes, would only sigh in disappointment, recognizing the transparency of you.

"I'm a medic." You tell him in response to his prompt to introduce yourself despite the fact he's already read your file. "I'm the designated medic for an international terrorism taskforce. I can't tell you the name."

He waits expectantly, as if for you to provide something else. You falter, trying to figure out if there's anything else you should add. Yet nothing appears, nothing else than your identity built through purpose, a thing designed inherently to be useful for others.

"Do you do anything outside of work, Fix?" He gently pries, and again you hesitate, trying to find something in yourself you aren't sure exists.

"I...sometimes go out with my teammates." You offer after a pause. "Pubs, usually. Soap and Gaz, they..." You trail off, feeling once more that pain pulse through you, a hard and heavy burst of awareness against your ribs that makes the air in your chest catch. "Soap and Gaz, they like to go dancing sometimes. They dragged me along once but I didn't like all the noise and the crowds so I didn't go again."

"Sounds like you're fairly close with them." He remarks as he sits back in his chair, and you try not to grimace at his words. There's a deep ache in your chest that makes you want to press a hand there, feel the hollow where the absence of your team lies.

"Maybe." You reply enigmatically, shifting your eyes away, letting your gaze trace the electric clutter of the room, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. You think about the veteran you just saw, wonder if that’s how he sees you too- some scarred, broken thing with eyes looking distantly to the past where your nightmares echo into your soul.

"Where are they now?" He goes on, and the chest ache deepens, forces the air low in your ribs as your brow knots. You think about the faces of Soap, of Gaz, as they lingered outside your hospital room after you pushed them away. The guilt, the tearing regret inside you threatens to choke your lungs, send warmth flooding to your eyes with the memory.

"England." You answer, voice very small. "Or...I don't know. They could be deployed. I haven't been told. They..." You trail off, feel the downward spiral open inside you once more, your awareness circling the drain into where your deepest, darkest thoughts lie.

"I failed them." You say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the abrupt confession. It's more to yourself than to anyone else, a solemn reminder of the person you are, the things you couldn't achieve, the deep frost of the shadows they cast on you as they hike ever onwards into the hills.

"How so?" The therapist asks, and you look down into your fingers webbed together, upturning your palms as if they have answers.

"I...fucked up. Got myself shot." You breathe after several long minutes of silence, where you think he will fill the void, and instead waits for you. He takes a deep inhale, lets it go in contemplation before speaking.

"I don't think getting shot counts as failing them, not when you're in our occupation." He provides, and it makes your head shoot up, blinking as you meet his gaze.

"Our...?" You echo.

"Former army medic." There's a gentle smile on his face as he explains. "Left the service and went back to school. I still help soldiers, just a little different these days."

"Oh."

You're not really sure what to say to that, face turning downwards towards your hands once more. You think about the times they've been caked with blood, how often you've felt someone else's pulse bleed across your fingertips. The memories of the men and women you'd treated amidst the hail of gunfire, the whistle of incoming mortars and the distant thunder of tanks rise automatically- a warm, wet pulse on the underside of your skin. You remember every face, every set of eyes on the people you've saved, the horror of death looming in the distance.

All of them. Afraid. Confused. Desperate. Lost.

Just as you are, you think. Lost in a fate you can't seem to control no matter how desperately you strive against it. You’re constantly trying to strain towards the heavens even as you hurtle down through layers of clouds, watching feathers cast an abstract of loss behind your descending form.

"Can you tell me about what happened after you were shot?" The man before you offers once more in the silence that follows, one filled only with the thrum of your heartbeat. You breathe shaky, unsteady sigh, trying to calm the twisting knot in your stomach as you struggle to answer against the pain of recalling what events led you here.

"I went back to our home base with them" You answer at last. "...But they had to be called away on another mission, and I was still healing so I couldn't go."

You remember Price. You remember his hands on your shoulders, his face turned down. Weary but kind, stern but gentle, all the things you desperately wanted in him, soothing the balm of forgotten memories. The sound of the oak door in your father's office shutting behind you with a click that spoke of finality.

"I...was trying to heal faster." You go on, leg bouncing once more as you fail to contain the rising, frenetic energy inside of you. "I was trying to make sure I could be fine once they got back, but..."

You trail off, feel silence press heavy on your shoulders.

"But?"

"I ended up really fucking things up instead." You reply, voice small, and it hurts. The volume of your words sounds like childhood, of the echo bouncing back from the repository of the things you longed desperately to shed, to be made anew. "Made a right mess of things."

"How so?"

You grimace, feel tears threaten in your eyes. The taste of a sob sours on your tongue, and you force yourself to swallow the bitterness of it instead.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You remind yourself. Don't show them. Don't let them know.

They might leave you.

When you don't answer, let minutes lap into nothingness, his voice at last fills the emptiness between you. Gentle, coaxing, reminding you of a smoke laden reassurance that shudders through you with longing.

"It sounds like you put a lot of pressure on yourself." He observes quietly.

You pause.

Your bullet wound hurts.

"Yeah, well, someone has to." You at last reply ruefully. Your shoulders feel too tight, aching with the weight of the wings you’ve used to loft yourself towards sparkling heavens, only to reach too far and instead witness the looming maw of darkness under you.

You hate this.

You hate the feeling of someone peeling back layers of your skin, slicing through the exterior of you with a scalpel like gaze. You hate how gentle his eyes are despite how wretchedly vulnerable you feel, despise the way he can be so soothing and yet somehow reveal the rotten interior of your soul. It burns, and the pain concentrates on the center of your failures, where a bullet ripped flesh from your form and rendered you lost in the labyrinth of yourself, unable to find a way out.

"-and that person is you? Why?" He asks, and his voice echoes out, feels like it reverberates in the hollow center of you, bouncing endlessly in an irreligious choir that sings of the things you don't understand.

"I...don't know." You answer, and it's a lie. You know it is. You know the tether that binds you extends years into the past, is wrapped tight in the fist of the one whose voice echoes in the cavern of your thoughts. He dwells in the ocean below, where churning, disastrous waves of emotion close over your drowning form.

"Worthless."

The man before you pauses, seems to consider the things you've said, and the words that stay unspoken in the silence. It reminds you a bit of Laswell, of the way she can pluck unseen things from the mist and discern them like the tides of the world itself. You're caught in the rip current, carried to an unknown destination as the men you hold dear drift further away from you, their backs turned from your voice that refuses to call out.

You wish they’d turn and cast their eyes upon your form, that maybe they'd rescue you.

You're too afraid to ask.

"I think we can find out, Fix." The man before you offers at last, and it feels both like a shimmer of light in the darkness and a shadow that blots out the sun. Hopeful, terrifying, entirely foreign but somehow wanted.

"Will you tell me more about your teammates?" He goes on to ask, and you do raise your head at that, blink into his spectacled gaze with his warm smile that feels like an embrace you don't deserve.

The words tumble out before you can stop them.

You tell him. You tell him about the men you've served with, of your brothers. You tell him about Soap, with his brawny and boisterous voice, of his playful and endearing banter. You tell him about how the Scot was the first besides Price to welcome you to the team, was the one to give you your nickname when he had bled into your hands. You tell him about the moments where Soap is softer, gentler, offering himself to you in a way he hoped you'd might one day return.

Gaz, with his softer smile and unwavering focus, his deep loyalty to his team members that bolsters you all. He sees the things the rest of you don't, gaze sharp like the scope of a rifle you're all too familiar with. There's a softness to him unlike the others, one that you will sometimes forget in the midst of him at your back under a hail of gunfire. You know the sound of his laughter, know the bump of his arm against yours and the tenderness in his eyes at the things you won't admit.

Then Price, with his stern guidance that you never fail to adhere to, the hand on your shoulder that conveys more than words. You feel safety under the shelter of his wing, look to his stare that looks past the obstacles that stand in his way. He paves the way before you all, secures the ground behind you, stands in unrelenting, furious opposition to the forces that dare advance upon your mission. Yet despite his violence you feel the trust he shares in you, and you desperately crave to someday live up to it.

Ghost.

Ghost, whose real name you don't yet know, just like so many things about him. The first time you met him was in a briefing room, Price standing tall beside you and announcing you to the team. Ghost had leveled his dark, dead gaze at you from afar, and despite the urge to shrink away you had instead returned his stare wordlessly, allowing your own resilience to shine through. You remember how his eyes had widened a mere fraction, a tell you would come to learn as interest.

You know it had been him who had taken off your boots when you collapsed into your bunk after Nepal. You know it had been him to give Price the thermos of tea to bring you in the hospital. You know it had been him who had gently lowered you onto the floor of the plane upon your return to England, ensured you wouldn't wake up sore and hurting.

You know it was he who had told Price of your failures- had revealed the depths of your own self-hatred blossoming like carnations across the skeletal grasp of his glove.

You know he's always been able to see you more than anyone else.

You don't say all this, of course, the secrets of your wishes and desires for these men stay close to your heart. You know by now the sacredness of things left unsaid, even if the swell of them inside you threatens to fester your bones, rip feathers from your flesh.

Don't let them know. Don't let them know. Don't let them know because you'll find out just how disappointed they are. You'll find out they never wanted you to begin with.

At last, your therapist nods, as if to himself, before leaning forward a bit so his elbows rest on his knees. He looks at you, and in your weary heart left in the wake of your memories, you feel the clairvoyant gaze of him pierce into your ribs where the ache of it all dwells.

"Can you come back next week?" Is all he offers.

You aren't sure. You want to say no, that this is far too much, that you've already spoken more than you want to. You're afraid if you share more he might somehow decide your fate for you, might pull the strings of fate so you will never return to the place you're supposed to be.

Yet, somehow, you say yes instead.

------

You go home, silent on the drive with Paula, who gives you grace in the absence of words. You are silent for the rest of the day too, offer scant bits of conversation as you pick at dinner. The world feels different somehow. The air rushing past your ears feels quieter, the wind not as sharp against your skin. You’re still falling, still sinking, still watching the heavens loom too large above your form. You recall the memory of being younger, smaller, looking up at the unfathomable expanse of the world and wondering when you would grow to meet its size.

You stare up at it in the darkness of your bedroom, hear the gale howl in the silence of midnight. There’s questions left to you that you have no answers for, upturning your palms once more and trying to sift sand through them in search of something there you don’t yet know.

"That person is you? Why?"

It has to be me. You think to yourself, hearing the sound of your own voice hush against the emptiness of your room. Nobody else is here anymore to do the same. I have to be better. I can't fail. I can't disappoint them. That way they can't see the failure I am inside.

Don't let them see. Please, dear God don't let them see.

It's a desperate cry into the midnight, a hand thrown up in desperation that sears against the sun. The blistering brightness of it burns against the back of your eyelids, rendering you blind to yourself. White consumes your vision, and you hear the fated whisper of snow blindness echo against the fraught fringes of your soul once more.

"I see you. Just you."

You blink, once more feel the tug of pain in your side where his hand had clamped down on your scarlet wound. The sight of his eyes is inescapable in the realm of your thoughts. Dark, grim, gazing into you as if somehow he is discerning himself. You remember those same eyes as you had bled over his fingertips, had begged him to please, please not look. You remember seeing something that flickered across his stare, that had shaken you to your core, trembled the foundation of the earth under your feet.

Grief.

You rise from your bed, stare into the darkness of your room, feeling the Earth rotate under your falling form. You spread your arms, trying to slow your descent as you pace over to your desk where the gift from Laswell lies.

If you can't tell anyone. At least tell yourself.

You pick up the journal and begin to write.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #I'm actually really proud of this #and honestly this series isn't as beloved as some of my other faster dirtier sloppier pieces #But I'm okay with that #because at the end of the day this story is and has always been for me #It isn't something I choose to write #It's something that's existed in me all along #and even if people don't like it I am desperately in love with Fix's world and that's what matters

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thefallennightmare · 6 months

Text

Rest-Nick Folio

Pairings: Nick Folio x Reader

Warnings: maybe a swear or two? fluff, lots of it.

Summary: Reader plans a little rest and relaxation weekend away with Nick after a five-weeklong tour.

Authors Note: Enjoy this cute ass one-shot filled with so much fluff it'll make your teeth rot.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Nick's knee bounced with agitation or excitement.

I wasn't sure.

With a crooked smile, I shook my head. "I told you it's a surprise."

The cab pulled to a stop in front of the busy airport and while Nick grabbed our bags from the trunk; I double-checked our flight reservations along with our bed-and-breakfast reservation. Our flight was scheduled to leave on time, and we would land an hour before check in.

Perfect.

I pocketed my phone then looked over to Nick, who was walking over to me while carrying both of our bags. I offered to carry my own, but he smacked my hand away.

"Three years later and you still try to carry your own bags," he chuckled.

I sighed playfully. "I'm just trying to lighten your load, Nick. You've been working so hard the last few weeks and you only got back last night from tour."

The sounds of planes taking off over head echoed loudly around us as people maneuvered their way throughout the crowds, trying to make their own flights.

With his bag slung over his shoulder and pulling mine behind him, Nick laced our fingers together and we walked into the airport as I led us towards our gate.

"I was fine staying home with you, sweetheart. But you woke me up at five this morning saying you were taking me somewhere," Nick finished with a yawn.

Guilt pulled at my heart seeing how tired he was. Bad Omens finished their five-week-long tour last night in Los Angeles so thankfully, Nick didn't have a long travel day back home but even with him coming home at 2 this morning, I still had to wake him up early so we could make our 10 am flight.

Yesterday when I showed up to the venue for his show, that was the first time in five weeks that I'd seen him. We'd been together for the last three years so I was there from the beginning when Bad Omens were playing the small stages at Warped Tour to now watching them play in sold out venues for the last two tours. Ever since they blew up on Tik Tok and gained such an immense following, all the guy had been working tirelessly to be the best they could for their fans. Touring, writing music, or trying to get in the studio to record. They hadn't had more than a few days off where they weren't doing some kind of work so to say the deserve all the success is an understatement.

To say that Nick deserves this week away I had planned for us was also an understatement.

I also planned that this trip was a strict 'no work vacation,' and I sent a text in the group chat that I created of Noah, Ruffilo, and Jolly to let them know. While Ruffilo and Jolly wished us fun on our vacation, Noah told us all the cons of where we were vacationing too.

You know it rains like all the time in Washington, right? How is Nick going to ride a motorcycle or fish?

It's October, it's probably cold as hell. Why don't you guys go somewhere warm, I'm sure Nick would love to see you in that red bikini.

You sure you don't want us to come with? We could make it a Bad Omens get away and get some time in to write.

I swore my eyes rolled so far to the back of my head; I was sure they'd get stuck. Noah, always the cheeky one. I replied to him saying it was a strict no work vacation with only Nick and I and I'd left the red bikini back home.

"I'm sorry for waking you up so early but I wanted to make sure we'd make our flight," I defended with a slight pout.

Seeing how long the check in line was, I came to a slow halt and checked my watch. It was only 7:30 in the morning which meant we had plenty of time. Nick could tell I was a tad agitated so his thumb began tracing circles on the back of my hand as he held it.

"Can I at least have a hint where we're going?" He asked while bouncing on the soles of his shoes.

Fuck, he looked so good with his bottom lip pouted out like that. It'd been so long since we had sex that I was nearly crawling out of my skin wanting a taste of him. It was hard enough keeping myself off of him in public so when he took off his hat to shake out his hair then place it back on backwards, I nearly moaned into a puddled mess which Nick simply winked in response too.

"You know," I brushed the imaginary lint away from his shirt, "We're on vacation. You don't need to wear a Bad Omens shirt. This is supposed to be a work free trip."

Nick shrugged. "It's comfy."

The line for check in slowly moved up a few paces and when we came to a standstill again, I wrapped myself around him, not giving a shit about PDA.

"I've missed you."

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Nick mused while pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I wish you could have came with this tour."

I pressed my cheek to his chest, breathing him in. "Me too but there was no way my boss would let me take that long off. It was hard enough getting this week off."

We moved up another few steps before coming to another standstill. Since we had plenty of time before takeoff, I wasn't too worried with how long it was taking for check in.

Nick pulled me closer into his chest. "You should quit. I make enough to support the both of us and this way you can come on the Europe leg of the tour in a few weeks."

As tempting as the offer sounded, I was thankful I didn't have to give my answer because the line moved once again. I was about to detach myself from him to walk but Nick held tighter to his grip around my shoulder and walked with me. My hand slipped from his side over to the pocket of his jacket but quickly, Nick shifted which made his arm fall from around me.

I raised a brow. "Jumpy, aren't we?"

He cleared his throat before a smile spread to his lips. "I'm sorry, you scared me that's all."

My eyes narrowed, not believing a word he said, but choosing to ignore his weirdness I turned my attention towards the TSA lady as she began our check-in. Thirty minutes later, Nick and I were sitting in the seats near our gate, me staring out the large window towards the runway and Nick typing feverishly on his phone.

"What's Noah saying?" I didn't bother to ask who he was texting because I already knew it was Noah.

Nick turned off the screen then pocketed his phone. "He wanted to make sure we made it to the airport."

Bullshit.

Something was weird with Nick since the incident with me reaching over the pocket of his jacket. Here I was hiding this secret vacation all the while he was hiding something from me.

"Right," I muttered, leaning far back into my seat.

He let out a long breath and linked our fingers together, his thumb brushing across the skin of my hand, and the gentle touch made me rest my head against his shoulder. I felt every breath in and out he took, head rising and falling, and Nick tilted up my chin towards him so he could capture my lips in a kiss. It wasn't a full-blown make-out session, but deep enough to make my head spin and heart flutter.

"What was that for?" I asked breathlessly.

"I just wanted to kiss you, that's all."

By now, more people arrived at the gate, building a slight crowd, and inevitably, someone would notice Nick; someone always did. It wasn't like we were hiding our relationship but Nick never publicly made it known to everyone on the internet we were dating. Pictures of us filtered all throughout the web and people made their own assumptions, as they always did. I didn't mind if Nick kept our relationship on the down low because that meant we could enjoy the quietness of our relationship for a day longer.

"Someone might notice," I jokingly teased.

Nick hummed before leaving another kiss on my lips. "Let them."

I giggled into his lips and cupped his cheek as we pulled away. "I'm still not telling you where we're going."

Somehow, I kept it hidden what our destination was even at the gate because Nick seemed to be preoccupied with something else.

With a pout on his lips, he let me settle back into him by linking our hands back together.

Six days later and I was exhausted.

Nick was surprised and very ecstatic that I planned a vacation in Washington State. We hiked a few of the national parks; he fished almost every day, and we ended each night with a motorcycle ride, one we rented for the week. The weather was beautiful but not quite warm enough for that red bikini. When we weren't out doing things, Nick and I were laid up in bed at the bed-and-breakfast doing other things. Today was our last day, and I was more than ready to spend it in bed, continuing to do those other things, but Nick had other plans.

"Can you tell me where we're going?" I begged as I held onto his arm.

He lead me from the car up towards the forest trail, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, how the tables have turned."

Rolling my eyes, I watched as the setting sun cast us in an orange glow and marveled at how gorgeous Nick looked tonight. He wore a simple black shirt with jeans to match and his hair was slicked back. A bit dressed up for hiking but nonetheless, he was breathtaking.

"This will work," he said while coming to a stop.

I gasped when I stared down over the mountain ledge. Orange, yellow, and brown leaves atop of the trees and a flowing stream down below; the sound creating the perfect background noise to the atmosphere. Everything about the scene was beautiful that I pulled out my phone to snap a few pictures, oblivious to Nick who was standing right behind me.

"Sweetheart?"

"Hm?" I turned on my heels and this time, instead of gasping at the scene, I let out a high-pitched squeal. Nick was kneeling on one knee with a black velvet box in his hand, unopened. Sweat gathered at his brow as he let out a long, shaky breath.

"The last three years have been the most baffling but amazing years. You've stayed by my side through the lowest times of my life and the highest of highs with the band. When I thought we wouldn't make it big, you were there to cheer all of us on during our first show. You were there when we played our first sold-out show, and I hope you'll continue to be there when we win a Grammy."

Tears pooled at my eyes as I covered a hand over my mouth.

"I know being with me hasn't been the easiest sometimes. I'm almost always on the road or with the guys recording but yet, you still welcome me home with loving arms. You're everything I could ever ask for and then some. I truly don't deserve this but I am so thankful you haven't given up on me. You planned this entire weekend away so I can rest and I'm kind of high jacking the rest of the trip but I've been planning this for a long time. I wanted to ask you before I left for the Europe leg."

Nick let out another shaky breath as he opened the box; a black diamond with a gold band catching the light of the setting sun.

"Oh, shit," I muttered.

"I love you so much, Y/N. Will you marry-."

"Fuck yes!" I shouted, not letting him finish.

With his own tears falling over his cheeks, Nick pulled out the ring, and it slid over my finger with ease. I jumped up, wrapping myself around him and crashed my lips onto his. His tongue immediately pushed its way into my mouth, tasting every inch, and my hands scratched and pulled at his hair. I nibbled on his bottom lip as he reluctantly pulled away. Both of us were crying happy tears, me more so than Nick, and he brushed them away with one hand while the other kept me hoisted up in his arms.

"Did the guys know about this?" I asked.

"Yeah, why do you think Noah wanted to tag along?" Nick chuckled.

I gently brushed the hair away from his eyes so I could stare deep into them. "Still want to support me?"

At first, he looked at me with a raised brow but then as he thought back to what he said back in the airport, he eagerly nodded. "Whatever you want, sweetheart, it's yours."

"Well," I kissed his lips tenderly. "Looks like I'm coming to Europe with you."

#nick folio #nick folio x reader #nick folio and reader #bad omens #bad omens x reader #nick folio reader insert #nick folio one shots #nick folio fluff

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ashcal99 · 6 months

Text

Collarbones : Jasper Whitlock Hale VII

Chapter Seven

"I can see your collarbones and baby I'm scared, Never thought I'd be so unprepared"

Summary: Camila Johnson was only 16 when she was diagnosed with leukemia. By the time she had turned 17, the doctors had tried everything to save her. Her family is close to giving up hope when they hear of a doctor who may be able to help her. The only problem is, he lives on the opposite side of the country. The small family soon decides to move to the small town in Washington, in efforts to prolong her life. In doing so, her life changes forever.

Warnings: Eventual smut (18+ only), mentions of death, depression, violence, descriptions of disease and weight loss, general angst, slow burn, blood

Words: 6.1k

A/N: Please lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Sorry it took me so long to update, life has been completely hectic. Hope you enjoy x

Soundtrack

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

——————

February 5th, 2005

Soft music rung through the otherwise silent cab of Jasper’s car, the gentle thrum of the guitar filling the space between the too occupants. He had put on the music in hopes to help at least partially settle the nerves that were clear as day on Camila’s face. She sat in the passenger seat, spinning the metal rings that hung loosely on the thin fingers of her right hand, a nervous tic of hers that jasper couldn’t help but notice. Her left hand remained in his, the constant touch of their skin being something that they both needed.

Jasper weaved through the treelined road, forest blurring past as he tried to keep his focus on the drive and not the way Camila had her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. Any normal day, he would use his powers to help ease her anxiety, but that would’ve gone against her explicit request to refrain from doing so. Camila didn’t want her emotions of meeting Esme for the first time to be skewed in any way, no matter how much more comfortable it would make her.

In truth, she was terrified of making a bad impression. Sure, she knew Carlisle, but she didn’t exactly know him personally. If she really did stand a chance at all of living with these people for the rest of her existence, then she wanted nothing to obscure her perception of them or their perception of her. She had worried all morning, not wanting to come off in any bad way, she had even gone as far as to wear something else besides her normal graphic t-shirt and leggings.

It wasn’t anything fantastic or impressive, but the dark denim that fit snuggly around her thin waist, thanks to a belt fastened tightly through the hoops, and the simple ivory cotton long-sleeve that she wore under her jacket were far from her usual attire. Despite Jasper telling her that she needn’t worry about impressing his family, she couldn’t help but feel as if it was a necessity. There was a lot at stake. Not only did she care about what they thought of her because of her feelings for Jasper, but she dreaded the idea of them stuck with her for eternity and secretly despising her. She wasn’t about to make a decision that would effect everyone else so greatly without making sure it would be the best for all people involved first.

Sure, maybe it didn’t help that Edward had already shown his distaste for her, regardless of his reasoning. Yes, Jasper had explained why Edward had been acting the way he had, but she would be lying if she said a small part of her was saying otherwise. Telling her that the immortal teen had a valid reason for his resentful behavior towards her and it was actually all her fault. That same little voice screaming at her that she would make them all be miserable if she did choose to stay with them

Still, despite her nervousness and that pesky little voice, she was actually excited to be officially introduced to his family. With the normal lunches in the school cafeteria being the exception, she hadn’t exactly seen Jasper interact much with his family and the idea intrigued her to say the least. She had really only seen one side of Jasper, the side he was willing to show her, and she couldn’t help but want to see every other side of him that existed. The good and the bad, if the bad even existed in the first place. Though the circumstance was far from a normal teenage experience, this had to have been the most normal thing for the two.

So, when the car finally pulled up to the house, a modern looking mansion that was covered in large glass panels, her heart had sped up on newfound adrenaline. A mixture of bad and good nerves filled her chest, turning the food that Jasper had been insistent on buying her for lunch in her stomach as her eyes took in the beauty of the sculpture-like home. Jasper’s hand let loose of hers as he flitted at an inhuman speed to open her door for her, gone and then back again in a blur. The same hand was offered back to her, his usual gentlemanly self offering to help her out of the vehicle.

She gulped, attempting and failing to swallow the lump that was forming in her throat as she took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. His hand remained in hers as he lead her to the front door of the large home. The soles of their shoes crunched against the gravel of the driveway, a stark contrast to the wide smooth concrete stairs that lead up to the entry of the house.

Jasper dropped his grip on her hand, reaching to pull the large glass door open, gesturing her into the opening as he followed behind her, hand on the small of her back. Camila’s eyes flickered around the bright white walls of the room, eyes wide as she took in the luxurious beauty of the home, small beams of light reflecting off of the various glossy surfaces around them in a soft glow. “Woah.” She muttered, not able to stop herself from gaping at the beautiful artwork that was scattered about the contemporary home. It would be impressive to anyone, but especially to someone that lived in a home like she did. Suddenly, she couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at the state Jasper had seen her room in so many times.

Jasper cleared his throat softly at her side, grasping her attention briefly as he asked. “May I take your jacket for you, Darlin’?” A soft blush creeped onto her cheeks at the nickname, not able to get used to it no matter how often he called her it, as she nodded slightly. Her eyes flickered back to the stunning home as Jasper stepped behind her, gently sliding the soft fabric from her shoulders. Goosebumps rose on her arms as his cool fingers grazed delicately across the thinly covered skin. She blinked rapidly, attempting to keep herself from becoming too distracted by the simple touch.

“Camila!” A high voice chirped from her left as a blur raced towards her. Chilled arms embraced her frail frame and she told herself that she would eventually get used to Alice and her antics, even if that day was far in the future. Either way, Camila was trilled to except the girl’s friendship with literal open arms.

A huff of a laugh left the teen’s lips as she reciprocated the hug. “Hi, Alice.” She greeted, the smile refusing to falter on her lips. The arms released their grip on her shoulders as Alice pulled away, smile shinning as bright as ever.

“It’s about time you got here.” She said, giving a pointed look to her adoptive brother.

Jasper rolled his eyes. “I had to make sure she was fed, didn’t I? What kind of a boyfriend would I be otherwise?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at his sister expectantly. The word ‘boyfriend’ had of course sent Camila’s heart racing, as much as she trying to keep it at a steady pace.

Alice scoffed at his words. “I’m just messing with you and you know it. Besides, you know you just wanted more alone time with her, we could’ve fed her here.” She teased, smirking as she turned away, looping her arm through Camila’s as she lead her deeper into her home.

“Esme is so excited to meet you.” She gushed to the girl, pulling the frail human along with her as she purposely ignored her brothers distaste of the theft of his girlfriend. Camila struggled slightly to follow, forcing her feet to keep up and not trip over themselves as Alice practically dragged her to the living room of the home.

Her heart thudded along, speeding slightly as she realized that what she had been so nervous about all morning was literally right around the corner. She couldn’t decide if she slightly despised Alice for forcing her into this or if she was thankful, not knowing if she would be able to do so on her own. Either way, the remainder of the immortal family was just a breath away and she was beginning to regret telling Jasper to hold back with his powers.

As the trio rounded the corner in a decent sized sitting room, the pale beautiful faces of Carlisle and what she assumed to be Esme coming into view. Camila forced her eyes onto the woman before her, smiling shyly back as warmth creeped up her neck. The woman came slowly to a stand, trying her best not to frighten the girl as she beamed a bright smile to her.

Jasper had been correct when describing her, she had a visible kindness about her, a motherly aura that was obvious as soon as she had stepped into the room. Alice’s touch dropped from her arm, as it was quickly replaced with the return of Jasper’s hand within her own. The immortal girl sent Camila a small reassuring smile, knowing that Jasper’s touch would be able to comfort her much more than her own. She flitted upstairs, deciding that she would find Camila again later when everything would be less overwhelming for her.

Carlisle perked up, rising from his feet. “Camila, how are you feeling.” He asked, not being able to keep his centuries of being a doctor at bay as he spoke to his patient.

Camila grinned lopsided. “Not bad, all things considered.” She said, figuring that she could be far worse given her circumstance. Carlisle nodded curtly, content with her answer for the time being.

Jasper cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the other three in the room. “Esme, this is Camila. Camila, this is my mother for all intents and purposes, Esme.” He introduced, causing the smile on Esme’s face to broaden as she took the couple in, drinking up the sight of the two.

The woman walked forwards, stepping closer to the girl as she greeted her tight motherly embrace. “It’s lovely to meet you Camila, Jasper has told me so much about you.” Esme said, causing blood to flood her cheeks as she blushed a deep red at the information.

Forcing the lump from her throat, she spoke, careful to keep her voice from shaking with the nerves that had long since settled in her chest. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. You have a beautiful home.” She said politely, trying to focus on the feel of Jasper’s skin on her fingertips.

Esme’s smile refused to drop as looked around the stunning house around her. “Thank you, I designed it myself.” She admitted, pride clear in her voice. “Although, I do have to admit, we haven’t gotten a lot of use out of some of the features until now. Perhaps you will give an excuse to finally use the kitchen?” She asked, smiling brightly.

“I already took her to get food before coming here.” Jasper informed her.

Esme’s eyes flickered between the two. “Perhaps another time then. Just let us know if you get hungry and we’ll get you something.” She concluded. Jasper’s eyes seemed to stick to Camila’s face as the stress seemed to melt away from her features. Jasper had been right of course, Esme was warm and welcoming, everything that a good mother should be, everything that her mother was. Perhaps she needed more time to get to know the family, but regardless, it didn’t take much to realize that they were all good people with good hearts, especially the woman standing in front of her.

Esme’s eyes flickered down to the couple’s intertwined fingers, unable to keep the smile from forming on her face. The look in Jasper’s eyes as he gazed at Camila was one that Esme knew all too well. It was the look of love. Something that she had not been sure he would ever find, but was so happy to see that he had.

It had been so long that Jasper had been alone in life and the sight of him with her was something she couldn’t have ever imagined. The joy that rushed through her heart at the sight seemed impossible. Jasper had been through so much throughout his long life and it was almost hard to believe that he was finally getting a glimpse of the happiness that she knew he deserved.

Carlisle cleared his throat, seeing that his wife’s attention was otherwise occupied. “Jasper, why don’t you show her around the rest of the house?” He suggested, giving the blonde a pointed look. Jasper smiled thankfully at the man, grateful that he had saved the two of them from anymore embarrassment Esme could’ve possibly inflicted.

Jasper lead the way up one of many staircases in the home, careful to not go quickly as he knew Camila would never let him cary her up the flight. Each room seemed to be more stunning than the last, the sheer beauty and vulnerability of the many glass panes being a lot to take in as it was.

The house, in all truth, had surprised Camila. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, surely not anything like the dungeons she had seen fictional vampires live in in movies, but defiantly not this. The whole home was void of the tragedies each member of the family had endured and was replaced with equal amounts of beauty. Finally, they came to a stop outside of a door, which Jasper silently opened and lead her inside.

Camila knew before he even said anything that this was his room. The plush forest green couch along the wall, the rows and rows of books that lined the rest of the space, the overwhelming calming atmosphere, the whole place screamed Jasper. “This is my room.” He said, allowing her to lead him further inside to whatever had peaked her interest most.

Her feet carried her to the built in shelves that lined the walls with what had to have been close in not a thousand books. Thicker spines in the collection caught her attention first, so she moved forwards, eyes squinting as she tried to make out the titles of the large books. “History books?” She asked, humor coating her voice as a small smirk grew bigger by the second on her lips.

Jasper stepped closer to the shelves. “Are you going to make fun of me for being a nerd?” He asked in mock offense, unable to keep his growing smile hidden.

A light laugh left her open lips as she turned to face him briefly. “No it’s not that, it just seems… incredibly fitting.” She teased, the smirk growing even larger.

“Now, I don’t know if that means I should be more or less offended.” He said, cocking his head to the side in question.

“Less, promise.” Camila said, eyes wandering the rest of the room. For the most part, the room was bare, his time obviously being filled mostly with reading. “What do you do for fun around here besides reading history books?” She asked, turning her eyes to meet his.

“I like baseball.” He said immediately, obviously not needing to put much thought into it before answering.

Camila quirked an eyebrow at the blonde. “Watching or playing?” She asked curiously.

“Both.” Jasper answered.

The curious expression didn’t drop from her face as the admission just added more questions to be answered. She knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to play normal baseball given his supernatural speed and strength, and was dying to know all of the details. “How is that possible?” She asked.

“It’s a bit complicated, but I promise I’ll show you one day.” He assured her, happy to see the she had accepted his answer for the time being. “But I do watch games with Emmet and Edward a lot as well.” He continued.

Her smirk returned in a flash, something about his last sentence clearly being very humorous to her. “What?” He asked.

“Oh it’s just very boyish of you, watching baseball with your brothers.” She said.

“Would it humor you to know that I promised to watch the Super Bowl with them tomorrow?” He asked, immediately receiving his answer as she let out a snicker in response. Jasper rolled his eyes playfully. “The goal is to appear as close to a normal human as possible is it not?” He asked, lifting his free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Camila smiled, trying and failing as usual to ignore the racing of her heart at his touch. “Oh trust me, you defiantly are far from convincing anyone that you’re normal.” She muttered.

It was Jasper’s time to smirk as a memory popped into the forefront of his mind. “Oh yeah, what was it again? Ridiculously attractive? Inhumanly so?” He teased, unable to stop himself as he saw the blush rise on her cheeks once again.

Her free hand came up to punch his shoulder playfully, her knuckles feeling as if they hit solid stone. “Shut up.” She muttered, looking down in attempt to hide the growing redness.

“Why don’t you make me, Darlin’?” He asked, dropping their intertwined fingers and settling instead to wrap his arms tightly around her waist, pulling her the rest of the way towards him, needing to feel her closer to himself.

Camila wasn’t too sure what pushed her to do so confidently, her usual shy demeanor dissolving quickly away as the seconds ticked by. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of being in Jasper’s home, being welcomed as one of the family’s own, or maybe just Jasper and his habit for making her feel like the rest of the world was melting away whenever he was touching her. Either way, it didn’t take long for her to comply and fill the gap between them, wrapping her arms securely around his shoulders, and pushing up on her toes until their lips met in a soft embrace.

Like usual, despite the cool temperature of his skin, the touch of his lips set her ablaze. Her heart thudded along in her chest at an almost embarrassing rate considering that he could hear all of it. Her fingers reached up from around his neck, curling them in the soft golden curls at the base. She pulled away, ending the delicate touch of their lips all too soon. They stood like that for a moment, just holding each other, foreheads pressed together, just soaking in their presence.

Jasper was the first to pull away, reluctantly forcing himself to do so as he allowed her to go back to her snooping. Her eyes continued scanning the rows and rows of books, recognizing some as she went, making mental notes of talking points when her eyes scanned over a few of her favorites. One of which had just grasped her attention, her fingers raising to grab the bound pages as a sudden blinding light ripped Camila from her focus, her hand dropping back down to her side.

Curiosity filled her eyes as set them upon Jasper’s face. The light was coming from him. Okay, maybe not from him, but the sun had begun to shine into the windows just to their right, like a cloud had finally drifted past and the light was somehow reflecting off of his skin. She stood there in awe, not sure how exactly to react to the stunning appearance in front of her.

“This is why you can’t go out in the sun.” She said suddenly as the realization finally hit. “I can see how that would be… distracting.” She admitted, eyes still wandering his skin in awe as she stepped closer, allowing her fingertips to brush the cool skin of his cheek.

Jasper nodded slightly. “That’s why you will unfortunately have to go without me on Monday and Tuesday.” He said, causing an exaggerated pout to form on her lips. “It’ll be okay.” He said, laughing lightly, trying convince himself just as much as her.

Camila’s eyes stayed, glued to his skin as she reached down to grasp his hand in her own, bringing it up to get a closer look at the stunning shimmer of his skin. She couldn’t decide if it looked more like it was shimmering or if it had just caught on fire, the blinding light much like hot flames flickering over his body. She supposed that this must be where the ‘burning in the sun’ thing came from, a now fairly obvious origin of the story.

Delicate notes filled the air, rolling throughout the open room as the sound thankfully pulled her thoughts away from the upcoming absence of Jasper in the days to come. It took her just a moment to recognize the sound of a piano somewhere within the home. Whoever was playing was doing so beautifully and she was having a hard time focusing on anything else in the moment.

Jasper, seeing the interest in her eyes, spoke up. “Do you want to go listen?” He asked, not waiting for an answer as his fingers intertwined in her own and he begun to lead her through the hallways. Her eyes widened as they rounded the corner, surprised to see Edward of all people sitting at the large shinny black grand piano occupying the middle of the room.

She pulled he lip between her teeth, debating for a moment if she should bring attention to herself before realizing that he would’ve already known that they were there watching him play. “You play beautifully.” She spoke out, catching the attention of the brooding vampire behind the keys.

“Thanks.” He muttered, eyes returning quickly to the song as his fingers danced quickly across the keys. Camila’s eyes flicked up to Jasper, giving him a small nervous smile before dropping his grasp and making her way towards his adoptive brother. Despite the situation making her uncomfortable, she knew it was necessary. The last thing she wanted was any animosity between her and Edward and if that meant that she was the one that needed to initiate any form of friendship then so be it.

“Do you mind?” She asked gesturing to the space on the bench beside him. He shook his head no, scooting over slightly to make room for her to join him on the seat. She lowered herself onto the plush cushion, rolling her sore shoulders and she positioned her hands over the piano. Her fingertips grazed lightly over the ivory keys, delicately pressing as they went, emitting a soft melody throughout the room. Edward smiled softly, listening as the notes continued one after the other. “Jasper didn’t mention that you played.” He spoke, eyeing her thin fingers as they continued.

Camila hummed in response. “To be fair, I’m pretty sure I never mentioned it. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to practice with.” She admitted, thinking back to the easier times she had. Before she got sick. Before everything changed so drastically. Back to when she was just a normal teenager. She had taken piano classes since middle school, but when she had gotten diagnosed, the practicing had dwindled significantly, along with everything else in her life.

Edward eyed the girl, maybe for the first time understanding the extent of the pain she had been through. The memories that flooded her mind were difficult for her to think of, that much was obvious. He hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to see her side of things throughout this whole mess, but finally being able to read her mind made his entire view point change.

Realistically, she was just like the rest of them, her life being cut short and now she was being given an opportunity. The same opportunity he had been given, even if she was being given the choice when he had not. Either way, it was not his place to judge her and he knew his attitude had to change. She didn’t deserve his hatred. In fact, she didn’t deserve any of this, but this was the life she had been given. “You’re pretty good all things considered.” He admitted, the corners of his lips curling slightly upwards, finally deciding to show her as much kindness as he could will himself to, still, despite everything, finding the gesture difficult.

Jasper watched from the doorway, happy to see that his brother had finally decided to be kind to his now girlfriend, even if calling her that still seemed like an odd thing to do. Almost too human of thing to do. Camila scoffed. “Not nearly as good as you.” She said, dismissively waving her hand as she rolled her eyes at him.

Edward laughed lightly. “I’ve had decades to practice. I’d say that’s a pretty unfair advantage.” He stated mater of factly. Camila laughed as well, happy to see that the immortal teen was finally warming up to her. Maybe living for eternity with this family wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe they wouldn’t end up hating her guts like she feared so greatly.

Camila let loose a slow breath as her fingers stilled on the keys, attempting to keep the release steady as the pain that ached through her bones seemed to thrum along. Her eyes fluttered shut briefly, trying to get her heart rate to slow back to a steady beat as her head begun the throb. Edward’s concerned voice rung through her ears. “Do you need some water? Would that help?” He asked, his voice seeming miles away as the pulsing pain in her temples increased by the second.

Camila couldn’t help but feel frustrated with herself, something so simple being able set her off. The concentration needed for playing sending pulses of pain through her temples. The frustration didn’t stop as Jasper rushed to her side, laying a comforting hand on the small of her back as he leaned down, eyebrows furrowed together in visible concern. The pain seemed to slice right through her skull, growing more and more intense by the second as pressure begun to build in her nose.

Almost in slow motion, the uncomfortable feeling of her nose running started and she watched as a crimson drop fell ever so slowly onto the pristine keys of the piano, splattering over the pale surface. Her hand shot to her nostrils, attempting to stop the mess from getting even worse, but her efforts were useless. The floodgates had opened and blood was steadily pooling down onto the piano and her cream colored shirt.

Out of instinct, the two vampires held their breath, sure that disaster was just around the corner. Slowly, the realization hit that everything was okay and the bloody nose wasn’t going to cause a complete bloodbath. The realization that her blood really didn’t effect them like everyone else’s hit Jasper, and selfishly, for a moment he was thankful for the cancer that had changed the chemistry of her blood.

Still, panic filled Jaspers eyes as he took in the scene of Camila covered in her own blood like an image taken straight out of his own nightmares if he could still have them. “Carlisle!” He yelled out, the stress and unease clear in his voice as his hand came up to her nose to pinch the bridge in attempt to stop the sudden uncontrollable flow.

Edward’s eyes flickered between the two, frustration clear on his face as he stared at the bloody mess. He turned, rushing away in a blur, obviously disturbed by the whole ordeal, but Jasper couldn’t care less. All that mattered was Camila and her safety. Edward’s emotional distress would have to be something for him to deal with alone.

The man flitted into the room in a flash, immediately going into doctor mode as he saw the scene in front of him. “Jasper, keep the pressure there. Camila, we’re going to take you to my office to see what we can do to stop the bleeding quickly, okay?” He said gently, motioning for Jasper to carry her further into the home.

In a blink of a moment, there they were, in one of the rooms she had yet to see, but was just as immaculate as the rest of the home. “I’m so sorry.” Camila apologized as Jasper sat her down on the examination table.

“Nonsense, there’s no need to apologize.” Carlisle assured her, brushing off Jasper’s touch on her nose and replacing it with his own. “Jasper, go help your mother clean up, would you?” He asked, looking pointedly in the direction that they had just come from. Jasper knew better than to argue with the man, no matter how much he wanted to in the moment.

It pained him to leave her side, especially seeing her in the condition that she was in. Emotional torment swirled in his head as the realization hit that this had to be a normal thing for her and was nothing compared to what was yet to come. So, he greeted the opportunity of distraction with open arms, rounding the corner and seeing that Esme was already there, wiping up the splatters of blood with a damp rag.

Her eyes flickered up to his own, not needing to have powers like his own to see the emotional destress. “Oh, Jasper.” She said, sympathy coating her voice.

Jasper shook his head, refusing to be the weak one when Camila needed someone strong to depend on. After all, nosebleeds were normal right? Despite trying to reason with himself, he knew better. He knew that the amount of blood covering the piano and the floor underneath was not a normal amount. He knew that it would mean something serious for anyone that didn’t already know something was wrong. “I’m fine.” He muttered, grabbing another rag and helping clean crimson covered wooden planks.

Hearing the stubbornness in his voice, Esme knew that pushing the subject anymore was useless, so she decided to move onto something else. “I like her already, you know.” She said, a sly smile growing on her face.

Jasper couldn’t help the lift of the corner of his lips as he though of her. “I like her too… obviously.” He joked, trying force the spiraling thoughts of losing her from his mind. The pressure of her illness had never been so prevalent in his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking of the choice that she would have to make, the very real possibility that she would say no and soon leave him forever.

Esme’s heart ached at the sight of her son’s torment. She scrambled, hoping to find the right words to comfort him. “Everything will work out in the end.” She said softly.

His head hung at her words, biting his lip as he forced his eyes to stay on soiled rag in his grip. “Please, Esme. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but you don’t know what she’ll decide. I refuse to make that decision for her or pressure her in any way.” He said, jaw clenched tight.

The idea had been prevalent on his mind since Alice had told him of her vision of the future, but never had it seemed so close and so damn daunting. He knew it was right around the corner, and the nose bleed hadn’t even been something major, but for some reason, it made everything seem so much more real. So reel that it terrified him more than ever. At every corner he reminded himself that this whole thing could come to an end soon, but that didn’t stop him from growing closer and closer to her by the day. Throwing caution to the wind as he excepted his feelings for her and gave into his own heart’s wants.

Esme sighed, dropping her rag on the floorboards, bringing her palm to lay on his shoulder. “You have to have hope, Jasper.” She said, rubbing her thumb across his shoulder. A deep frown settled on her face as she took in his stone cold expression. “I’ll let you finish up here.” She said lowly, deciding it would be best to leave him to himself.

——————

The throb behind Camila’s brow persisted as she sat on Carlisle’s exam table. His firm but gentle touch finally dropped from her nose as the bleeding subsided. She looked down, horrified to see her ruined outfit. She wasn’t sure how easy it would be to clean the blood from the cream colored shirt, but had a feeling that her mother would notice her change of clothing either way.

The dread only increased when her mind wandered to what the scene she had left behind must have been like. Of course, it was just her luck. Her first time meeting the mother of her boyfriend, and she had left a huge mess in her wake. She couldn’t help but be embarrassed, and just when she was beginning to get along with Edward of course.

“Are you feeling okay? Faint at all?” Carlisle asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes up from the blood-soaked cotton. “I’m fine.” She muttered lowly, not bothering to speak up, knowing that he would be able to hear her either way. “I haven’t had this happen for a while.” She admitted, thinking back to the stained carpet she had left behind in her last home.

Carlisle sighed, turning as he grabbed a few different things, too quick for her to see before handing the small baggy over to her. “Nosebleeds are very common with your shortage of platelets, frankly I’m surprised they haven’t been happening more often.” He said, giving a soft pat to her knee. “Either way, if you do happen to experience a more severe episode again, there should be everything you need right there.” He said, gesturing to the baggy.

“I’m sure you know all of the steps, but I’ll go ahead and remind you. You’ll want to make sure that you’re seated leaning forward, breath through your mouth and pinch just above your nostrils for ten to fifteen minutes and if it hasn’t stopped by then, come see me. I did pack some gauze in that bag just incase you have a more severe episode again, so Jasper can insert it for you until he can get you to me.” He explained, giving her a reassuring smile.

His smile drooped slightly as he continued. “I’m sure you’re already aware, but these type of things will become more and more frequent as the cancer progresses.” He said. Camila forced a tight smile, nodding curtly. Just another thing to worry about in school, great.

A soft knocking sounded throughout the room, causing both pairs of eyes to flicker towards the noise. Alice stood in the doorway, smiling her usual smile as she flitted to the duo, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “Come with me, I have a change of clothes you can barrow.” She said cheerily.

Camila snickered softly at her enthusiasm before slowly sliding off of the exam table to a stand and following her retreating figure.

——————

The events of the day had been cut short after the brief ‘bloodbath’ that had occurred. Esme had refused to except any of Camila’s apologies, stating that there was nothing to apologize for in the first place. Camila couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about the whole ordeal, only having met her for the first time earlier that day and already making a mess of her home. It definitely hadn’t gone as planned, but as expected, Esme was just as wonderful as Jasper had described her.

After she had returned home, she hadn’t even had to ask before Jasper was crawling back into her window, avoiding being seen by her parents, knowing that Camila would need her ‘emotional support vampire’ after the grueling events of the day.

As she laid on his chest, fast asleep, puffs of air leaving her open lips, Jasper’s thoughts continued to race. His heart physically ached in his chest as his eyes scanned her soft features. The panic that lingered of losing her reared its’ ugly head as he clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. As much as he didn’t want to give the idea the time of day, he couldn’t help it. As much he dreaded the topic, he knew that the best he could do would be to promise to love her until her last breath and it would ultimately be up to her if she would stay beyond that.

Next Chapter -coming soon

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