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megalony · 2 months

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My Little Man

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on a lovely anon request which I thought was very sweet. I hope you all like it, feedback always makes my day.

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Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Summary: Chris finds a memento that brings back a lot of memories for (Y/n) and Eddie from when he was born.

Enjoy.

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"What have you got there, baby?" (Y/n) looked over her shoulder and smiled when Chris toddled into her and Eddie's room.

He had a familiar smile on his face as he made a beeline for the bed and flopped down on (Y/n)'s vacant side of the bed on his stomach. His legs kicked happily against the duvet and he started tapping whatever he had in his hands that he had brought through to show them.

Finishing typing up her hair, (Y/n) looked away from the mirror and walked across to the bed. She slowly crawled over the end of the bed and worked her way up towards Eddie. He was laid on his left side, one arm propping his head up against the pillow and his right arm moved out to let (Y/n) worm her way against him.

She sat down and crossed her legs beneath her as she leaned her back into Eddie's torso, feeling his arm curve around her waist so his hand could splay out on her front. He leaned across to press a chaste kiss to her arm and diverted his attention from the tv over to Chris to see what he was up to.

It would be his bath time soon and then they would watch a movie before bed, but Chris had been doing some crafts and colouring in the dining room for the last half an hour. Clearly he had found something of interest that he wanted to show them.

(Y/n) leaned further back into Eddie and reached her hand down to hold his wrist when she realised what the small red book was that Chris had found.

"My book."

"Your book- oh, your record book… God I haven't seen that in a while." Eddie skimmed his fingers across the leather cover and found himself smiling.

It was the health record book they got when Chris was born. It contained all his information from when he was born up until he was three years old. Of course, all of Chris's records were on file at the hospital and had been transferred here when they moved up from Texas. But this was the book they had to take with them to each appointment when Chris was little, showing his progress and achievements and any changes.

When Chris opened the first page of the book, he skimmed his finger across his name and started to laugh. It always tickled him to see his middle name. Edmundo. He thought it was so funny to know Eddie's full name and know that it was his middle name, after his dad.

A smile danced across (Y/n)'s lips as she held Eddie's hand tighter and nuzzled her face against his shoulder to try and get a better look at the book. Chris must have been snooping through the box in the dining room where (Y/n) kept all their scrapbooks over the years. When she didn't need the baby book anymore, she kept it safe with all their family pictures and albums.

Chris dragged his finger over the chart on the left page which showed milestones and his age progression. He didn't quite understand the chart but he traced it anyway before looking onto the next page.

"What's that mean?" He slid the book to the left so it was level with Eddie's arm, allowing both parents to look over the next page.

"That's how big you were when you were born. Four pounds, see." It made Eddie's chest tighten to think that Chris was that small when he was born. It brought back memories that plagued Eddie in the dead of night. And it hurt knowing his son was that small when he was born, knowing he would of barely fit in Eddie's hands when he was a newborn.

Chris flicked across a few pages to the developmental pages but he didn't understand what they meant. There were doctors notes, saying his speech was delayed, he could hold himself up but couldn't walk yet. But he was engaged in conversation and seemed to understand everything around him.

"What about that?" He tapped his finger against the two words that stuck out to him which appeared on the page before and the next few pages in the book.

Correct age.

"That means your development age… you were doing good for your proper age." Eddie ran his hand across his chin and scratched up the side of his jaw. He couldn't think how to word it in a way that Chris would understand.

"Proper?"

"Your birthday's in November, yeah?" (Y/n) waited until Chris nodded, suddenly alert at the mention of his birthday. "Well, you should have been born in February, baby. So every February, that's when you hit your correct age… it's just something the doctor uses to make sure you progress properly, that's all."

It always irritated (Y/n) that Chris was three months ahead of where he should be. When he had his first birthday, it was clear he technically looked like a nine-month old and then he didn't look two, or three. He never looked his age because he had been born far too early.

And in terms of progression, the doctors used his due date to give his correct age. So it didn't matter if Chris didn't hit his milestones on or around his birthday, they used his correct age to guess where he was at and track how he was getting along. His speech was behind but he had done so well in getting back on track. His walking was different and couldn't be judged because of his Cerebral Palsy.

But things like sitting up and following conversations and interacting and playing and socialising, they could all be tracked. And Chris hit every milestone in those areas as he should have near his correct age.

"I was small?"

"You were tiny,"

Chris made a small whine like he was disagreeing and before Eddie could move, Chris leaned over him. Eddie gruffed and rolled onto his back so it was easier for Chris to lay on his chest and reach across for his chest of drawers beside the bed.

His nimble fingers moved into the top drawer and he scoured around until he found the silver photo frame he knew was tucked away in there.

"I wasn't tiny, see." Chris put the photo frame down on the bed next to the book and pointed.

(Y/n) felt the way Eddie tensed behind her and he leaned back up and smothered his lips against her bare arm. She felt his hand tighten over her stomach and his arm tensed and bulged at her side when he looked down at the picture.

It was the first time Eddie held Chris.

The photo stayed on Eddie's bedside table since the moment it was taken and now Chris was a bit older, Eddie swapped the picture for an updated photo. But he kept this first memory in his drawer, close by for whenever he felt the urge to look at it.

Eddie was still in his uniform in the photo, he had raced down to the hospital from the moment his feet hit solid ground back in Texas. It hurt Eddie more than anyone could ever comprehend to not have been there when Chris was born.

They had it planned out, he would finish his tour in the army two weeks before Chris's due date and be home in time to be there with his wife when she gave birth. Eddie hadn't expected to be told while he was out in the army that his wife had already given birth prematurely, without him there beside her.

He had to deal with pictures and video calls of his son, seeing him progress over a dodgy internet connection for the first three months of his life. Eddie never got to hold his son when he weighed four pounds. By the time he came home, Chris had bulked up to seven pounds and was finally able to leave the hospital and go home.

Eddie had lost even more sleep in the army, fretting that he wouldn't be there if something happened to his baby and he lost his son. He couldn't stand the thought of losing Chris without ever seeing or holding him first.

"No, bud… I wasn't here when you were born. I was away in the army." Eddie perched his chin on (Y/n)'s shoulder and managed a smile when she brushed her hand across his cheek to wipe away a tear.

"You were being brave."

"No, not as brave as you and mum."

***

"There's my girl- you're gonna have to speak up mi amor, it's fucking loud over here."

Eddie held the Ipad in both hands and grinned when the screen finally lit up and he was faced with a blurred pixelated image of his wife. Three months out here was starting to feel like three years with how long Eddie had been separated from her.

He knew it would be hard when he signed up. Being away from his family wasn't as much of a burden as being kept away from his wife. Letters were good, they were a physical keepsake he could hold close to his heart when he thought of (Y/n). Pictures were even better, they reminded him that he was never going to forget what she looked like and that he would be home soon to hold her in his arms.

Talking to her like this was the best out of everything. Seeing her on the screen and hearing her voice kept Eddie going and gave him something he could think back on and listen to in the dead of night.

He hadn't been excited to leave for the army while (Y/n) was pregnant, though. He was missing everything. The appointments, the sonograms, the pictures. And worst of all, he was missing out on watching the way (Y/n)'s body was growing and changing while he wasn't there. But he would be home soon. Just less than three months and Eddie would be home to hold his wife in his arms and see how much she had changed and hold her stomach before she gave birth.

"How are you, mi amor?" Eddie tangled a hand in his hair and ruffled it further back and away from his eyes. He didn't want anything to obscure the vision he now had in front of him.

He was glad the tent was empty. There was nothing Eddie hated more than having to talk to (Y/n) with people watching and listening. He couldn't ask her to stand up and strip for him or let him see how much her stomach had changed if he had others in the room.

Panic struck Eddie in the heart and wiped the smile from his face when the image on his screen cleared and started to move.

Within seconds, the signal improved enough for Eddie to see his wife. Tears stained her face, her eyes were red and puffy and her hair was falling out of a loose bun at the back of her head. Her body looked to be trembling and Eddie could see her chest quaking as she struggled to take proper breaths.

"Baby what's the matter?" Eddie squinted at the screen before another realisation hit him like a truck and sent his heart reeling in his chest. "Where are you?"

"The hospital," (Y/n) finally dragged her eyes up from her hands to stare at the screen and the moment she saw Eddie, a floodwave of tears drenched her face and a horrible sob bubbled past her lips.

For the last two days she had been crying and screaming his name like it was the only thing she could understand. To finally have him on screen in front of her, able to talk to her was too much to handle. She just wanted him home, and there was no way to get that wish and have her husband's arms wrapped around her or his voice in her ear or his lips on her burning skin.

She couldn't have any of it.

"Why, what's happened?" Eddie had spoken to her only a few days ago and she had been fine. A little under the weather, but nothing to warrant going to the hospital. They had moved location and now they were set up here, Eddie had been able to schedule another video call today. "Is it the baby?"

He didn't want to ask. He didn't want to ask that question in case the answer was yes and he wasn't mentally prepared for the outcome.

"I… oh Eddie… I've had the baby." (Y/n) swiped her sleeve along her eyes and beneath her nose, but it didn't help the sob she let out.

She hated the way Eddie paled like all the colour was being drained from him and he started to shake his head in denial.

She couldn't have.

How could she of had their baby now- already? She was twenty-eight weeks pregnant. Not thirty-eight or forty. She was six months along, nowhere near ready to give birth or be at risk of labour. Eddie had told her he would be home before she went into labour. He promised to be there to hold her hand and coax her through it and hold their baby when they were born.

"You, no. No- how? What happened?!"

"My water broke w-when I was with your mum… they tried to stop it, but… but, I had him last night."

(Y/n) didn't have all the answers Eddie wanted. She didn't know why it happened or exactly how it happened. One moment she was feeling sick while at his parent's house, then the next, her stomach clenched and she realised she was sat in a pool of water.

She was given medication and put on observation to see if labour would stop, but it only held off for one day. She went back into labour yesterday afternoon and by eight o'clock in the evening, she had a baby boy snatched from her arms and taken away from her. And all (Y/n) could do was scream out for Eddie throughout it all until she passed out.

It would have been some sort of comfort to have Eddie on the laptop like this, just to have him aware and somewhat present was all (Y/n) wanted. But she couldn't have him in any sense of the word.

"Him? It's a boy?" Tears pooled in Eddie's eyes and began to fall down his face as he held the Ipad closer as if it would help him inspect his wife. "Is… is he okay?"

A quiet noise vibrated at the back of Eddie's throat when (Y/n) moved the laptop further back so she wasn't as close to the screen. She could see Eddie's eyes zoom in on her stomach and his lips curled down at the corners like he was going to howl when he saw the change in shape. She still has something of a bump, but it was different now. And with (Y/n)'s arms wrapped around her waist, it cemented the fact that Eddie had missed it.

He missed the birth of his son. He missed being there for his wife when she was in agony and needed comfort and reassurance. Eddie missed everything.

"We have a boy. He's in the neonatal ward… but I can't hold him. H-he's only four pounds." She could see the relief in Eddie's eyes and it made her cry harder.

He dreaded the thought that their baby didn't make it.

"Oh God. Mi amor, I'm so sorry… I- fuck I can't even come home and hold you. I'll try and video every day I swear. Will they let you stay with him? Is someone there with you, has ma stayed with you?" The thought of (Y/n) being there on her own sent Eddie reeling.

If she was alone he would go mad. He would message both his sisters and his mum and demand someone go down and stay with his wife. He wouldn't have her being on her own for a minute when she's just had the most stressful event of her life.

"Your mum's sitting with him, she won't leave me." (Y/n) was relieved to have Eddie's family right around the corner. She was grateful to have been with his parents when this happened and for his mum never leaving her side.

She took (Y/n)'s hand, she let her scream and cry and say Eddie's name until she was blue in the face. She had done everything she could, and now she was watching over her grandson while (Y/n) had a moment alone to explain everything to Eddie.

"Good."

"Eddie, t-they couldn't find a vein, God his skin… skin is like paper. The canula is, is in his head."

(Y/n) watched the way Eddie grimaced and almost gagged at the thought.

Their boy was so small that they couldn't find a vein anywhere to give him his fluids and medication. His skin was as thin and fragile as paper and they couldn't put the canula in his hand, his arm, his leg or even his foot. They had managed to find a vein on the top of his head that was prominent enough to push the needle into and it made (Y/n) want to scream.

She had never seen one in a newborn's head before.

"Ooh, baby." Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose but it didn't stop the tears from falling. "I'll be home with you soon, you'll see. I swear, I'm never leaving either of you again."

***

Eddie tipped his head forward and let the water trickle through his hair and hit the back of his neck. He could feel his skin shivering and prickling at the lukewarm water draining down over his back and pooling around his feet.

He leaned his head down a little further until his lips were smothering the top of Chris's head.

He had his son curled up against his chest, his small head resting just below Eddie's neck against his collar bone. He had one arm across Chris's legs and the other curled around the back of his neck with his fingers spread across Chris's back to keep his son steady and stable on his chest.

Droplets splashed up against Eddie's shoulder and the bottom of his chin when Chris began bashing his fist down against Eddie's chest and making little gurgling sounds.

"Is that better?" He murmured quietly against the top of Chris's head while he began swaying from left to right. Moving the stream of water over each shoulder while he kept his head leant forward so the water didn't pelt down on Chris too much and overpower him.

It was strange to think that Chris was three months old when he was the exact look, size and weight of a baby that could have been born yesterday.

Eddie didn't like it.

He didn't like looking down at his son and knowing that he had missed the first three months of his life. Eddie didn't like the thought of people coming up to him, asking how old his son was and having to explain he was already three months old. It wasn't right. Chris shouldn't have been born so soon.

He shouldn't still be struggling to breathe and coughing into Eddie's neck like this after recovering from an infection. He was too small and fragile for any of this.

"Come on then little man, back to bed." Eddie turned off the shower and shook the water free from his hair before he stepped out the shower.

He hadn't planned on getting a wash this late into the night, but when he went to settle Chris and found him coughing, Eddie figured it might help. The warm water and condensed steam might help settle Chris and make him breathe easier and it seemed to have worked.

It had tired Eddie out too and he felt like he might be able to get a proper night's sleep now.

Eddie had been home three days before the hospital said Chris could come home. Part of him was pleased he was home before Chris was discharged from the hospital, it meant the first night having him home, Eddie was here. He could help (Y/n) waking up in the night with Chris and seeing him in his cot and giving him his bottles.

But he knew it had been a struggle for (Y/n), she had been living down at the hospital while Eddie had been praying for time to speed up so his tour could end and he could go home.

"Let's find mummy."

He began to hum quietly as he tilted Chris down so he could wrap a towel around him and settle him in the crook of his left arm. He kept his arm moving up and down to rock Chris while he quickly dried his hair and ran the towel briefly over his frame. It took some effort to wiggle his way into his boxers with one hand and drag them up over his hips, but he managed it.

A soft smile pulled at Eddie's lips when he headed into his and (Y/n)'s room and his eyes found his wife. She was asleep. Just where Eddie had left her when he went to settle Chris and subsequently get a shower with him.

He eased Chris down on the bed and moved to find a nappy and onesie. His tongue poked between his teeth as he carefully wiggled Chris's legs and arms into the onesie and buttoned it up the middle. Eddie wasn't the best at getting him dressed, but he was certainly starting to get better.

He was happy to be doing this now, with Chris grown to be the normal, perfect size for a newborn. Eddie wouldn't want to of been a nurse changing the tinny, obscure size nappies when Chris had been born. He had seen Chris plenty of times over zoom calls with (Y/n) and the photos she had taken for him. It was strange to think such a small, fragile, wrinkled infant was the boy who was now in his arms.

"Okay, there we go." Eddie loved the tired yawn Chris made and the way it crinkled his button nose.

When he carefully picked Chris up, Eddie held him close and looked over to (Y/n)'s side of the bed.

Suddenly, he didn't want to put Chris down in the cot near (Y/n).

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to. Eddie shook his head and carefully sat down in bed. He shuffled the pillow higher behind him and reclined down until he was slanted at an angle and drew the cover over his lower half.

He eased Chris up and snuggled him onto his chest, watching the way Chris coiled his arms up to his chest and his knees pulled up near his tummy as he laid on his front on Eddie's chest. The weight was comforting. The slight compression down on his ribs and the strain it put on his lungs to try and take deeper breaths. It made Eddie's mind settle and did something to relax him.

He wound his arms over his chest, resting one hand on the back of Chris's head and the other hand on his lower back, snuggling close. He kissed the top of his head before he leaned back into his pillow and started to glide his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head.

Eddie couldn't find the will to turn the lamp off or close his eyes yet, so he focused on trailing his thumb up and down the back of Chris's head and watching his boy take big, snuffly breaths.

Something shuddered down Eddie's spine and made his chest quiver when he glided his thumb across the left side of Chris's temple.

His scar.

By the time Eddie came home, the canula had been removed from Chris's head, much to (Y/n)'s relief. But Eddie had seen it on video calls and in pictures. It had been a horrid sight. A needle right into his skin, kept in place with tape and pinned to the side of his temple so he couldn't scratch it or pull it out.

"I'm here now. I've got you."

Eddie groggily opened his eyes when he felt something tickle across his chin and glide up the side of his jaw. His eyes couldn't focus for a second or two when they opened, but when his vision focused, his sights set on (Y/n).

Her lips pressed against his bare shoulder and her fingers dragged along his jaw before she laid her arm over his collar bone. He could feel her shuffling up and gluing her front against his left side.

(Y/n) winced when Eddie lifted his upper chest and shoulders up from the bed and his spine made a loud crack as it slotted back into place.

"How long have you held him?" Her voice was quiet against his shoulder and her hand reached to cup the side of his neck.

She could see Chris settled comfortably in the middle of Eddie's chest and both his hands tightened around Chris as if to make sure he was still safe and settled.

"A while."

All night.

He had been laid on his back, slightly propped up against the pillows, all night. With his baby boy right on his chest where he should be.

***

A smile graced (Y/n)'s lips when she walked into the living room and looked over at the sofa. Placing her drink down on the side table, she tiptoed to the sofa and slowly perched down beside Eddie.

He was slouched in the corner, both knees bent out to the sides with his legs spread wide. His right elbow was propped up on the armrest with his hand curled into a fist and his cheek smushed up against his fist, stopping his head from flopping down and hurting his neck. His shoulders were slumped down, his left arm was laid on his thigh and his eyes were closed.

He hadn't been asleep for long, but he had managed to nod off despite the noise circulating through his parent's house.

His parents were making a ruckus in the kitchen trying to prepare dinner, both his sisters and their partners were moving inside and out into the garden and music was playing in the background. And yet, Eddie still managed to fall asleep.

(Y/n) slowly curled her hands around Eddie's bicep and leaned her head against his shoulder while she looked to see what was on tv. She heard Eddie mumble something and groan, but he didn't move.

She leaned her chest up against his arm and slung her left leg over Eddie's thigh until she was practically lying on top of him.

A round of coughing caught (Y/n)'s attention and her eyes darted to the right and locked on Chris.

He had been suffering with a chest infection for over two weeks now, and he was still croaky. Antibiotics took the edge off and an inhaler helped to get him breathing properly for a while, but then the coughing came back. (Y/n) had been giving him two baths a day with salts and vapour drops in the water to try and get the steam into his lungs to clear them.

Her eyes followed Chris as he toddled over, his glasses almost falling off the edge of his nose. His arms were stretched out in front of him and he planted his hands down on Eddie's thighs the moment he reached him.

The four-year-old whacked his hands against Eddie's inner thighs enough to make him groan and stir him awake.

Eddie blinked slowly and huffed, lifting his head off his hand just as Chris used his upper strength to pull himself up onto his dad's lap. Once he was up, Chris scraped his hands against Eddie's arms and flopped forward onto Eddie's chest causing him to grunt.

"Hi buddy." Leaning his head back on the sofa, Eddie closed his eyes again while he moved his hands under Chris's arms and pulled him up higher. He settled Chris down on his chest, with his head on Eddie's shoulder and his arms loosely draped around his neck.

When Chris started to cough, he pressed his lips into Eddie's shirt, over his chest and closed his eyes tight. He felt Eddie's hand rub up and down his back and his lips pressing to the top of his head.

"Deep breaths, that's it." Eddie opened his eyes and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "Let's get you some medicine… do you want a drink?" His head turned towards (Y/n) and he pecked her lips when she nodded. It was about time for Chris to have some more medicine and Eddie knew his parents would be done with dinner soon.

His hand cradled the back of Chris's neck, and his other arm curved around the back of his legs to keep him in place before he slowly stood to his feet.

He felt Chris nuzzle into his neck and begin taking deeper breaths while he tried to hum into his dad's neck. Eddie kept his lips pressed into Chris's temple, nudging his nose into his boy's curls as he trailed through the living room and made his way into the kitchen.

"Okay, here we go." Lifting his arms, Eddie tried to shift Chris onto his hip but the toddler wouldn't have it. His arms deadlocked around Eddie's neck and his chest glued down against Eddie's with his knees jabbed into his lower abdomen. Chris didn't want to sit on his hip, he wanted to stay curled up against Eddie's chest.

This was how his dad always held him and he wanted to stay like this. Eddie held Chris with one arm and reached out to grab the Calpol, struggling to get the medicine in the syringe with one hand so he didn't have to put Chris down.

"Take this, buddy."

Chris didn't object and took the medicine gladly before Eddie started to pour two glasses of wine.

He felt his mother's hand on his back and Eddie smiled, trying to liven himself up a bit more. His head turned to the right to watch his mother move round and stand beside him, but he watched her narrow her eyes when she noticed Chris curled up in his arms.

"He can walk on his own, Eddie." Her voice was soft but her words and her tone was chiding. It was as if she thought Eddie was doing something wrong by carrying Chris like this.

"I know."

Eddie nodded nonchalantly and took a large swig of wine before he curled his fingers around the stems of both glasses. He turned to face his mother, his son in one arm and the glasses in his other hand. He wasn't stopping Chris from walking. He and (Y/n) had been trying hard to get Chris walking on his own, especially when it was such a struggle to get him standing on his own two feet and able to shuffle around.

Since he was two, Chris had mostly been crawling and shuffling on his bum rather than walking. His cerebral palsy made it harder for him to hold his balance and standing was a struggle.

Eddie didn't want to stop his progress or carry him everywhere, but he was sick. And if Chris wanted to be carried or cuddled or lay on Eddie's chest, then Eddie certainly wasn't going to object.

"He's a bit big to be carrying around." She rested her hand on Eddie's arm but he shook his head and pulled away.

"No he's not." His shoulders shrugged and he pursed his lips as he looked down from his mother to his son. "He's my little man, I can carry him anywhere if he wants me to."

Spinning on his heels, Eddie passed back down through the hall and back into the living room where (Y/n) was sat just as he'd left her. He let her take both glasses from his hand before he turned and slowly eased back down beside her, trying not to jostle Chris too much on his chest.

He felt Chris shimmy on his chest again, curling up with his knees into his chest and his arms left Eddie's neck to wrap around his chest instead. Eddie pressed his hand down on Chris's back before he curled his left arm out and wrapped it around (Y/n). He reeled her into his side with her head on his shoulder so his lips could attach to the top of her head.

His son would never be too old to be carried or to lay on Eddie's chest.

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz #eddie x reader #imagine #911 imagine

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awyeahitssam · 2 months

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Stiles figures out the whole werewolf thing when he’s nine years old, and never mentions it.

Not when he’s eleven and his dad is stressing over mountain lion manslaughter, when he’s fifteen and his best friend ditches him for the Hale brood, or when he’s seventeen and Cora punctures his tires with claws after he beats her out for first place in a countywide Young Writers competition.

If the Hale’s want to kill supernaturals invading their territory, that’s their right. If Scott wants to pretend they weren’t once brothers to each other just because he’s no longer dangerously asthmatic or socially stunted, Stiles can accept that too. And if Cora wants to take out her petty frustrations on Claudia Stilinski’s jeep - well, fuck yes will he get his vengeance but he’s certainly not going to blackmail her just because she’s stupid enough to pop claws in broad daylight.

(Instead Stiles threatened to leak photos of Cora making out with her twin’s ex-girlfriend in the bathroom of the local diner - time stamped before they broke up. It was enough to make her personally change and finance his baby’s tires, plus teach the stunted bitch a lesson on messing with Stiles.

It may also help the girls' dismal attempts at subterfuge.

He doubted it, though.)

For all that people go on about Stiles not being able to keep his smart mouth shut, he’s very good at saying nothing of substance.

In the end Stiles moved away for college without anybody discovering he knew all about Beacon Hill's supernatural secret.

(He warded the Sheriff’s house to kingdom come. It was subtle enough that the local pack wouldn’t notice, but if anything looking to hurt his dad came bumping through the night they would sooner be burned to ash than touch a hair on the Sheriff’s oblivious human head.)

Stiles gets the call on Christmas Eve.

Parrish - the only Deputy he doesn’t have a file full of blackmail on - tells him his father is in the hospital and might not make it. He says he hasn’t been shot when asked, but stays vague when Stiles demands to know what happened even as he throws together a bag and sends an all-caps text to Jocelyn, a study partner who works at the airport and will be able to get him on the soonest available flight to San Francisco.

Stiles emotionally manipulates and cajoles and blackmails, and still gets nothing more than vague replies from Jordan. Clark, Whittings and Jones don’t answer their phones.

When Stiles gets to Beacon Hills heads are going to roll.

- Stiles pulls into Beacon Memorial at three in the morning Christmas day, parks in the first spot he sees (because fuck reserved parking) and hightails it towards the nurse’s station.

“Get me the status of the Sheriff,” he orders a vaguely familiar nurse, who doesn’t even bat a lash at his brisk tone. The hospital staff is almost as familiar as the police force; they helped raise him when his mother couldn’t, and even after, when he hung around after school with Scott.

Beacon Hills residents acknowledged that Stiles Stilinski didn’t mess around about his father's health.

(When Stiles was fourteen the Sheriff got shot in the gut. The condescending prick of a doctor who refused to give ‘a child’ information on his father was fired, ruined, and run out of town within the month.)

“He was found with a head wound but it’s stopped bleeding, and I know his vitals have stabilized,” she says, first off. “You’ll have to ask his doctor for more information, hon. Room 317.”

Stiles doesn’t relax, can’t until he sees his father is perfectly alright for himself, but he nods and tries for a smile. It strains across his face and drops within a few seconds, so he turns and makes for the ICU.

“And Stiles?” calls the nurse. “He has visitors.”

It turns out ‘visitors’ means that there are three Hale’s, an Argent, and an ex-best friend hanging outside the Sheriff’s room. Stiles feels well on his way to bashing in a couple of faces, especially when Scott looks up at him like he’s an injured puppy and says, empathetic, “Stiles.”

See, this is why it took some convincing to get Stiles to accept his full-ride to NYU. Stiles just fucking knew that his dad would get drawn into supernatural shit while he was gone, and he had been stupid enough to believe that the Deputy’s would actually do as ordered and keep him updated on more than just his father’s eating habits.

Oh, he would be having words with Robins.

Out of the assembled Hale’s - Talia, Laura, and Peter - two look long-suffering and one is arranging their face into something resembling sorry. Chris Argent is showing no emotion but the way he watches Stiles is careful, almost wary. And Scott just looks plain guilty, which isn’t a good sign for his continued health because Stiles has killed to keep his dad safe before and he would damn sure do it again.

(Maybe he’ll kill them all, if the Sheriff dies.)

Stiles drops the calm facade that he’s been clutching at for the past twelve goddamned hours, takes a step forward, and stares down the local Alpha.

“What are you doing here?” he demands. It’s inconspicuous enough, something an oblivious human would ask when apparent strangers were crowding the waiting area.

“Stiles, isn’t it?” Talia asks, standing to meet his height and reaching out for a handshake. He doesn’t spare the limb a glance, narrowed eyes demanding answers. “We were assisting your father on a case when he was injured. We’re here to make sure he’s alright.”

Stiles modulates his scent, his heartbeat, his rage. His eyes turn to Scott and a sneer pulls at his mouth. “You too, Scotty? Were you helping my father on a case?”

Scott McCall is a terrible liar and everybody knows it.

His throat bobs, his eyes dart to Talia, and then to Chris, and then back to Stiles, who is considering punching his lights out.

Peter Hale is Talia’s enforcer. Laura Hale is set to inherit the mantle of Alpha. Chris Argent is the local hunter. They all have a reason to be here, to be involved, but Scott - Scott is just a beta, which means Scott is probably what pulled the Sheriff into this mess. Why else would a low ranking, bitten wolf be here?

“I, uh. Yeah, I was. Y’know. Helping. There were animals involved, and I’m studying to be a vet, so, aha, he - he was going to ask Deaton, but he’s… out of town. So your dad ended up consulting me instead?”

Yes. Truly terrible.

“I see. So instead of using a qualified veterinary technician, my dad decided to ask a first year from BH’s community college, who likely hasn’t completed his introductory courses. That makes so much sense. Your logic is so very sound. Ten out of ten.”

Stiles skin itched. He was getting impatient.

He was getting angry.

Stiles turned his back on the small crowd, pushing into the Sheriff’s room without mind to the sputtering Scott. The doctor wasn’t there so he grabbed the chart from the end of the bed, scanning it quickly, adding it to what he already knew.

His dad had no physical wounds. He had been found unconscious in the parking lot of the police station. He wouldn’t wake up.

Something supernatural was going on here, and no amount of human medicine would help, period.

Stiles laid the chart back down and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a quick text, before giving his dad’s hand a lingering squeeze and exiting the room.

Everyone was watching him with sharp eyes, except Scott who was scowling at the ground. It seemed unimpressive and childish on his twenty year old face.

“Argent,” Stiles says, zoning in on Chris. He’s never liked Talia, never appreciated all she let her children get away with and the obviousness of her pack. Chris, however, he had extensively researched. He was a hunter coming into Stiles’ town, but unlike the werewolves he was discreet. Smart. “What are you hunting?”

Chris’ brow creases at his phrasing, but he didn’t acknowledge it as anything odd. “I don’t know much about who did this. He was found unconscious in the parking lot at the police station, and the doctors are still running tests to determine the cause of his condition.”

“Tests that won’t find anything,” Stiles says back, as calmly as he can when it feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin. “Most shifters would have left some kind of outward marking, and there’s no sense of magic around him so I doubt it was a Druid or Wiccan. I’m assuming you all know, so tell me. What. Was. It.”

“Stiles, you know—”

Talia interrupts Scott. Just as well, because Stiles feels like hitting something the longer they stall. “Just what do you know about all this, Stiles?”

“Your family has never been the most subtle, I figured out about the supernatural when I was nine. My dad, however, wasn’t wrapped up in any of this until I left for college — presumably, he only got involved in the past few months, since his deputy’s haven’t informed me that he suddenly started hanging around Argent, Deaton, or you Hale’s.”

Talia opened her mouth again, and Stiles held up a finger. “Stop. I don’t have time to deal with your insipid questions. Just tell me what we are dealing with. Now.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Stiles slanted his eyes to the hunter.

“I’ve been hunting a rogue fae,” Argent said. “Several people in town have fallen comatose, including one of your father’s officers.”

“Fae. Of fucking course, it always has to be fae. What kind?”

Argent looked at him blankly.

“Come on. Was it seelie or unseelie? An elemental? Changeling? Elf?" Argent's forehead creased. "For chrissakes, did it even originate in this country, or do I have to brush up on my Welsh?”

A throat cleared behind him, and Stiles spun to face the enforcer. “Sweetheart, Christopher has no clue what you’re talking about. I doubt the Argent bestiary takes time to classify the fae beyond methods for killing them.”

“But you don’t even kill them all the same way! It’s—” Stiles groaned in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Forget it. Did anybody get a good look at it? Scott?”

Scott jolted, mouth snapping shut. “Uh, why do you think I—?”

“Because you’re here, so either you’ve seen it or you dragged my dad into this shitshow. Which one?” Scott shifted.

“Both,” Peter chimed in unhelpfully. Stiles considered wringing his neck, but he was the only one providing any actual information.

“Okay. Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Was it male or female?”

Scott didn’t say anything, glancing towards Talia again.

“Scott, answer my goddamn questions! This is my dad we’re talking about!”

Scott winced back at his decibel, jerking his eyes from Talia to the floor. He looked guilty, as well he should. “A-a girl.”

“Tall or short? What did her skin look like?”

“Uh, tall. Like, taller than you. She was grey, and her eyes—they were completely black.”

Stiles' magic spiked, sparking out of his fingers unhelpfully. Stiles clenched his hands shut and ignored it. “Were there any markings on her forehead?”

“Yeah, there were, like, purple swirls—”

Stiles cursed. Explicitly.

Talia looked scandalized.

“How long has it been since dad? When was he found?”

“Eleven hours ago. Parrish called you almost immediately.”

“At least one of the deputy’s are being a good boy,” Stiles murmured thoughtlessly, pacing now. “How long has she been waiting between victims?”

“There have been two a day for the last week.” Peter offered.

Stiles frowned, stilling. “That doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t have such an appetite, unless…”

“Unless what?” Peter prodded.

“Unless she’s pregnant,” Stiles whispered. He sounded like he was about to faint, and looked little better. “Oh god, a pregnant Aatmanand. I’m surprised this town is still standing.”

He pulled out his phone, flipping through his contacts and trying to ignore the way his hand was trembling.

She picked up on the second ring.

“What is it, Stiles? I’m trying to study.”

“I need your help.”

The person on the other line’s breath hitched, before coming back, smooth as silk. “Are you calling in your favor, Spark?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come to you?”

Stiles glanced at the camera in the room and short circuited it with a spark of energy. Someone gasped.

“Yes.”

In a flash of light, Adelaide appeared. She was still in her human form except for her gleaming quicksilver eyes, blonde hair tumbling down her back in unruly waves, wearing a monochromatic polka dot pajama set. She took in her audience briefly before turning to Stiles, eyebrow cocking.

“What will you have me do?”

“I have an Aatmanad problem.”

Adelaide took a step towards him, nails sharpening to a point. Her smile was all pointed teeth. “You know I hate those uptight prigs. Just point me in the direction, little Spark.”

“You can’t kill her,” Stiles ground out, fingers clenching. Adelaide’s nostrils flared, eyes dilating with rage. Stiles held up a hand to stall her protests. “She’s pregnant.”

“Excuse me? I will not meddle with the Expecting, even for you!” Adelaide hissed.

“I’m not asking you to,” Stiles said impatiently. “I can track her down without you. I just need you to release the knots she weaved about one of the victim’s souls, and drain her leftover magic into a rune.”

Adelaide’s expression twisted again, this time in amusement. “You think much of my abilities. My kind has never been known for this capability.”

“Your kind has never been known for a lot of things,” Stiles returned. That earned him a laugh, quick and dark.

“Very good, Spark. If I do you this favor, my debt is repaid.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait a minute.” Stiles turned to Talia, eyes narrowed.

“We may not have a minute,” he said coolly. “They die at the twelve hour mark, don’t they? Otherwise Parrish wouldn’t have bothered to say his condition was life threatening. That’s how long it takes her to properly establish her hold and drain them.”

Talia frowned. “You may know something about the supernatural, but this is my land. You cannot summon creatures here without my permission.”

Stiles stared at her. Behind him, Adelaide laughed.

“What a stupid little wolf,” she smiled. “I can kill her for free, Spark. Alpha’s have the most exquisite aftertaste.”

Peter stood, taking his place behind Talia’s left shoulder. His face was cleared of the previous smirk, eyes hard and calculating.

“Go fulfill our deal. If I need to kill anybody, I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re no fun,” Adelaide sighed. “I need the rune first.”

Stiles gave her a look, but she just grinned back. Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing the Sheriff’s badge from his pocket to obscure the transportation spell from curious eyes.

He held out his hand expectantly, and Adelaide grinned at him, snatching his wrist and gouging into his index finger with a claw. Somebody growled, low and threatening.

Stiles didn’t wince, just cleared his throat until she dropped his appendage with a pout.

He drew the anchor rune quickly, all too aware of the eyes in him, and gave her the badge.

“Remember what I told you when we met,” he warned, when she turned to the room. Adelaide stiffened, glancing over her shoulder at him, and nodded.

“I would not go against a Spark.”

Stiles turned back to the red eyed Talia. “I don’t fall under your laws,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “As your enforcer could tell you. And even if I did, that is my father. I would tear apart worlds to keep him safe.”

Talia frowned, glancing at her brother. “Peter?”

“He is a Spark, Talia. The Councils combined don’t have enough power to put a leash on his kind.”

“He can’t be,” Laura said, standing to meet her pack. “We would have noticed anything that powerful growing up here. He went to school with Cora, Mia and Scott.”

“‘He’ is right here,” Stiles said drolly. “And consequently doesn’t care what you think.”

#Protective Stiles #Stiles Stilinski #no Hale fire #magical Stiles #my writing #that is all

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veryimportantsparkles · 7 months

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Every time I reset a Pokemon cartridge I designate a 'sacrifice.' That's the single Pokemon that stays in the file when I save over it with my new game. I write down the species, gender, level, and catch location and go back to recapture the same thing in the new file. I can't account for Natures or IVs or anything like that, so sometimes they go through some interesting changes. Hitorigami went from Gentle to Impish, Fujiko went from Calm to Relaxed. This guy? He went from Timid to Serious. I think he's mad.

His name is Edmond, which was the player name of the last file. I also did this with Hanna, from my extra Sapphire cartridge. The intent is to honor the original owner, not to recreate them. I actually know who previously owned Hanna's cartridge and that's not even their name. And they're not a spooky clown. I don't know anything about Edmond, other than what he left in his file:

He completed the game and caught all the legendaries except his Lati, you get to choose which you get in Emerald and his was Latios. Its health was whittled down but I guess he gave up and I had to catch it.

He kept Groudon, Kyogre, and Rayquaza in his party and used them as HM mules, lol. I know a lot of people use legendaries that way but I find it so baffling.

He used his Master Ball on some random Claydol from the Sky Pillar. Must've been a mistake, but he didn't reset.

I think he had like...ONE nicknamed Pokemon, excluding in-game trades. I went ahead and just gave everything random nicknames. His starter (Swampert) got the name 'Edson' because I think starters should retain specialness in some way.

So really, this was a person who cared about playing the game to completion but maybe didn't care about doing things the 'right' way or get a full Pokedex. He didn't transfer everything up to 4th gen before selling his cartridge to the local retro game store. But I can't prove that...maybe the game got lost or stolen, or a relative tossed it into a lot that they pawned off without checking. I'll never know.

I'm taking care of his Pokemon, but I did delete his file. So this new Edmond, he isn't the old Edmond, he can't really know or understand who that was or what it means to carry on his legacy. And I think he's trying to reject the whole concept.

See, you can catch Lotad on route 102 and they're a 20% encounter rate. When I caught him in the old file, he broke like 8 pokeballs for no reason. He was level 3 but resisted capture with his whole little heart. And in the new file, I wanted him to be the first thing I caught (after Blackjack, the new starter), but he just wouldn't show up. It took me two hours to find a lvl 3 male Lotad. I found a bunch of females, and some lvl 4s, I even found a Ralts (4% encounter rate) before he showed up. And when I finally got him he was...SERIOUS. He knows something's wrong and he doesn't like it.

I gave him an outfit that resembles Brendan's Emerald outfit, but with Red's hat and hair because I could convey a Lotad's lilypad and nubby legs better with them. He's a Pokemon gussied up in the clothes of a trainer...which is inherently wrong and perhaps overwhelming for a baby lad like this. Can he fill those shoes? No, I'm in the trainer shoes. But I'm gonna train him good and he's gonna be my lil champion whether he likes it or not.

Compare to:

Mizuhanome, my other Lotad/Lombre/Ludicolo gijinka who is a much happier and more festive person.

Testudo, who also gets a Brendan outfit variant, because he's a Kanto resident who 'studied abroad' (EV training) in Hoenn.

Welp, better get back to actually playing the game, haha

EDIT: fixed a color error on his hat

#doodles #pokemon #gijinka #edmond #lotad #long post #edmond's emerald gijinka journey

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killed-by-choice · 9 months

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Marla Anne Cardamone, 18 (USA 1989)

Marla’s story is one of coercion and manipulation. She was a teenage mom bullied into an abortion she never wanted.

Marla found out she was pregnant after an assault. She was 18 years old and already had a toddler at home, so she planned to put the baby up for adoption.

But Marla was on Tegretol and Elavil for depression and there was a chance that the medicine she took could have caused a birth defect. A social worker at the hospital where Marla had her ultrasound started pressuring Marla to have an abortion that Marla didn’t want in the first place. The social worker insisted that Marla had damaged her baby because of medication she had taken. Statistics gave a 92% chance that the baby was fine, but Marla had a sonogram to be sure. After the sonogram, that social worker kept pressuring Marla to have an abortion in an act of ableist eugenics. Finally, Marla reluctantly gave in.

Marla was admitted to Magee Women’s Hospital for the abortion on August 15 in 1989 for the legal abortion she never wanted. Because of her medical history, the urea induction abortion method was contraindicated. Ignoring the risks to 18-year-old Marla’s health and safety, abortionist Michael W. Weinberger injected urea into Marla’s uterus.

The abortion caused generalized necrosis of Marla’s uterine wall, meaning that one of her organs was rotting inside of her. Weinberger also carelessly inserted laminaria sticks in a way that caused septicemia and massive cortical necrosis of the kidneys. Marla didn’t stand a chance.

That night, Marla displayed a variety of alarming symptoms including nausea, vomiting, urinary incontinence and dried blood on her teeth. Her pulse and temperature were severely elevated. By 6:30 AM charge nurse contacted a the first of several doctors to treat Marla, but nobody bothered to do lab cultures. Half an hour later, Marla was “increasingly disoriented and speaking inappropriately.” 15 minutes after that, she had incredibly low blood pressure (80/40), she was suffering from tachycardia (144 bpm), and she was “unresponsive, grunting loudly, and having seizures.” No intravenous antibiotics were administered until almost 3 hours later. Marla received her antibiotics at 10:00 AM, but she died from her massive infections and internal damage at 12:15 that day.

Marla’s mother had not been allowed to see her for most of her daughter’s last day alive. Neither of Marla’s parents were notified about her rapidly deteriorating condition. When Marla’s mother was finally let into the room where Marla died, she couldn’t believe what she saw.

“There was my beautiful daughter so horribly disfigured that she was almost unrecognizable. A tube was still protruding from her mouth and I could see that her teeth and gums were covered with blood. Her eyes were half opened and the whites of her eyes were a dark yellow. Her face was swollen and discolored a deep purple. The left side of her face looked like she had suffered a stroke. All I wanted was to hold her. I managed to get an arm around her and kissed her good-bye.”

A lawsuit was filed for Marla’s excruciating and completely unnecessary death. The abortion “hospital” had not consulted qualified doctors, overdosed Marla on Pitocin, did not remove the corpse of Marla’s baby from inside her body, performed an unwanted and psychiatrically contraindicated abortion using a method that was physically contraindicated in the patient and did not notify Marla’s parents quickly when their daughter was dying.

Marla’s mother stated:

“I had to file a lawsuit to get any answers. Marla had died of septicemia–a massive infection from the abortion. I also learned that the social worker had never seen Marla’s sonogram or discussed the results with her. Marla never saw the words on the sonogram report that would have changed everything: No abnormalities detected. My daughter was pressured to have an abortion, and there had been no reason for it, no reason at all.

I’ve often wondered why pro-choice women’s groups have never expressed any sympathy or concern over Marla’s death. Why aren’t they demanding justice? Why aren’t they concerned that Marla was lied to about the condition of her baby and wasn’t shown the sonogram results? Why aren’t they concerned that proper treatment was delayed because Marla was misdiagnosed by a resident who was only two months out of medical school? Why are they so quiet?

I believe it’s because pro-choice groups don’t want women to read or hear about abortion injuries and deaths. Bad publicity hurts their cause. That’s why they prefer that Marla and her baby remain hidden statistics.”

https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/97261244/marla-a-cardamone

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette January 14, 1997

Allegheny County Court of Common Pleas Case No. G.D. 91-14565

Marla’s autopsy photos (WARNING:GRAPHIC)

#tw abortion #pro life #unsafe yet legal #tw murder #tw ab*rtion #abortion #abortion debate #death from legal abortion #tw coercion #tw forced abortion #tw assault #victims of roe

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wannabepapa · 1 year

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ngl u three r pretty damn cute. but if u want prompts i love when someones gotta birth quietly in the same room as ur baby daddy or other people. feel free to make it about u three if u want

Shit. Not tonight—not when we were supposed to be at this wedding for the next six hours. I thought it was braxton hicks that I had been dealing with for the last two weeks and didn't mention it. Except I was very wrong when I felt my first actual contraction wake me this morning. Luckily I was able to sneak out of bed not long after to the bathroom.

"You definitely picked the worst time little nugget." I mutter, a hand groping around my tender stomach. I had dropped days ago with no labor in sight. It wasn't uncommon for pregnancies to go past the due date so none of us worried when mine passed by. The wedding didn't seem like it would pose a problem at that point, now I'm not so sure. I knew I should have told Marin or E right after they woke up but we had hours before it was push time. First baby and all everyone said to expect to be in active labor before even thinking about going into transitional labor.

Sitting through the ceremony had been mildly uncomfortable—the cramping had gotten old as it took my focus away from the actual ceremony and left my stomach aching. I feel someone's head nuzzle against my neck, pulling me from my discomfort if only for a moment to kiss their head. A hand reaches over the apex of my bump and I see the little cuddle bug is E which elicts a soft smile. He loved the belly and the little nugget that made me turn into a beached whale so much. It was endearing to see how attentive and loving they were to the baby, especially after twenty weeks when the baby started moving.

"You okay?" they whisper low enough only I could hear. His hand rubs my belly absentmindedly—likely in attempts to rouse the babe from their slumber. Right as I was going to answer my muscles contracted, distorting my stomach as it squeezed my room terribly tight. My suit jacket had thankfully hidden how boxy it became though my restrained grunt raised E's and Marin's attention. Her hand founds its way to my protrusion quickly, snaking under the panels of my jacket to feel around curiously.

"Are these real contractions?" her tone is hushed but I can hear the concern lacing it. We had two whole weeks of false contractions that had us all walking on eggshells. Compared to what I was dealing with now those were a breeze. I didn't want to look Marin in the eye and lie—it felt so wrong to keep this from either of my partner when it came to the health of our baby.

"No" my stomach twisted with guilt. It was still early, I could pull this off. The climax of the contractions came and went to bringus back to the finishing of the ceremony. They graciously helped me stand from the folding chair as the newlyweds walked down the aisle with bright smiles and joyful laughter. Everyone clapped and hollered for their happy union before slowly they all filed out after the pair to head to the reception. More sitting and dreading of the next five hours pretending to have fun while my unborn child is rushing to be born.

Hour one was easy to play along in fake excitement. I was too big to go on the dance floor and everyone was milling about to greet everyone. Some friends and family came over to check on me, giving the bump a rub for good luck while gushing about how handsome I looked. This would be a piece of cake.

Hour two took a turn. I seemingly had a hot fash and had to shed the jacket to not feel as if I were suffocating. I looked a mess—shirt clinging to my chest thanks to the sheer size they became over the course of nine months and my back slick with sweat. Baby hairs were pasted to my neck and forehead, beading sweat dripping off me as everyone around was too busy dancing to pay enough mind.

E and Marin had been on the dance floor for the last half an hour throughly enjoying themselves. Every time they came in my line of sight, seeing them laughing and holding each other, made me wish to join them. With how cumbersome I became early in pregnancy there were many things we couldn't all do together—dancing being one of them. At home I would sit in my rocker surrounded by pillows while I watched them slow dance looking so in love. It was a dream.

"Shit." I groan quickly, gripping the edge of the table as my body was rocked again. Three minutes, that's not good. I could feel th frustration of the baby as they were crushed again, knowing full well I was going to get the crap kicked out of me for messing with their comfortable home. Both hands are rubbing circles around the tight orb begging for the pain to end so I could get to the bathroom. My body was slick with sweat and clammy from the stress of labor. Through the stabbing pain I force myself to stand, a hand holding my painfully low middle that threatened to topple me forward. No one was focused on me—they were all going about the hall, laughing gleefully as if there was nothing to care about. I out myself in this position so there was no pity.

Grunting, groaning, just about any noise you could imagine to come from me tumbled out as the slow penguin shuffled commenced to the bathroom. The pressure having built throughout the night brought tears to my eyes with each movement. My hips were on fire, a deep ache in my pelvis was going to drive me crazy. I felt both stubborn and woefully needy for help as my eyes scanned the dance floor for my lovers. Finally making it to the French doors to lead out to the hallway something inside me popped. "Oh shit."

Color drained from my face as my heart began pounding in my ears. No sight of them. They had to be somewhere, but where? Frantic hands reach for my phone in my soaked pants to send and SOS. I had to bite back an animalistic growl as the text was sent into the group chat. Hopefully one of them had their cell to see where I wondered off to. I couldn't stay here but I also didn't know if I could get out the door to make it to the bathroom. It felt like something was threatening to split me in half, the intense pressure building deep within as I grit my teeth to hold back. I barely managed to put my full weight against the door, unsteady feet trying to make purchase in the tiled hall to privacy. I came up short when my knees buckled just outside the door where I caught myself against the door jam. Tears were freely falling as I felt a burning pressure that forced my body to push. No baby. Wait for mama and daddy, please wait..!

I don't know whose arms hooked under my armpit to haul me from my hunched position or how I had suddenly been blinded by a harsh florescent light. No thoughts were important right now. I had staved off labor for too long. I needed to keep pushing now. I held onto whoever was my savior, using them as a counter weight to fall into a deep squat to push again. My clothes felt constrictive—were they this tight earlier today? I was being suffocated by my clothes with some stranger that has to witness someone giving birth. Poor thing.

"Lock the door Mar." Wait. I know that voice. My eyes, unfocused and blurry from stinging tears and sweat, look up to see E. My darling partner with his concerned face looking both terrified and focused all at once. In another moment I hear the lock of the door latch and clicking of heels rushing back to us. Marin— I take a heaving breath before a blubbering sob slips out with incomprehensible apologizes for lying. They both hush me gently, two sets of hands making work getting my sweat and waters soaked clothes off. This wasn't exactly in the birth plan but it didn't matter right now. I had both my partner—the loving parents to this nugget—holding me in their arms as we sway in place waiting for another contraction. I was going to be scolded later. That's okay, they're here now. I'm not alone.

My breath hitched as another burning urge to push overcame me that put me down in a low crouch again. E held fast with Marin kneeling behind me to rub my back, both whispering encouraging words as I put my all into this push. The baby's head was slowly inching its snail pace down my birth canal—I was so close. I could feel myself spreading farther than I thought I could handle. Whimpering and begging for it all to stop I felt soft hands press into my lower back to massage the aching muscles. It was euphoric, a kind gesture that gave me some more to anchor myself for this final push. Letting out a guttural scream I bore down with the little strength I had left, the baby rushing downward until their head fully crowned to spread me painfully wide. I gasped in surprised at the sensations—it was the worst I had ever felt but it was all worth it. We were having a baby. A perfect symbol of our love that would be the stepping stone of our huge family.

"The head, I see the head!" I hear her choked with emotions. She cupped the head with both hands while my body shook in effort. Now I needed to be careful. Little pushes, can't let myself tear and scare anyone. It took all my remaining focus and energy to only let myself push bit by bit. I felt the head bulging out of me, the nose moving and pressing down me, until finally it came to climax with the head finally popping free of me. "Oh my god look at all that hair..!"

In minutes the baby was out and whimpering when I collapsed into E's arms. I felt so empty now and weak. One second I was being cradled then the next I was resting against someone and something was put into my arms. No, not something, the baby. They were bundled up in my shirt wriggling and whimpering at the new world they were brought into. An absolutely perfect little being was in my arms, I was surrounded by the loves of my life who were crying and cooing at our first born, and everything was absolutely perfect. Except the hollow feeling in my belly that made me ache.

"I want another. As soon as possible."

#;ask and ye shall receive #g's writing #labor #polyamory preg #darling e #cutie pie #overdue birth #;do i leave it at this? yeah why not #;unless someone decides they want more then i'll continue from here #;sorry it took so long to write nonnie it has been a rough 2023 #nonnie #nonbinary pregnancy

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oceangirl24 · 1 year

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Saudade: Interlude-Suspicions

While Shawn and his family try to relax in Philadelphia; in New York, Eli realizes there's something off in his relationship with Katherine. Yancy terminates Eddie from his scheme with direct threats to his health if he causes a problem, leaving one very angry and resourceful "brother" of Shawn to do what he sees fit where Jon is concerned.

Darting between the cars to cross the street, Eddie disappeared into a dark alley and reappeared three blocks down on Boynton Avenue. A few more crisscrossing of streets brought him to a motel with no name in the middle of a block of condemned buildings.

The motel was still. The "owner" was in a back room passed out from either alcohol or drugs. He headed to his room at the end of the dark hall where one lone light on the wall flickered on and off, sporadically illuminating the thick cobwebs encasing it.

His room was as dim as the rest of the building and just as filthy and depressing. It was sparsely furnished with a card table and a folding chair. The metal bed frame was rusted from the leaking of liquid from the floor above and the stained mattress with only a bottom sheet had seen too many horrors to recount. One exposed light bulb hanging over the card table provided the only light in the room.

Eddie traveled light. He had no clothes but what he wore and no baggage but the knife in his pocket.

And a locked box under the floorboards.

And a picture.

The bulb's light was only slightly more stable than the one in the hall, but it swung on its four exposed wires due to the draft in the room from poor insulation. On each swing, it lit up the photo that was pinned to the decaying wall.

Eddie had as much information on the family of the teen in the photo as Yancy did, but the assistant principal didn't know this. He had given strict rules not to open the stolen files after all.

Eddie had ignored him.

In the locked box beneath the floorboards was all the information on Yancy and Turner he had. Now that he was a freelance agent, he could sell this information to the highest bidder.

The highest bidder… A wicked grin lit his face.

Yancy, he knew, had access to significant amounts of money as his own lavish lifestyle was funded through embezzlement, bribery, and blackmail.

But Turner…

His baby brother's family lived in one of the richest neighborhoods in the City and he knew his "father's" family had pockets so deep Yancy would spontaneously combust when he found out the extent of that wealth. At some point, Eddie knew Yancy would seek out the elder Turners and discover this on his own.

Standing several feet away from the photograph with his back to it, Eddie took the switchblade out of his pocket and began to play with it.

How much money does Daddy have, baby brother? he wondered as he ran his thumb over the blade of his knife. Slowly he turned to stare at the picture of "his brother".

"I think it's time I met the old man," he whispered to Shawn's picture. With the reflexes of a cat, Eddie embedded the knife into Shawn's left cheek.

Read the Rest:

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#boy meets world fanfiction #boy meets world fic #boy meets world #audrey andrews #jonathanturner #shawn hunter #eddie hunter #father and son #found family fanfiction #found family

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briamichellewrites · 8 months

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I’m an alcoholic. Bria learned that her addiction wasn’t her fault. It was caused by an imbalance of chemicals in her brain. She was also predisposed to addiction because of her mother. In rehab, she had to figure out why she started drinking. Loneliness and depression. The more she drank, the worse her depression became. That only caused her to drink more, which caused her to continue drinking. At first, nobody knew she was drinking because she was able to hide it.

She also lied to herself about how serious her drinking was. Her mind told her she didn’t have a problem because she wasn’t drinking until she passed out. She thought she had a handle on it. When did she realize she had a problem? That happened when her friends started noticing something was wrong. She was so in denial that she wouldn’t admit it.

What happened to make her admit she needed help? She had gone to the hospital because she was throwing up and had lost weight. The doctor told her if she continued drinking, her liver would shut down and she would need a transplant. That scared her into admitting she had a problem. She went from the hospital into detox for a month before going into rehab. How long was she an alcoholic? Five years. It was a miracle she was still alive.

Bradley was recording his interviews with her. He asked her questions about her mother, her childhood in the foster care system, her experiences in school, her getting discovered, and her career. He found out that she was the product of childhood sexual abuse. Her mother had been given drugs and sexually assaulted by her father until she became pregnant at sixteen years old.

She went into rehab for six months. After giving birth, she surrendered her at a police station. Then, she disappeared until police found her body a year or two later. She had died from an overdose of heroin. Bria had a lot of compassion and sympathy for her mother because of what she experienced. She was abused over and over by the person who was supposed to protect her – her father. What happened to him? He was in prison. Thank god.

He was arrested after her mother disclosed who the father of her baby was. Bradley was saddened to learn that. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to go through that.

“My mother did the most selfless thing any parent could do and that was giving me a chance at a better life. Growing up, I wondered about her. What happened to her that made her unable to keep me, that sort of thing? I thought maybe she was a teenager or she already had a child and couldn’t afford to have another. Or, she was escaping from a bad situation. Then, I learned what happened to her. I wish I could have met her and told her it wasn’t her fault.”

Her childhood consisted of moving around in the foster care system. She had ADHD, so she had a ton of energy when she was younger. Her foster parents couldn’t control her. They called her social worker and told her they couldn’t handle her and to pick her up. She had also developed an attitude of Don’t mess with me to protect herself from getting hurt.

When she was sixteen, she had enough. She broke down in tears because she was having to move again. Her social worker consoled her, as they sat in her car. She knew it was just going to be the same thing over and over until she turned eighteen. She filed for emancipation. Once she got it, she dropped out of school. She had been in tenth grade at the time. She explained her learning disability, dyscalculia, and how it affected her. In school, she was the weird girl who dyed her hair crazy colors.

“I got suspended once for dying my hair pink. My foster parents fought against that and got my suspension removed. I also got to keep my pink hair.”

He laughed.

Mike and Brad were also interviewed because they were close friends with her. They also worked with her in the studio. Bradley learned that she and Brad had dated for about a year. Then, she cheated on him while going through a mental health crisis. He worked through the pain of finding out she had cheated on him and was able to forgive her. Despite breaking up, they were still friends.

He asked that he not include the fact that she cheated because he didn’t want the world to know that. Bradley promised that wouldn’t be included. Thank you.

“We should have the other Brad here. Then, it could be Brad, Bradford, and Bradley”, she joked.

“It would give a different meaning of BBB”, Brad joked.

“Oh my god. I didn’t even think about that.”

“BBB”, Bradley asked.

“It’s my nickname. Big Bad Brad”, he replied with a laugh.

When Chester, Joe, Rob, and Phoenix showed up, he was able to meet them. They were the only family she had and they treated her as such. Though they weren’t recording, they all came in to meet Bradley and talk about the documentary he was working on with Bria. Almost all of them met her in 1999 when she was signed to the same record label as them. How were her cats? They were assholes.

What did they do? Cream decided she wasn’t getting enough attention, so she knocked all of her clean clothes off her bed. She had picked them up from the laundry room and was going to put them away when she got back from a therapy appointment. When she walked in, they were scattered across the floor. She asked which cat did it. Cream just looked at her like she was asking what she was going to do about it. That led to an argument because obviously, she wasn’t going to help her pick them up.

They laughed. Later, she wanted to cuddle like nothing happened. Then, Cookies left one of her toy mice in her shoe. She thought it was real. Did she scream? No, she was more annoyed than scared. At least it wasn’t shit. They laughed.

“If I get another kitten, I’ll name it Phoenix Farrell”, she joked.

“You should get a ginger kitten and name it Phoenix”, Brad joked.

“A feral Farrell”, Rob said.

“I’m single. So, yes. I’m feral. My mom keeps reminding me of that.”

“Poor, poor you.”

They laughed. While talking about the documentary, Joe was pointed out. He had experience directing since he directed some of their music videos. Both he and Mike had experience with recording and producing soundtracks. What was Joe’s background? It was art. He studied art at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena but he didn’t graduate. That was where he met Mike.

Bradley wanted to talk more with them about helping out. Yeah, they could do that. Bradley could see how much they loved Bria. Six guys looked out for her, celebrated her wins, encouraged her through the hard times, and joked around with her. They all had different backgrounds and personalities, but they got along like brothers. Nobody had an ego and there wasn’t any rivalry. When they did have problems, they worked through them together.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia @boricuacherry-blog

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jedi-anakin · 4 years

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2020 – what happened so far

(it’s impossible to include all, but I try my best)

January

January 1 – Palau became the first country to ban sun creams containing ingredients that are harmful to coral and marine life.

January 2 – The government of New South Wales, Australia, declares a state of emergency whilst the government of Victoria, Australia declares a state of disaster amid large bushfires that have killed as many as 500 million animals.

January 3 – A US drone strike at Baghdad International Airport kills Iranian general Qasem Soleimani and Iraqi paramilitary leader Abu Mahdi al-Muhandis.

January 5 – Iran pulls out of the 2015 nuclear deal, will not limit its uranium enrichment.

January 7 – 56 people are reported killed and over 200 injured in a crush at the funeral of general Qasem Soleimani in the city of Kerman, Iran.

January 7 – A 6.4 magnitude earthquake in Puerto Rico, island's largest in a century, kill 1 person and destroy 800 homes.

January 8 – Ukraine International Airlines Flight 752 is shot down by Iran's armed forces shortly after takeoff from Tehran Imam Khomeini Airport, killing all 176 people on board.

January 8 – Duke and Duchess of Sussex announce they are stepping back as "senior" royals, will work towards becoming financially independent.

January 16 – The impeachment trial of the President of the United States, Donald Trump, begins in the US Senate.

January 26 – Kobe Bryant and his 13-year-old daughter Gianna Bryant dies in a helicopter crash.

January 30 – The World Health Organization (WHO) declares the outbreak of the disease as a Public Health Emergency of International Concern.

January 31 – The United Kingdom and Gibraltar formally withdraw from the European Union at 11PM (GMT), beginning an 11-month transition period.

January 2020 was the hottest January in recorded history according to National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

February

February 3 – Cruise ship Diamond Princess with 3711 passengers quarantined in Yokohama port, Japan after cases of coronavirus found on board.

February 5 – The US Senate acquits US president Donald Trump on articles of impeachment.

February 8 – 20 people dies in a mall shooting in Thailand.

February 9 – Deaths from the Coronavirus overtake those of Sars (2003) with 813 deaths worldwide.

February 10 – More than 30 bushfires put out by heaviest rainfall for 30 years in New South Wales, Australia, helping end one of the worst bushfire seasons ever, 46 million acres burnt, over 1 billion animals killed, 34 people dead.

February 11 – Snow falls in Baghdad, Iraq, for only the second time in a century.

February 23 – First major coronavirus outbreak in Europe in Italy with 152 cases and three deaths, prompting emergency measures, locking down 10 towns in Lombardy.

February 23 – China's Supreme Leader Xi Jinping describes the country's coronavirus outbreak as the China's largest health emergency since 1949.

February 24 – Former Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein found guilty of rape and a criminal sexual act.

February 29 – Luxembourg becomes the first country in the world to make all public transport in the country (buses, trams, and trains) free to use.

February 29 – A conditional peace agreement is signed between the United States and the Taliban in Doha, Qatar. The U.S. begins gradually withdrawing troops from Afghanistan.

March

March 8 – Italy places 16 million people in quarantine, more than a quarter of its population, in a bid to stop the spread of COVID-19. A day later, the quarantine is expanded to cover the entire country, becoming the first country to apply this measure nationwide.

March 9 – International share prices fall sharply in response to a Russo-Saudi oil price war and the impact of COVID-19. The Dow Jones Industrial Average (DJIA) plunges more than 2,000 points, the largest fall in its history up to that point. Oil prices also plunge by as much as 30% in early trading, the biggest fall since 1991.

March 11 – The World Health Organization declares the COVID-19 outbreak a pandemic with 121,564 cases worldwide and 4,373 deaths.

March 11 – Harvey Weinstein is sentenced to 23 years in prison for a criminal sex act and rape in New York.

March 12 – Global stock markets crash. The Dow Jones Industrial Average goes into free fall, closing at over −2,300 points, the worst losses for the index since 1987.

March 13 – The government of Nepal announces that Mount Everest will be closed to climbers and the public for the rest of the season due to concerns from the COVID-19 pandemic in Asia.

March 14 – Spain goes into lockdown after COVID-19 cases in the country surge.

March 16 – The Dow Jones Industrial Average falls by 2,997, the single largest point drop in history and the second-largest percentage drop ever at 12.93 percent, an even greater crash than Black Monday (1929).

March 17 – European leaders close the EU's external and Schengen borders for at least 30 days in an effort to curb the COVID-19 pandemic.

March 17 – The island of Luzon, the largest island of the Philippines, is placed under the enhanced community quarantine due to the coronavirus pandemic in the country.

March 18 – The European Broadcasting Union announces that the Eurovision Song Contest 2020 will be cancelled due to COVID-19 in Europe, the first cancellation in the contest's 64-year history.

March 20 – The worldwide death toll from COVID-19 surpasses 10,000 as the total number of cases reaches a quarter of a million.

March 20 – Smoke from Australian bushfires killed more people than the fires - 417 vs 33 according to new study published in "Medical Journal of Australia."

March 22 – A prison riot in Colombia, which was sparked by coronavirus fears, left 23 inmates dead and another 83 injured.

March 24 – Indian PM Narendra Modi orders a 21 day lockdown for world's second most populous country of 1.3 billion people.

March 26 – Global COVID-19 cases reach 500,000, with nearly 23,000 deaths confirmed. American cases exceed all other countries, with 81,578 cases and 1,180 deaths.

March 28 – North Korea launched an unidentified projectile off the coast of Japan. This is the sixth launch in the last month.

March 30 – The price of Brent Crude Oil falls 9% to $23 per barrel, the lowest level since November 2002.

March 30 – The International Olympic Committee and Japan suspend the 2020 Summer Olympics and are rescheduled for July 23 to August 8, 2021.

April

April 2 – The number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 passes 1 million worldwide.

April 5 – British Prime Minister Boris Johnson admitted to hospital suffering from coronavirus COVID-19.

April 7 – Japan declares a state of emergency in response to COVID-19, and finalises a stimulus package worth 108 trillion yen (US$990 billion), equal to 20% of the country's GDP.

April 10 – The death toll from COVID-19 exceeds 100,000 globally.

April 14 – The International Monetary Fund (IMF) says it expects the world economy to shrink 3%, the worst contraction since the Great Depression of the 1930s.

April 14 – US President Donald Trump freezes funding for the World Health Organization pending a review, for mistakes in handling the coronavirus COVID-19 pandemic and for being "China-centric", prompting international criticism.

April 15 – The number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 passes 2 million worldwide.

April 16 – 22 million Americans have filed for unemployment in 4 weeks (5.2 million in the last week), wiping out 9 1/2 years of job gains.

April 20 – Oil prices reach a record low.

April 25 – The global death toll from COVID-19 exceeds 200,000.

April 27 – The number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 passes 3 million worldwide.

April 28 – US Department of Defense releases three declassified videos of possible UFOs from 2004 and 2015.

April 30 – British Captain Tom Moore, who raised more £30 million for the National Health Service walking in his garden, turns 100 and made an honorary colonel by the Queen.

May

May 5 – The UK death toll from COVID-19 becomes the highest in Europe.

May 6 – Irish organisation repays a 170 year old favor, raising over $2 million (to date) for US Navajo Nation and Hopi Reservation badly affected by coronavirus. In 1840s Choctaw Nation sent $170 to aid Irish potato famine.

May 6 – Hungary has become the first EU member state to lose their democractic status according to the NGO Freedom House.

May 10 – The number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 passes 4 million worldwide.

May 12 – Gunmen storm a maternity hospital and kill 24 people, including two newborn babies, in Dashte Barchi, a majority-Shia neighborhood of Kabul, Afghanistan.

May 13 – Every African country now has cases of coronavirus COVID-19.

May 14 – The UN warns of a global mental health crisis caused by isolation, fear, uncertainty and economic turmoil.

May 16 – 118-year old American department store JC Penney files for bankruptcy.

May 19 – Greenhouse gas emissions dropped 17% worldwide in April 2020 when world was in lockdown, in study published in "Nature Climate Change."

May 19 – Two dams on Tittabawassee River in central Michigan breached by floodwaters, forcing evacuation of thousands of residents.

May 21 – Cyclone Amphan makes landfall in eastern India and Bangladesh, killing over 100 people and forcing the evacuation of more than 4 million others. It causes over US$13 billion in damage, making it the costliest cyclone ever recorded in the North Indian Ocean.

May 26 – George Floyd, an African-American man dies after he was handcuffed and lying face down on a city street during an arrest, Derek Chauvin, a white Minneapolis police officer kept his knee on Floyd's neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds despite he was pleading for breath.

May 26 – Costa Rica becomes the first Central American country to legalise same-sex marriage.

May 26 – Twitter adds warning labels to warn about inaccuracies in US President Donald Trump's tweets for the first time.

May 26 – After a recording by a bystander about the arrest of George Floyd went viral the four officers who were present were fired. The same day a demonstrations and protests took place in the Minneapolis–Saint Paul area.

May 27 – The Chinese National People's Congress votes in favour of national security legislation that prevents subversion, terrorism, separatism and foreign interference in Hong Kong.

May 27 – Spain begins 10 days of mourning for victims of COVID-19.

May 28 – The United States Department of Justice released a joint statement with the FBI, saying they had made the investigation into George Floyd's death "a top priority".

May 29 – Derek Chauvin was arrested and charged him with third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter, becoming the first white officer in Minnesota to be charged for the death of a black civilian.

May 30 – The first crewed flight of the Dragon 2 is launched from Cape Canaveral, Florida, the first manned spacecraft to take off from U.S. soil since 2011. The next day the spacecraft successfully reached the International Space Station (ISS).

May 31 – Since May 26 over a 100 city in all 50 states in the US was held supporting those seeking justice for George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement, and speaking out against police brutality.

May 31 – The hacktivist group Anonymous released a video after remaining silent for 3 years demanding justice for George Floyd.

May 31 – The number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 passes 6 million worldwide.

#2020 #covid19 #coronavirus #black lives matter #politics #history #protest #economy #justice #environment #long post #very long post #text post #I hope some of yall will find something you didn't know of #(I did)#also stay safe and healty!

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

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that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 1

Your feet dangled down from the stool, elbows on the granite counter when Jeff turned around. “Alright,” he said, lips in a thin smile when he revealed the plate of reheated lasagna that someone dropped off in the last few days. “Smells good.”

You looked up at him with an unimpressed stare. “It looks a little disgusting.”

“It’s vegan, I think.”

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes. “You start one all natural skincare line and people think you only eat plant-based shit.”

He let out a small laugh, set the plate down and watched as you picked up the fork. One bite--mediocre. Not exactly hot enough, but after all Jeff had done for you the last few days, you didn’t have the heart to demand he put it in for another minute.

“So--do you think it went well?”

You laughed around the food in your mouth, picked up a paper napkin and let your head tilt to the side. “As good as a funeral could be.”

The lights in your kitchen were dim and the sun had already faded behind the trees, the house quiet after people finally filed out. Friends, extended family, strangers you’d never met had flocked to Los Angeles for the funeral of your famous father.

It’d been coming from a mile away. His health declined, an obvious result of the cocaine and the cigarettes and whatever else he’d ingested regularly in the 70s. A heart attack a year ago put him on a fast track to the afterlife, but he always joked that he’d probably end up in hell.

Being in the music industry ruined him, in a way--it ruined your parents’ marriage and it ruined a lot of the relationships your father had. Blow outs and big fights that left him exiled from a lot of social circles, sometimes never speaking to people again after one bad phone call. But it was never like that with Irv.

“Well, I’ve never seen my dad cry so hard,” Jeff smiled. “He really loved him.”

Another bite of the soggy noodles and fake cheese. “I know.”

A comfortable silence, the doors off the kitchen were open, a breeze from the backyard let the southern California warmth blow through the sheer curtains when you sipped at your left over wine.

Jeff was the closest thing you had to a sibling, his family was all you had left at this point. You were tossed in the bathtub with him and his siblings as a baby, shoved into family photos and tagged along for vacations.

Being closest in age to Jeff meant people always hoped it would be the two of you that would end up together. Happily ever after or having babies of your own. But when you saw Jeff wolf down a whole pizza at his bar mitzvah, any hope of a spark between the two of you had been permanently extinguished.

His older sister was the one who told you what it meant to have sex, and after your mom died, his mom helped you pick out a dress for your Sweet Sixteen.

She was the one who talked you off the ledge when you found out you were pregnant only a few years later, she was the one who threw you both baby showers and she was the one who helped you through your divorce only six months earlier.

So now that your dad was gone, too, you wondered where you fit into their family and what your definition of family even was.

Before the thought could cross your mind, the front door was pushed open and the sound of high pitched giggles floated in from the foyer.

CeCe’s tiny voice echoed down the hall. “Uncle Jeff?”

“Is that my CeCe?” He took a few steps forward and she ran straight into his legs, he hoisted her up onto his hip when Maeve rounded the corner with Tristan in tow.

“Hi honey,” you opened an arm so your ten-year-old could fit into the side of you. She leaned her head on her shoulder. “How was ice cream?”

The easiest ploy to get them out of the house while you hosted some kind of awkward afterparty.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But Tristan said that funerals are a selfish attempt by the living to hold on to someone after they’re dead.”

You blinked a few times and looked down at her, shocked by the words and apparently, her ability to understand them. You looked over at Tristan, arched eyebrows to communicate how displeased you were.

His eyes went wide when Jeff choked down a laugh. “I didn’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about Maeve.”

You kissed Maeve on the head. “Well, Tristan is wrong about a lot of things, trust me. But you two should go get ready for bed, it’s been a long day.”

You looked over at him again--younger by two years and easily one of the most important people in your life. You met him only a year after you started your business, he had a knack for brand management and eye for design that you couldn’t pass up. He was way too sarcastic and cynical to be your regular babysitter, but Jeff and his family were basically in the receiving line beside you.

Jeff let CeCe climb down and Maeve took her by the hand as they headed for the kitchen stairs to the second floor, leaving you alone at the island with two of your closest friends.

He waited until he heard the water turn on from their bathroom sink, then whispered in Tristan’s direction. “Great idea to say that to a ten-year-old and a six-year-old after their grandpa dies.”

Tristan rolled his eyes theatrically, “she asked why so many people came and why she’d never met any of them if they loved her grandpa so much.”

“Well, you can expect a bill for their therapy in a few years,” you laughed, forking more lasagna into your mouth.

Tristan made his way over to the fridge and pulled out the glass dish, helping himself to a piece when Jeff took a seat beside you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” you glanced at him sideways, suspicious about any ulterior motive he might have.

“Okay, Y/N,” Jeff laughed, Tristan eyed you from over his shoulder like he didn’t believe you. “Let me try again. How are you feeling emotionally?”

You cleared your throat and swallowed the most recent bite of dinner. “Oh, you mean cause my husband left me six months ago and my dad just died and now I’m a single mom with two fiesty daughters who just inherited a giant house aaaaaand,” you drew out the word for dramatic effect. “I’m a business owner who barely gets any sleep?”

“That’s what I was getting at, yes,” Jeff nodded and fought a smirk.

“I’m alright,” you sighed. “Tired. Kind of freaked out about what the fuck is going on in my life, but, I’ll survive. I always survive."

You knew you would--in fact, you’d been waiting for this moment for the last few weeks. When Jeff’s mom called to tell you your dad needed to be put in hospice, you prepared. You talked to Maeve and CeCe and explained it all in a way they’d understand. His life on earth is over, but we can still talk to him and visit a pretty garden to remember him.

It was a lot to deal with only a few months after your high school sweetheart turned husband admitted he’d been having an affair and moved out, you saw on Facebook that he’d since bought a motorcycle and was spending most of his time at bars along the coast. That whole fiasco was harder to explain to your children.

And now suddenly everyone wanted to make sure you were okay. Frozen dinners, offers to drive your kids to and from their extracurriculars, a lot of attention was suddenly thrust onto you and your family, as if you hadn’t always hated that growing up.

But you knew the time would come when life would settle back down. Cousins and aunts and uncles would fly home, people would stop asking how you were doing post divorce. Dust would settle and the sun would set on this chapter and frankly, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

So here you were, the funeral was over, the dinner in his honor at Jeff’s parents, the media coverage was starting to die down and life could return to normal. Or, at least, a new normal.

Your dad had been a fixture in your life--weekly dinner dates with grandpa gave you a minute to yourself after working long days and answering endless phone calls. A glass of wine on the couch or even dinner with Tristan and Zoey was a nice escape from breaking up fights or figuring out how to reattach the head of a Barbie doll after someone shoved someone into a closet and tears and screaming ensued.

“You will definitely survive,” Jeff nodded.

Tristan came and sat, forked into the lasagna and made a face when he realized how bad it was. “Is this fake cheese?”

“Unfortunately,” you nodded.

Tristan made a face and then cleared his throat. “I, for one, think this is the start of a new chapter for you. New opportunities, new love,” he smirked.

A quick retort: “Yeah, that’s obviously the first priority right now.”

“He’s right, though,” Jeff said. “You have a fresh start, a totally new chapter.”

You nodded--they were right, but easing into a new chapter felt a lot better than trying to dive right in.

“Speaking of a fresh start, you know, changing things up,” Jeff forced a grin in your direction. “Can we actually talk for a second?”

You eyed him suspiciously, put your fork down to bow out from eating the world’s worst lasagna. “Yeah?”

“I have kind of a weird favor to ask. And--I know it’s kind of bad timing, with everything going on, but--just hear me out, okay?”

Instead of replying, you watched him, lifted your brows to encourage him to continue and tread carefully.

“So I have a client who isn’t from here, he bought a house but it’s in the middle of getting renovated. There’s kind of been a lot going on, it’s a long story.”

“Okay,” you nodded, unsure where he was going with it.

“He needs a place to stay, and I was wondering if maybe he could stay here for a little.”

“Here, like, here here?” You pointed to the floor of your kitchen, an elegant upgrade from the more modest house in Woodland Hills you’d occupied before the divorce.

Along with the death of your father came the inheritance of his Bel Air estate and all of the bedrooms, the four car garage, the manicured lawn and the pool out back. Some people thought you should sell it, use the cash to make trusts for the girls or save for college.

Selling it didn’t feel right, though. It was the house he worked so hard for, the house you called home for the later half of your teen years and the place you always came back to when things got hard. So instead of putting it on the market and closing that chapter, once again, you returned to the safe haven in the hills when you didn’t know where else to turn.

“Yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but you have the room and it might be fun to have someone else around and--”

“I have two daughters, Jeff, I can’t just let a stranger live with us.”

“He’s not a stranger, Y/N, he’s my friend. We’re really close.”

“Who is he?” Tristan asked, waving his fork in the air to remind us that he was still present.

“Harry Styles.”

Tristan’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “The kid from the boyband?”

“No way,” you shook your head, dismissing it before you could even let his name register. “I’m not having a pop star boy band kid stay in my house.”

“Okay,” Jeff held up a hand to get Tristan to relax, then moved to point at you. “He’s 24, number one. He’s not a kid, he’s, like, only a few years younger than us.”

“Yes,” you nodded, “exactly. I don’t need a 24-year-old living with my daughters.”

“He’s not like that, though. He’s responsible and he’s a family friendly dude, and--”

“Then why can’t he live with you? Or with your parents?”

“I don’t have the room,” he said. “And my dad hates house guests.”

You rolled your eyes, it was obnoxious, but it was true. Irv hated having people stay over almost as much as he hated it when your dad beat him in golf.

Jeff took your silence as an opportunity to continue selling you on the idea. “He just finished his tour, he’s working on his second album. He’s probably going to be in the studio a lot, Y/N. Do you really think I would let some crazy party animal live with my nieces?”

Another eye roll from both you and Tristan.

“Is this like, just a few nights?” You asked.

“Like, two weeks. Tops.”

“Two weeks?!” You shook your head. “No--I can’t put them through that after all the shit that’s been going on this year. Why can’t he just stay in a hotel?”

“Cause that’s lonely and he’s a people person and--I don’t know, it might be good for you to have someone around.”

You rolled your eyes that, was it a jab at your new status as a single mom or new status as a fatherless daughter? Unsure.

Jeff stood from the counter and grabbed for his phone on the far end of the island. “Just think about it, okay? I’ve gotta run. A few weeks, built in babysitting, maybe--he’s great with kids.”

“I’ve already thought about it,” you told him, resting your chin in your hand and offering a sugary sweet smile. “No fucking way.”

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice called from upstairs, you hoisted yourself up, ready to tuck them in and forget that Jeff had ever asked such a ludicrous question.

“I would owe you big time--it might be fun! You’ve got the room, he could be a positive male influence on the girls.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the end of his sentence--like that would really sway you.

“And I’m not that?” Tristan pulled his head back, offended.

“You’re the one who told them funerals are stupid,” Jeff said with a sarcastic smirk.

“And you’re the crazy one trying to let a stranger move in here like it’s an AirBnB,” you shot back at Jeff. “So maybe they do need a better male influence than both of you.”

“Mommy!” CeCe called again, more impatient this time.

“I’m coming!” You shouted. “You, let yourself out when you’re finished eating this terrible meal,” you pointed at Tristan and the lasagna. “And you,” you pointed at Jeff with a smirk. “Please never speak to me again.”

He was already heading for the door, keys in hand when he blew you a kiss. “Love you, see you soon!”

“Love you,” you called back, bounding up the stairs, mom mode activated.

A text message the next day when you were at work:

Jeff Azoff (1:43pm): 🙏😇🙏😇

You blew air from your lips, Zoey sat across from you at a conference table when you took a late lunch. She was the first friend you made when you started high school, your long time confidant aside from Tristan and Jeff and a sure bet to tell it like it is.

Now she regularly popped into the Luna offices and she loved nothing more than acting like she was a higher up at your business. She’d rather be doing that than admit she was a new mom with no clue what the next chapter of her life would look like. You had that in common.

Her two-month-old son, Benny, sat in a carrier on the ground, his eyelashes fluttered when Zoey put her feet up on the chair beside her.

“What’s the sigh for?”

“Jeff is being annoying.”

“What’d he do now?”

You looked over at her, nose deep in her phone when you took another bite of the burrito bowl she’d picked up for you. You didn’t know if it was worth it to explain it all. Zoey was excitable, never one to turn down an adventure and her aptly timed identity crisis that came with becoming a mom was sure to make her encourage bad decisions even more.

She looked up at you, suddenly aware of the wheels spinning in your mind.

“Spill it,” she instructed. She put her phone down and let out a breath, clasped her hands and waited for you to fill her in.

“He asked me to let a friend of his stay with us in my dad’s house.”

“Your house,” she corrected. “Deed’s in your name now.”

“My house,” you nodded. “And I feel weird about it.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“Some client of his,” you tried to wave it off as if the name didn’t matter.

It didn’t, really. You’d long been exposed to the rich and famous just because of the nature of your father’s work. He was one of the biggest managers in the music industry in partnership with Jeff’s dad, so you were no stranger to beautiful people with beautiful cars and beautiful homes. When Jeff took on the family business, you only grew more accustomed to it.

“So a celebrity?” she shimmied her shoulders in excitement. “Which one?”

“Harry Styles,” you said the name slowly, quietly, even though it was just the two of you in the second floor conference room and even though this was your office that you bought and you owned and you ran.

“He’s hot,” she nodded casually, less impressed than you’d expected.

“He’s also like twenty-something, so it's disgusting for you to say that.”

“Oh relax,” she dismissed your concern. “He could be your pool boy.”

Zoey--who also grew up in Southern California and spent plenty of time at your house as a kid--hadn’t yet grown so accustomed to the coming and going of celebrities. Her parents owned a florist shop in Santa Monica and in high school you had to tell her she could only come to a Britney Spears concert if she didn’t cry when you inevitably met her in the green room thanks to your dad.

“I have children,” you reminded her. “A ten-year-old who might as well be fifteen and a six-year-old who would think I literally bought her a human playmate.”

“But if he’s friends with Jeff I highly doubt he’s a serial killer,” she reasoned.

“Wow, you are completely missing the point.”

“What’s the point, then?”

“It’s weird--I can’t have a stranger move in with my kids.”

“Why not?”

“Because first their dad left us and now their grandpa died.”

“Sounds like they need a new man in their life.”

You ignored the similarity of her words with Jeff’s from the other night. “I just think it’s crazy.”

“Okay,” she sat up straight and suddenly looked like this was morphing into a business conversation. “How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh my god,” she turned her palms towards the sky. “Just do it.”

“What? No!”

“It’s two weeks--it’ll take your mind off of all the shit that’s been going on, it’ll be a fun distraction for the girls. You have so much space in that house you will never even know he’s there. And you’re helping a friend.”

She wasn’t wrong: Harry could likely stay in the bedroom all the way on the other end of the hall from where the girls slept. Maeve was thrilled to get her own room in the move and CeCe would occasionally run into your room after a nightmare, so the space was a plus.

He’d have his own room, his own bathroom. Hell, he could even park in the extra garage and enter from the back of the house. Maybe you wouldn’t even notice he existed.

You sighed, tugged at your necklace when you met her gaze. “I just feel really protective over them right now. I feel like Luke ruined their sense of family and now with my dad gone--”

She stuck her tongue out in disgust at the sound of your ex’s name. “I get that--but they have you. They have Jeff and his family and they have me and Shawn and now Benny.”

You offered a small smile at her reassurance. She was right in a lot of ways. The Azoffs were as much a family to your daughters as they had been to you. Shelli and Irv were like grandparents, they offered to babysit plenty of times and they always managed to get the girls the most amazing birthday presents.

But something in you knew it wasn’t the same. You’d dreamed of giving your daughters the sense of family you never had: a mom and a dad who loved each other. One house, not two that had two different beds and sets of books or toys.

Luckily and unluckily, your ex hadn’t made a huge deal about custody. Visits here and there were outlined in your divorce papers, but at this point in time he didn’t seem the most interested in maintaining a relationship with his daughters, even though he promised way back when that he’d never leave.

Getting pregnant with him during college wasn’t planned, but he swore you’d make it work and you tied the knot only a few months before Maeve was born. Things were good at first, you always knew you’d have more than one--if only to combat your own only-child loneliness--and then CeCe came five years later when you felt a little more prepared.

“I don’t think it’s going to traumatize them, Y/N. I mean, the least you could do is meet the guy.”

You watched her for a minute, blew air from your nose in a huff before you picked up your phone.

Y/N L/N (1:56pm): Fine. I’ll meet him.

Three days later you pulled up to a cafe in Brentwood and took a deep breath in the parking lot. If he was creepy, you wouldn’t go for it. If you got even the slightest weird vibe from him, you’d ex-communicate Jeff and only go over to visit his parents with the girls when he wasn’t around.

You’d already been leaning towards just doing it, especially once Tristan got a glass of wine in you and reminded you what your dad would have said: he who helps is one who prospers.

A few sleepless nights left you staring at the ceiling and wondering if you were crazy. You just now had the chance to let life settle down and here you were, mourning the loss of your biggest supporter, trying to piece yourself back together post divorce, and considering letting a stranger move in? Grief really did do strange things to people.

But when you walked in and found them sitting at a table in the back, something clicked.

Your dad was already fond of your possible houseguest, which you only knew from overhearing previous conversations between him and Irv about how proud they were of Jeff for picking up the family business, and now it all made sense.

A small part of you--probably the stupidest part of you--wondered if there was something cosmic about it. Your dad was always one to let his artists stay in the house, if they weren’t creepy, of course. You grew up with bands rehearsing in the backyard and going to shows at the Troubadour before you were old enough to drive, and you turned out fine.

“Hi,” Harry stood, offered a hand and introduced himself after Jeff gave you a kiss on the cheek. “Harry, pleasure to meet you.” Polite, maybe a bit of a kiss ass. Your dad must have loved him.

“Y/N,” you nodded, sat down when Jeff tugged out a chair for you. “Thanks for--uh--meeting with me, I guess.”

“Thanks for maybe letting me stay at your house,” he offered a sheepish smile, held your gaze for a second when Jeff adjusted the sunglasses clipped to his shirt.

“I’m actually surprised you guys haven’t met before,” he said.

“I’ve been a little busy this year,” you reminded him with a nod. “But--nice to finally meet you.”

Harry nodded, a dimple in his left cheek ignited a tiny spark in your chest, but you pushed Zoey’s words out of your mind. Two weeks, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be in and out and this would be a blip on the radar.

“We can order coffee or something, but Y/N, I’m assuming you have like, a whole interrogation mapped out?”

You pretended to laugh at Jeff’s joke, turned to Harry and offered a no-nonsense smile. “I have two children, I got divorced earlier this year and my dad just died. So I don’t need any drama or anything. This is temporary and I’m doing this to help out a friend. Jeff, that is, not you.”

He laughed at your clarification and nodded. “Right. This is just me living in your house. No drama. Short-term.”

“And obviously my children will be there, so no guests.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay I’m not that much older than you,” you said it quickly, offered a small smile when he looked a little scared.

“Sorry--no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way.”

“No ma’am,” you added a rule, pulling a laugh from both of them when you lifted another finger in the air to count them off. “No drugs or alcohol, unless it’s like a glass of wine at dinner or something,” you shrugged.

“Look,” Jeff leaned forward. “Y/N’s kids are great, she’s got a great skincare company and she’s a kickass human. And you need a place to stay, so don’t fuck this up.”

“You both have my word. No drugs, no alcohol, no guests, no ma’am,” he smirked in your direction. “I’ve lived alone for a while, so, it’ll be nice to have some roommates.”

You nodded slowly and watched him for a second. A hoodie with the name of the management firm your dad and Irv had started, a backwards baseball hat and simple Ray-Bans. You ignored the fluttering in your veins from just looking at him, your own words echoed against the walls of your skull: he’s also like twenty-something, so that’s disgusting.

This was his brand, you were sure. Something Jeff had worked hard on--the looks, the smile, the exact formula that management firms drooled over was playing out in front of you. You sipped your drink once the waiter delivered three cappuccinos. Two weeks, tops.

Los Angeles afternoons were meant for playing outside, which is what your daughters did best if they weren’t busy pulling each other’s hair. You had dinner on the stove--enough for five--and a knot of nerves in your stomach when the wheels of his fancy car crunched atop the gravel.

The girls ran to greet him and Jeff showed him around the house. Now, Harry sat across from you at the table, Maeve to his left with an unimpressed look on her face when you cleared your throat. “Okay, gratitude time.”

Jeff set his fork back down, a guilty look on his face to admit he’d forgotten about your pre-dinner ritual.

CeCe squirmed in her seat, let out a sigh when Maeve protested with a flutter of her eyelashes. “I don’t have anything to be thankful for,” she informed you.

“That feels a little hard to believe,” you nodded, losing patience for her attitude over the last few days. “CeCe, do you want to go?”

Your younger daughter looked up at you, scrunched her mouth and thought about it. “I don’t have anything either.”

You tried not to groan aloud. After the week you’d had and the sudden changes in your life, disciplining your daughters felt like the last thing you wanted to do, if only they’d just behave.

“I can go,” Harry lifted his hand sheepishly as if he was sitting in a classroom and not in your dining room, a dimple on his cheek when he smiled sheepishly.

“Take it away,” you motioned towards him.

“M’thankful for being here, having a place to stay--and what looks like it will be a delicious meal.” By now he had a bit of smug look on his face, maybe proud of the fact that he’d broken the ice and stepped up to the pre-dinner prompt.

“Mom’s cooking is a solid six out of ten on a good day,” Maeve looked over at him, her fork now in her hand as if she was ready to dig in.

“Okay,” you leaned in and caught her gaze. “Drop the attitude or go to your room.”

“I’m thankful for Emma,” she named her friend, her quick submission after she rolled her eyes told you she just wanted to eat and get this over with. “She warned me today that Hayley was wearing a shirt I wore last week so I think she’s copying me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, you’d accept anything at this point. “CeCe? Last chance.”

“I’m grateful for pudding.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, you nodded and said: “Great. I’m thankful for you two,” you smiled at them, hopeful that this nightly tradition would hold some type of meaning, more than just eye rolls and pre-pubescent angst from Maeve.

Jeff looked over at the girls, “I’m thankful for my friend Harry getting to meet my other friends, CeCe and Maeve.”

“Aww,” Harry smiled, a hand clutched to his heart when he looked between them.

“Alright,” you were annoyed by how good your daughters were at turning on their charm for anyone but you. Jeff was often the fun uncle, just like your ex had been the fun dad, which left you forcing them to play this gratitude game every night after they finished their homework.

CeCe wasted no time digging into the spaghetti on her plate, leaving Jeff to ask Maeve: “so what are you going to do about Hayley?”

“I don’t know,” Maeve sighed. “She’ll die when she finds out that you’re sleeping over,” she pointed her fork at Harry.

“He’s not sleeping over,” you corrected. “He’s staying in one of the guest rooms, remember?” You’d already explained it a few times to them. A few weeks, he’s working on more music, he’ll be busy, he’s not here to play with you.

“Whatever,” Maeve said. “Maybe I’ll hold it over her.”

“Maeve,” you looked over, unsure what had gotten into her. “I thought we talked about this stuff with Hayley?”

“I know--but she just keeps annoying me,” Maeve explained.

“Dump pasta on her head,” CeCe suggested with a giggle.

“Don’t do that,” you looked at CeCe and poked her in the stomach.

“I personally am a big fan of that idea,” Jeff smiled over at CeCe. “But it’d probably be better to just forget about it. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Or the sincerest form of annoying,” she retorted.

Harry let out a laugh at that, caught your gaze when you wondered how soon it’d take him to get annoyed with your kids.

They were great--smart, funny, clever, definitely witty and sometimes dramatic. But they were good kids.

You remembered how tough it was to adapt to motherhood, even though they were your own. Something told you that Harry, no matter how short his stay would be, was not in the chapter of his life that entailed finding joy in playdates and pillow fights.

But he made it through dinner, quiet but friendly and as soon as Maeve was finished, she begged him to play squishball outside before sunset.

“Squishball?” his eyebrows dipped together. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s basically just baseball but with a softer bat and a foam ball cause mom doesn’t want us to break our skulls,” Maeve informed.

“I never said break your skulls,” you argued.

“But it’s what you meant,” she shrugged.

“I would love to play,” Harry laughed, unbelievably entertained by the back and forth he’d already witnessed. They yanked him outside and set up their tiny diamond, CeCe pulled on a tutu just for flair and you and Jeff were left to handle the aftermath of a family dinner.

Jeff put the final plate into the dishwasher after a little bit and offered a hesitant smile when he turned around. “So?”

“So what? It’s been like an hour and a half of him being here.”

Their laughter from outside was audible, CeCe shrieked when Maeve made contact with the bat and sent the ball soaring into the air. “The girls clearly love him.”

“Of course they do--they love anyone for the first two hours.”

“I think he’ll be good for you guys.”

You rolled your eyes, wiped the counter with the sponge when he continued.

“And you guys will be good for him.”

This got your attention. “How so?”

“He’s a people-person, never likes being on his own too much. Some structure and responsibility is good for him.”

“So I’m babysitting him?”

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Relax, will you? This could be a mutually beneficial thing if you let it, that’s all I’m saying.”

You didn’t read too much into it, you figured Jeff was peppering you with reassurance only to calm your nerves or quell your concerns. When he was finished helping you clean, he hugged the girls goodbye and waved over his shoulder, leaving Harry alone in your house with you and your daughters and nothing but good intentions.

You left him downstairs at first, helped CeCe brush her hair and sat on the floor when Maeve picked out her clothes for the next day: hopefully Hayley doesn’t own this dress.

When you headed back downstairs an hour later, the girls were tucked in, the lights were off, and your usual plan would have been to check your work emails if it weren’t for the dimpled guy in your living room.

He stood at the bookcase, hands clasped behind his back when you found him.

“Hi, sorry--bedtime is always a--” you paused, not even knowing the right label. “A shit show. But thanks for playing with them earlier.”

He laughed, turned around and offered a smile. “No worries--they seem like great kids.”

“They are,” you assured. “Maeve’s been a bit snarky lately but I think that’s just the whole beginning of puberty thing.” You cringed a little when the words left your mouth, wondering if it was too much information for someone who likely had cooler things to do than talk about ten-year-olds and training bras.

But he smiled, shoved his hands in his pockets when you said: let me show you around.

He’d arrived at the worst time. Homework, dinner prep, CeCe crying because Maeve finished her homework first. You didn’t have the chance to give him a tour and you figured it would be better coming from you than from Jeff, that way you could remind him of all the rules.

You showed him the ground floor first. The library, the family room, the two offices and the three different remotes that all worked different TVs or speakers or lamps. He marveled at the pictures on the wall in your dad’s old office space, he was a legend, he told you.

He climbed the stairs behind you and whispered in response when you pointed out what was behind each door. Bathroom, Maeve’s room, CeCe’s room, guest room, another bathroom, master suite, guest room, his room.

You pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. Gray walls, a wooden four-post king-sized bed. Throw pillows you’d picked out when you moved in a few weeks ago, a dresser to the left. He looked around and nodded. “S’perfect.”

“Good,” you said, walking over to a small linen closet in his attached bath. “Towels are in here, should be soap and stuff in the shower--had our housekeeper stock it.”

“Thanks,” he nodded again.

“I don’t know where you parked, but there’s a garage in the back that my dad used to keep some of his sports cars in--there’s definitely room and that way you don’t have to leave yours out if it rains.”

Were you talking too much? You just wanted him to feel at home or at least welcomed.

“Amazing,” he said. “Thank you.”

A repetitive answer but it didn't stop you from rambling.

“Keurig’s on the counter--creamer in the fridge. Should be plenty of food but obviously feel free to stock what you like. Except like, weed.”

“Weed doesn’t go in the fridge...” he eyed you suspiciously, the same dimple appeared on his cheek and you rolled your eyes.

“I know--I know weed doesn’t go in the fridge.”

“Just the no drug policy,” he nodded.

“Right. Am I forgetting anything?”

He shifted his weight on his feet and shrugged his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” you nodded, one final look around the room to make sure he had what he needed. His duffle bag was already in the corner, you’d told Jeff to put it upstairs and out of the way so CeCe and Maeve didn’t get nosy.

“I just have a question actually, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“When did you move in here?”

“Uh, beginning of August, so like, almost a month ago.”

He nodded, his eyes curious despite the fact that he didn’t ask more.

“We had to put my dad in hospice, I was looking for a place anyway after,” a quick motion over your shoulder to gesture to the girls. “My divorce, so--a lot of change, but it’s been nice to be home.”

He nodded thoughtfully, the quiet of the bedroom suddenly felt heavy. “S’a beautiful house.”

“Thank you,” you looked around the room again, if only to put your eyes somewhere other than his face. “I felt shitty about redecorating it at first, but--it was a little too much of a 70s bachelor pad.”

“Leave it to Walt,” he joked.

That piqued your interest. “Did you know my dad? Like, did you spend any time with him?”

He pushed his lips out in thought but shook his head when he sat down on the bed. “Not really--met him a few times at events with Jeff, but I never spent any quality time with him.”

You nodded--he was a busy guy, popular and well respected in his industry. “He was a good person, good grandfather, too.”

Harry smiled at that. “Always heard that Irv was the balls but your dad was the heart.”

You laughed, scrunched your nose at the saying you’d heard a hundred times. The two of them were partners in crime, two peas in a pod, yet they couldn’t be more different. He spoke again before you could reply, voice soft in the sleepy house.

“I mean, if you're his daughter he obviously did something right.”

He held your gaze just long enough for you to feel something, something you pushed out of your mind so quickly that your hand was on the door knob before he could even say goodnight.

Two weeks, tops.

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Note

Hello! This is a funny yet cute thought that came to mind but can I request head cannons of the Brothers and Nowdateables reacting to an Mc that was actually pregnant throughout the program?

She wasn’t showing at first but as the months go by, her stomach is larger as well as her noticeably odd cravings and waddle. So when asked who the dad is or if it happened through the program, she’s like “I was already pregnant and there is no father, I’m inseminated. I’ve always wanted to be a Mom.”

As her stomach shows, she doesn’t mind letting the boys touch her stomach and feel the kicks, attend baby checkups with her, etc. Until God forbid being with her when her water breaks and she goes into labor during RAD or at one of Diavolo’s parties. It’s up to you if you want this to be romantic (For the Brothers + Datables w/o Luke to see the baby as their own child) or platonic for all of them and be protective uncles + Brother to the child.

I debated not doing this one. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I was nervous about all the Obey me baby requests I’m probably gonna get now. LOLOLOLOL XD

Obey me Boys + Pregnant!MC

Lucifer

Disappointed in himself for not knowing about this before hand. It should have been in your file, but he also should have done his due diligence in vetting you.

Once he’s made aware, he takes great care to make sure you’re taken care of.

No highly strenuous activities. No stress. Well balanced meals and soft surroundings.

Schedules and goes to all your doctor’s appointments with you. Takes notes.

Has a trust set up for you & the baby to make sure you’re taken care of for the rest of your lives

Nervous about holding the baby at first, after it’s born, but gets used to it.

Mammon

Shocked when you first tell him, and scared

He’s “Baka-mon” after all. He doesn’t want to accidently hurt you or the baby.

Works really hard to be better for the both of you. No more yelling. No more gambling or late nights. He does all his work on time and some of yours too.

Loves to rest his head on your stomach and feel the baby move.

100% the one that gets the an expensive crib, designer clothes, and a Waterford crystal bear for the baby when it’s born.

Wants the baby to call him “Uncle Mammon” when they can talk. If not Dad

Levi

Nervous. What’s he gonna do with a baby?? Or a pregnant MC???

Tries to stay away from you as much as possible. Something he feels bad about, but he’s just scared of doing something wrong.

Also, not gonna lie, he’s a little jealous that you’re having someone else’s baby. Even if it is from a donor. (avatar of envy ladies and gentleman)

Reads a lot of Slice of Life family manga to be more prepared and in tune with this new ‘family friendly’ genre he’s found himself in

Puts his headphones on your stomach and plays music for the baby, because he read that they can hear it

Nicknames the baby ‘chibi-chan’ after they are born, because they are so small

Satan

Not sure why you were keeping it a secret, or agreed to come to the Devildom if you were pregnant, but handles the news rather well.

Immediately looks into every book on the subject. ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’, pregnancy health books, child rearing.

He wants to be informed so he can help you with this process

Makes all your favorites when he’s on kitchen duty. Takes over your days so you can rest more

Incredibly impressed with how well your managing being pregnant, school, and well.....them all at the same time.

Buys every children's book he comes across for the baby when he sees them. They’ll have a library as big as his by the time they can read.

Asmo

Actually really loves babies. They are the product of love, which he is all for. And they’re so cuuuuute!

Immediately offers to take you maternity clothes shopping. Every time you need new clothes.

Decorates your room and the nursery for the baby so it’s a warm, inviting space for the both of you.

Always ready to pamper or give the expecting mother a spa day when she needs it

Desperately tries to have their first word be “Asmo”

Beel

He’s very happy for you. If this is what you want, and you’re following your dream, he’s happy for you and to help wherever he can

King of the weird food craving brigade. He’ll bring you whatever you want, any time you want. He’s probably hungry too anyway

Extremely protective of you. He was already, but now that he knows you have a defenseless life in your body he’ll do anything to keep you safe.

Often decides that walking is too strenuous for you, and carries you around school or House of Lamentation

Best baby sitter. I voted. No take backs.

Belphie

Not the biggest fan of the news.

Babies are loud, and need a lot of attention. And he’s the baby of the family so there can’t be two of them

Tries to be supportive, but it is a struggle for him. I mean...there’s nothing he can do so might as well get on board.

Gives you one of his old blankets to have as the baby blanket. It’s very sentimental

When the baby is born, his attitude changes. He’ll murder anyone who gets too close to the baby or even look at them too long. He’s like one of those cats that curl up with newborns and swat at anyone that gets too close while they are sleeping.

Solomon

Surprised to hear that you are pregnant, but wishes you well all the same

He’s not exactly thrilled you’re having another man’s baby. But you made the decision before you met, so what’s done is done.

Mixes you up a lot of morning sickness relief and joint pain potions to help with your pregnancy

Creates an ever lasting, floating mobile of stars for the baby’s room. Along with protection spells out the wazoo

Decides he will make the baby his new apprentice in magic. When they’re older.

Simeon

Elated to hear the good news!

A new precious life in the world. What could be better than that?

Always ready to help with anything you need. Shopping, cooking, helping to relax, or even just to talk, he’s there

First to buy the baby there own Baby Book, to record all it’s precious first moments and photographs

Petitions on high to be the child’s official Guardian Angel

Luke

He obviously has no experience with this, so he’s interested in where babies come from

Also eager to help. He’s always been the youngest angel, so he’s never had the opportunity to help care for someone else. He really likes the idea of being a ‘big brother’ figure.

Asks a lot of questions. Like....a lot of questions.

Bakes a lot of sweets for you so you can be happy and make sure you’re eating properly

FINALLY! He’s not the smallest anymore!!

Diavolo

Thinks it’s wonderful!

Children are the future. Plus, he is fascinated by human breeding. (not in a creepy way just as a general interest in all things human)

Loves seeing your body grow and change throughout your pregnancy. Is always eager to touch your stomach

Anything you need is yours. Diavolo personally sees to it

Calls your child his little ‘prince or princess’. No matter if you’re romantically involved or not.

Barbatos

Given that he can see the future, he knew that you were pregnant before you told anyone

Puts you on a strict regiment of healthy foods & diet once, you’ve announced it, to make sure you’re getting proper nutrition

Also sneaks in some sweets now & then. He’s a demon, not a monster.

Handles everything from setting doctors appointments to getting the nursery organized for the baby’s arrival

His life’s mission is to make sure you and the baby are cared for. Next to his prince, you two are his top priority now.

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part Nine (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) SMUT

I am SO sorry for such a big delay between chapters! I’ve just had terrible writer’s block and my mental health has been.. challenging, to say the least! But here’s chapter nine! Sorry if Myc is a little out of character, I didn’t really know how else to write it! This is a shorter chapter but the next few should be longer! And expect some more emotional chapters coming up for when Mycroft finally talks to his parents about Eurus!

Word Count- 3766

Mycroft wasn't entirely sure how long after you had fallen asleep that he had followed suit. He hadn't been planning on falling asleep at all, really; he was rather content simply laying there and thinking over in his mind how he had ended up in this position at all. It was a strange feeling still, feeling the weight of you in his arms, the feeling of your hands bunching in his jumper as though he were your lifeline, the light feeling of your breath skimming the skin of his neck. Strange, and yet welcoming. He was beginning to question why he had never tried harder in seeking this kind of thing out before, but he knew the thought was futile. He wasn't entirely sure he'd have ever wanted to be in this position with anybody else, as cheesy and cliché as he had sounded. He had a reputation to upkeep, an entire persona behind his Iceman nickname, and yet he felt entirely at ease, thawed, if you will, with you.

He had opened his eyes to find his head resting slightly atop yours, facing towards the television that had long since surpassed standby mode and instead remained a dark black. Mycroft couldn't help but focus on the reflection that he could see in its screen, the image of the pair of you laying embraced on the sofa, his hand resting so casually at your back that it could be mistaken for a position that had been practiced for years rather than only a few days. It was nice, he had decided. Nice that things had ended up this way, even if it had taken so many years to get this far. In both his mind and your own, it had honestly felt as though you had been together for far longer; as though it was some unspoken decision between the pair of you that neither of you would take the step to start the relationship, and yet made yourself unavailable for anybody else, cancelled plans to be with the other, enjoyed more meals together than apart. Though of course this was far easier on Mycroft's end, not exactly having many other social dependencies, and a lack of opportunities for such things with other people. Still, he had remained inwardly thankful that you had adhered to the same ideas.

In his own way, he was glad that it had taken as long as it did. It allowed for him to truly know you, far more than any information on a file could give. It let him introduce himself to you properly, allowed for you to truly get to know him, for him to feel comfortable enough around you to lower his walls and drop his public, heartless politician façade. Not that he had much choice in the latter part. You knew from day dot that it was, as you delightfully put, "a load of old bollocks." Though you never once taunted him for it, not really, at least not in a bad way. You just enjoyed teasing from time to time. Mycroft Holmes had always been the kind of man to laugh at the idea of things as trivial as fate, the whole 'being at the right place at the right time', or even luck, always claiming that every event was purely cause and effect. And yet, he found his ever so brilliant mind allowing himself to, for once, divulge into the prospects of it, liking the idea that perhaps the Universe wasn't always so cruel. And with this rarely optimistic thought in mind, Mycroft once again found his arm tightening slightly around you and allowed his eyes to close- not to sleep, but to take up the rare opportunity in his usually hectic life to just relax.

---

Only 15 or so minutes had passed since Mycroft had woken up before you began to stir slightly, the hand that was fisted into his jumper moved and instead wound beneath his arm, holding at his shoulder blade and pulling yourself impossibly closer to him, your leg twisting slightly and angling your hip to brush against Mycroft's crotch with just enough pressure to make him gasp. Mycroft had blinked slowly, trying to register the sensation while simultaneously trying to ignore it. He had felt his body stiffen, which had clearly been unwelcome to your sleeping form. You had turned once again, other hand circling his neck and tugging closer, pressing against him once more and humming at the warmth. Mycroft coughed rather loudly, face burning, eyes wide, utterly mortified and, quite frankly, half hard.

He was truly embarrassed, his body reacting in such a juvenile way from the slightest of touch. He cursed himself for his lack of control and placed his atheism aside to pray to God that it would just go away. It's not that Mycroft had never paid that part of his body any attention- he was human after all- but with his usually busy work schedule, and then the Eurus mishap, and of course having you in his home, he hadn't allowed himself to.. indulge.. so to speak. So clearly the smallest hint of friction was enough to turn him into a teenager again. He had also noticed that in your movements the hem of your shirt had lifted just enough that Mycroft's hand was now resting against bare skin and he swallowed thickly.

Mycroft had, of course, contemplated the idea of sex- in any form- in his past. It was in college that he had noticed his peers coming into school with hickeys on their necks, conversed between each other of their sexual encounters, parading body counts, and in University where he had found himself accidentally walking in on far too many students going at it in various cupboards and empty classrooms. He had taken a brief interest but soon let it die down when he had never found anybody interested in him, nor anybody he was interested in. Of course with his occupation and links there had always been the option to fulfil such desires with the security of utmost privacy, but Mycroft had never been keen on the idea of paying for sex. So that, of course, left him in the position of being completely sexually inexperienced, which had never bothered him or caused him any embarrassment until this very moment.

When allowing himself to enter the relationship with you, Mycroft of course suspected that sex would be on the cards at some point, but he had hoped it wouldn't be the result of basic instinct like this. Previously, the idea of being that intimate with you had been an exciting prospect, but now all that was left was embarrassment of his history, and insecurity of his body.

"God, how long have we been out? I feel incredible." You muttered against his skin, not making any effort to move away from the cocoon of warmth that Mycroft was providing. You hummed appreciatively at the feeling of the elder Holmes' hand on your back and the heartbeat that you felt under the fingers on his chest. Only the heartbeat was significantly increased since before you had fallen asleep. "Myc? You okay?" Now you did move, angling your neck to look at the flushed features of the man you were lying next to. Mycroft coughed and nodded weakly, making any slight attempt to angle his pelvis away from you. "If you're sure..? Was I being too clingy? Honestly, you can tell me and I'll stop hanging on you like a baby monkey." You heard a quiet 'no' and smiled. "Okay good, because I REALLY like the cuddling." You shuffled in a little closer and continued. "And, please don't shove me off, I think you like it too because you didn't let me fall and yo- Oh!" Your fidgeting had allowed your thigh to once again rub against Mycroft's erection and he hissed slightly.

"Y/N I can only offer my utmost apologies for reacting in such a callow manner." He stuttered out, making every attempt to wriggle his way from your grip with the idea of making a beeline for the door.

"You don't need to apologise, Mycroft. If anything, I should apologise for uh.. friction? Or perhaps Da Vinci should apologise for discovering friction in the first place?" You breathed a small laugh but Mycroft only remained stiff and uncomfortable. You manoeuvred yourself until you'd both sat up, you sideways slightly with your legs resting across Mycroft's lap and covering him. "Sorry, I tried to make a sciency joke to make you laugh. It was just my way of saying that you're okay and that you shouldn't be embarrassed. If anything, I'm flattered." You laughed slightly again and Mycroft's shoulders slightly relaxed. "Christ, I could, that's if you want to and please do not feel pressured, I could.. help. If you wanted to?" His eyes widened dramatically, brows raising to his hairline while his jaw comically opened slightly in shock.

"I don't.. that is.. you don't have..I-" In a rare moment of time, Mycroft found himself lost for words and an appropriate reaction.

"Don't worry, just forget about it. We don't have to do anything like that until you're ready.. If you're ever ready, that is.. If you don't.. do that.. kinda stuff, that's fine too." And now you were propositioning that you were willing to forego any kind of sexual activity should Mycroft never want it? Why? You answered his unspoken question with a chuckle. "I mean, I've gone 5 years without it, what's the rest of our lives?" Mycroft closed his eyes and took a breath.

"No. It's not that I don't.. want to.. I just.. I, well.. I'm a very busy man and I always have been so.."

"Mycroft, quite frankly I couldn't care less whether you've done anything with a hundred women or none at all. If anything, I find it kinda hot that you haven't. And even more hot if I were the one to change that." He nodded slowly and you smiled back at him. "Is that a yes? Because it doesn't have to be if you don't want it to be. We have all the time in the world."

"Yes."

"Okay. Just promise me you'll tell me if you want to stop." He nodded again. "Promise me, Myc."

"I.. I promise."

--------- sexy times warning ---------

You raised your hand slowly to brush against his face before leaning in and pressing your lips against his. Mycroft sighed in content as you let your thumb graze his cheekbone. Shifting position, you moved your knees to either side of his thighs, straddling him slightly but with your weight resting above his knees, your other hand circling to hold the back of his neck.

"This okay?"

"Mmm." You let your lips travel along his jawbone, nipping slightly at skin and smirking in triumph at the tiny gasps leaving the politician's mouth. Running your hands from his neck down his chest, tugging slightly at the thick jumper in silent plea. Mycroft raised his arms slightly, giving you the access to lift it and chuck it at the side. Wincing, you watched as it knocked the half cup of cold coffee you left on the side, the brown liquid splashing from its porcelain confinements onto the burgundy cotton.

"Please don't tell me that jumper's some four-figured item hand crafted by only the finest of maids in a remote Peruvian town.." Mycroft took his focus back and grimaced.

"Five, and Venezuelan." You stiffened and gulped slightly. "I'm kidding, it's only from M&S." A dazed grin on his face, hands squeezing ever so slightly at your hips. The back of your hand slapped his chest as you relaxed again, breathing out a laugh.

"You are a very cruel man, Mr Holmes." Head lowering to kiss at his neck once more. "You're bloody lucky that you're pretty." His low chuckle was cut off with a deep hum as you bit softly at his collarbone. You dragged your hands down again, fingering at the top buttons on Mycroft's shirt, and not missing how his body became tight. "We don't have to take it off if you don't want to." Relaxed once more. "Can I just undo a few? You'll be more comfortable I reckon without being strangled by a shirt collar." He nodded once. And then again when you double checked. And once more with a small 'yes' when you really wanted to make sure. Taking it slowly, you opened the top three buttons; two to give Mycroft's neck more breathing space, and the other to give your hand enough space to explore the new area of skin- fingers brushing over the top of his chest, auburn chest hair tickling between your digits. You kissed him again, tongue running ever so slightly across his bottom lip; relishing at the small whimper as you pulled away. Myc let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when your palm dragged down from his chest and to the front of his trousers, applying the slightest bit of pressure as you rubbed slowly. You looked up once more to make sure you weren't taking things too quickly, E/C meeting the tiniest speck of blue that hadn't been hidden from his blown pupils.

"Please?" His voice was barely a whisper, and you were sure you wouldn't have heard it if you hadn't been as close to him as you are now. You tugged at his belt and threw it with the caffeine infused sweatshirt, popping the button of his trousers open and lowering the zip. Mycroft threw his head back against the sofa cushions as you reached in and began to stroke him slowly, your lips latching onto the much better exposed neck. You experimentally gave a twist of your hand each time you reached the head, thumb brushing over the pre-cum that had formed at the tip and using it to slick up your hand- the elder Holmes let out a low moan from his throat, fingers digging into your hips so tightly that you wouldn't be surprised if they left small bruises. Not that you minded, anyway. Hearing Mycroft make those noises under your touch was exhilarating, and knowing you were the first to do such a thing only spurred the excitement on more. You could feel his thighs tighten beneath you, his breathing become slightly more ragged. You hadn't expected him to have lasted long, and you began to recognise the warning signs. Removing your hand completely, you couldn't help but send Mycroft an apologetic smile at the look of disappointment in his face.

"Look, I've already ruined a jumper and I'll be damned if I'm the cause of ruining your trousers too- which are certainly not from Marks and Sparks." You shimmied yourself back until you could feel the plush rug beneath your feet, dropping yourself until you were on your knees between his open legs. You could see in his eyes how he wanted to protest, or make some explanation on how it's unsanitary, but Mycroft's sheer need fed by his curiosity won over and he closed his eyes in waiting, regaining slight control over his breath before choking on it as you slowly ran your tongue from the base of his shaft to the head. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"Good God, no." His voice raised, making you grin as you took him into your mouth completely, head bobbing in a steady rhythm with your hand that pumped what you couldn't reach. Mycroft was certainly larger than any man you had been with before; his long slender cock suiting his form perfectly. You hummed as you imagined later sexual encounters with him- him filling you completely at last- and he writhed as the vibrations ran straight through him. Without a warning, you removed your hand and took him into your mouth completely, sucking and licking against the long vein that ran on the underside of his erection. Myc's hands instinctively shot to your hair as he felt the warmth build in his stomach, quickly cumming with a shout as you hummed around him once more. You pulled off him slowly with an audible 'pop', trying not to overstimulate while he was still sensitive, and tucked him back into his trousers. He tried to balance his breathing, removing his hands from your hair and running them through his own. Standing back up, you glanced over his form- his hair absolutely wild, shirt unbuttoned sligthly, red hairs poking between the fabric from a heaving chest, mouth still slightly open as he breathed, cheeks flushed immensely. God he looked gorgeous.

"Was that.. uh. Good?" You inwardly cringed at your words. Christ woman, you just blew him, not given him a cake. Uncharacteristically for Mycroft, his pale hand reached over to cup your cheek, bringing your lips to his in a sweet kiss; his tongue experimentally running across your bottom lip before pulling away. "Right, okay. That answered my question on where you stand on kissing after. With you sat there looking all messed up and sexy I was about ready to run and brush my teeth to kiss you again."

"Apologies.. I found myself.. curious."

"You bloody pervert." You winked, leaning to kiss him again. "So you'll kiss me after.. after.." You tried to think of a word that wouldn't sound overly vulgar to the man who had swallowed several dictionaries in several different languages.

"Fellatio?"

"Christ on a bike, Mycroft if you call it that I'll never do it again." The pair of you laughed like a pair of idiots for a moment before you continued on. "Anyway.. You'll kiss me after I do that and deem it 'curiosity', but I dip my chip in a milkshake and that's considered 'improper'? I'm starting to think you make up these rules to best suit you."

"Well, one should indulge in the odd act of impropriety sometimes, else I fear we'd go insane."

"So you WILL dip a chip in the milkshake next time?"

"Oh God, no. I'd rather snack on one of Sherlock's experiments." You both laughed again before silence took over, Mycroft's brain whirring as he tried to both comprehend what had happened, and work out the appropriate way to go on.

"You know, there isn't any written etiquette on how to behave after your partner blows you on the sofa." A raised eyebrow in response. "I am not calling it fellatio.." You reached over and grabbed the tv remote, flicking it back on.

"And you said you couldn't read minds.." As the screen began to power on, you heard a small chuckle from beside you.

"What?"

"No it's nothing. Just ignore me." He bit down onto two fingers slightly to compose himself; the composure being short-lived as he started off again. You tilted your head at him, urging him to speak about what had suddenly crossed his mind.

"Sorry I was just thinking about this morning."

"Bernice? Bit of a weird thing for your mind to flitter to right now, isn't it? Maybe I should be concerned you'll sack me off for her; one bit of action and you're planning to wed the nympho." You teased, loading britbox back up with the intention of continuing your filmathon- a word you used and Myc hated.. so you used it more.

"Before that. What you said this morning, after I heard you wince and ask-"

"Head.. And I said 'who knows what the day will bring'." You snickered into your hand and slouched back, resting slightly aside Mycroft's shoulder. "Speaking of that.. I do hope you're aware that I don't typically do that after only dating somebody for little less than a week."

"Usually wait two, do you?" You slapped his arm.

"Cheeky prick, I'm being serious! I don't want to make it all mushy and awkward so I'll say it, you don't respond and then we'll start up Carry On Camping. Deal?" He nodded his head slightly, bowing it towards you in gesture to continue. "Doing.. that.. and you letting me, it meant a lot. Which probably sounds weird for what it was but, and don't let this over stroke your ego, I don't feel like we've only been together a week. It just feels like we've been together for years with a random rule of celibacy that an innocent nap on the sofa broke. So.. there. I dunno.. I'm just.. proud of you? For taking that step with me.. and I'm massively looking forward to a few steps time when I can get your kit off." You coughed the last sentence with a laugh. True to his agreement, Mycroft didn't say a word. You played the next film and grinned when you felt a long arm wrap behind your back, tugging you to his form gently before warm lips pressed against your temple.

From an outside perspective, your little speech would likely seem a tad bizarre but you knew it probably meant a lot to Mycroft- the kiss on your head solidifying that fact. So you were more than willing to spurt a few awkward sentences for the sake of his reassurance; pleased that it was received well and not like some 'well done for trying' certificate you'd get in primary school for coming 6th in the sack race.

"Ooh this one has Babs in it, doesn't it? God I loved Barbara Windsor."

"Mmm. I met Dame Barbara once, a fair few years ago now. She truly was wonderful." Mycroft praised.

"Of course you met her, her last name's Windsor. You'd do anything to get to anything related to The Queen."

"Dame Barbara's surname was actually Deeks. She changed it to Windsor, inspired by Her Majesty, in 1954 following her role in 'The Belles of St Trinian's."

"Mycroft, sweetheart, I was joking. You told me you'd met her when she was given her title. I was a Barbara fangirl, I know." You twisted and pecked him on the cheek, not even noticing the petname that certainly didn't fall on deaf ears from Myc. The side of his mouth flicked up in a small smile; his hand squeezing slightly on your hip before he leaned over and spoke quietly.

"Thank you."

"What fo-"

"Shhh, film's starting." And with that, the pair of you settled into a comfortable silence, being broken only every now and then with your laughter as you watched the telly. Mycroft's smiles and light hearted reactions came from watching you much more than the film, but he didn't think you noticed. Or if you did, you didn't say a word.

TAGLIST

@lola4pedro

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obeymeluv · 3 years

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Demon Baby Headcanons: A Reference for “The Baby Assignment” Project

It made more sense to post my headcanons as a single thing since I’ll be working on “The Baby Assignment” headcanons in between the “Quick! Kiss Me!” miniseries.

These will be hinted at throughout “The Baby Assignment” pieces and I just wanted to put them all together. Keep in mind these are demon baby headcanons. I don’t really have any idea about angel baby headcanons since I’m card locked in chapter 21 :/

I think I got them all. I can’t really think right now.

Warning for one headcanon about human eating (obviously discouraged in the Devildom). I wanted to put in a section about how the Devildom handles bad parents (hint: logic first, then with justice) but I wasn’t vibing with it. Didn’t do it. No worries.

Demon children are usually born small but develop quickly until they stagnate around “teenage” years. Most babies (ironically) weight at least 6 pounds. It’s VERY rare to get a smaller baby and they must be taken care of EXTREMELY well

Their eyes will open within an hour or two of delivery and will be their lifelong color

Because they’re typically raised in the darkness of the Devildom and learn to flourish in the shadows, demon babies really struggle with exposure to light. It hurts their eyes and makes them cry. They should be shielded from light until they’re about a year old or show increased tolerance. Unless they need glasses or have a birth defect, most children appear to tolerate light with no problem between 4-6 years old.

Hybrid children are an exception (and hard to record for the census given how many subspecies of demon there are and all the magical co-mingling), but full-born demon children typically nest and seek out sources of heat to stay warm until they’re able to walk, talk, and do more for themselves. They tend to attach to the warmer parent.

Devildom childcare advocates recommend swaddling the child in parents’ clothes or clothes of relatives because it keeps them warm and orients their brain to who the main family members are. Pyjamas are a suitable exception but parents and close family should make an effort to show the child their scent

Demon children latch, and not just on their milk-producing parent. Within the first month of life the tiniest baby talons come out and allows the child to latch onto the clothes/skin of their caretakers. Full demon children latch and can maintain their grip/fully support themself in moments of stress, aggravation, fear, and in moments of cuddling. It is still recommended to support the child with an arm because they will get tired. Half-demon children should be supplemented with an arm or carrying device until the full extent of their latching ability is determined

Latching is also critical to scent development. It is an instinct of the child to tuck itself into or around those that will protect them. Unless absolutely sure of their safety, they tend to latch onto the stronger parent. When they feel safe, they usually latch to the other parent or try to make a nest with both

For babies who latch or show interest in latching, being semi-naked or completely naked is recommended. Their parents’ scent is stronger and seems to be preferred this way.

Devildom children don’t really crawl. The best way it can be described is “skitter”. You’ll hear their little claws go. Most parent describe their children moving in a lupine manner, on all fours. they like to stay low to the ground and move faster than human children.

There have been reports of children climbing up cabinets, walls, and onto structures like chandeliers and fans. This is part of their hunting instinct and preps their claws for the different things they will encounter/handle as an adult.

Most demon children develop their “Devildom” vocal chords first and will define parents/family by individual growls/shrieks. If other languages are not encouraged in the household, it is not unusual for a child to stay in this stage until two or three. They typically gain muscle control/development to speak real words by they end of their first year

Devildom babies aren’t as tactile as human babies but will definitely show preferences. It’s a lot easier to figure out what a Devildom baby hates. They’ll be quick to show you.

Devildom babies purr to show contentment and can start purring within 1-2 months of birth. This is one of the first signs of affection.

Other signs of affection include petting the parent or trying to get them in a state of skin-to-skin contact (see latching, above), snuggling, headbutting, showing nesting behaviors, and gently teething on them.

Full-blooded demon children can expect to cut fangs starting at the end of the first year. They will get their first full set of fangs near age two. For children who can only inherit one set of teeth, these fangs will be with them for life. They will naturally harden and lengthen to a full adult set as the body grows.

Mixed demon children are special cases where fangs are concerned because some species have extra sets of fangs, defense mechanisms where they lose and regrow teeth, and other things of that nature. For most species, teeth are seen in the first year of life.

Fangs typically look pointy and shark-like until they get a little older (somewhere between 3-6, it varies amongst children) and the teeth start to differentiate themselves in a “human-like” smile.

Children with fangs should have a greater variety in their diet for the sake of tooth shaping and development. Fangs need to be kept sharp. They can have slightly tougher food or snacks, and may display the “kill shake” when eating. This is normal. Supplement with teething toys as needed, but keep a close eye on them. It’s best to engage them a little like a tug of war to help develop the biting instinct and lengthening of the teeth.

Tails, like fangs, do not have set rules for growth or appearance. Some children of purer lineages get them as early as 3, and some get them as they move into the teenage years. There is no set age for tail development. If the child itches their back/bottom a lot, tends to streak, and shows general aggravation or discomfort, it’s best to take them to a health specialist to see if they’re developing a tail.

It is a similar scenario for wings. The child may cry or scratch a lot. Be prepared for biting and wrestling your children into shirts. Back rubs, cold creams, and soft textures are recommended. Though VERY RARE, some children can develop their wings within the first year of life. It is more normal to see them sprout between the ages of 3-5

Should the child develop wings young, they will take on a life of their own. They will twitch and flap at random times and this is normal. This is the child’s brain working wing movement into the subconscious, just as it would breathing. Devildom children who have wings go on to move them reflexively and this is how that starts.

Keep an eye on your child. They will try to hover and may be able to pull their body weight and travel short distances (about 30 seconds) within the first year of having them. Within two or three years they will have better altitude and some sense of guiding with a bit of a struggle. Prepare to be dive-bombed “accidentally” and for things to be broken in bad landings

There have been reports of full-blooded and half-blooded Devildom children gaining night vision. You can determine if your child has this by whether their eyes grow in the dark. Remember the rule of thumb: the older the demon lineage, the brighter their eyes. If obtained, this stays with them for life. The degree of clarity varies amongst children.

Children may develop horns. All horns start out as tiny velvet nubs once they break the surface of the scalp. Prior to breaking the surface, the child may scratch at their scalp excessively, rub their heads on things, or headbutt tougher surfaces to counteract the pressure and itchiness they feel. Scratching their head or brushing their hair may help but nothing can be done until the horns breach. If the horns do not breach, take them to a healthcare facility. They may need help.

Horns should be watched closely as they start to take shape. Some shapes need to be regularly broken or shaved to prevent the child from harming themselves

Children are driven to develop their horns and may try to shave off the velvet lining by rubbing against family members or hard surfaces. This is normal.

It is not uncommon for children to try to “lock horns” with each other when younger. This is another way to shave off the lining. Some studies indicate that this type of play may make them develop faster. If one of the parents have horns, it is encouraged to do this with great care

Although not scientifically proven, the vast majority of Devildom parents swear by rubbing horns to soothe tantrums and put children to sleep. Seems to work. Interestingly, this trait carries on to later stages of life but brings a greater variety of reactions.

It is not uncommon to see growth spurts and great deals of change between the first 7-13 years of life (7-13 by human standards). After this, the demon will stagnate. Their rate of development can vary but demons live for thousands of years so it takes a very long time for signs of aging to occur

Old records suggest that feasting on human souls or the blood of other magical creatures may accelerate this process but these records cannot be confirmed.

Certain activities, such as participating in a pact, are prohibited until the child is 1,800 or older. Their magical capacity is not there and they cannot legally be bound in a pact. If a sorcerer or sorceress is pushing for a pact or you believe a pact has been made in bad faith, a grievance can be filed with the magical review board. If the other party is found guilty, a piece of them may be taken for consumption for the sake of “fairness”. Repeat offenders will be handled by Lord Diavolo (and are usually eaten. This has been “tentatively” amended due to the effort to unite the three realms)

Children who come from very powerful lineages (for example: one of the Seven Lords) may exhibit that key sin trait from a very early age. Some children will be hungrier than others, some will want more attention than others, some will be far stronger and may accidentally break things. Be prepared and parent accordingly.

Those born to succubus/incubi/naga lineages may show signs of charming or hypnotism from the age of two or when they can form sentences. If a member of your family has a natural susceptibility to this, brush up on negating spells and personal reinforcement charms.

#Obey Me!#obey me! x reader

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navalcriminalimagines · 3 years

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Taken & Found - 1

Request 1: Hey there! I'd really like to see a comforting Gibbs after the reader was kidnapped?

Request 2: Could ya do something with the reader being kidnapped and tortured in captivity for a long time and after she was rescued and came back Gibbs tries to get her to talk about what happened to her so he can figure out how to help/comfort her?

Request 3: May I request something with Gibbs and scared reader? Maybe they’re like trapped somewhere or she’s going under for a surgery? You can decide reader’s fate!

This is a two-part fic. This part is basically full angst, focused on Gibbs and the comforting, healing focus on Reader will come in the second part. I wanted to separate both.

Pairing: Gibbs x Reader

TW: angst, kidnapping, mention of suicide, depression, slight alcoholism

Words count: 3k

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921 @specialagentastra @ncisfan @zetasaturno99

She was supposed to be thirty-five years old today.

And it was one of those very rare days Gibbs didn’t want to get out of bed.

He spent the night working on his boat in the basement, thinking about what his life would be if anything had happened. But he would never know, would he? No matter how bad he wished Shannon and Kelly weren’t dead, how bad he wished you were here with him… all of this happened. And he found himself alone in his basement.

Well, not entirely alone. He had a bottle of bourbon to keep him company, and Fraser, an old black labrador. Your old black lab. Your furry baby, as you used to say.

You rescued it when it was just a puppy, a couple of years before you joined NCIS. So, Gibbs has always known you with this loving thing. At some point, you would even take him to the office and Fraser’s favorite spot was under Gibbs’s desk.

Gibbs never wanted to get attached to the dog. Fraser wasn’t his, it was yours and he respected that. But somehow, you both made your way to his heart.

But only Fraser was still here.

Taking a sip of bourbon directly out of the bottle, his eyes landed on your pet, curled up in the armchair Gibbs put here years ago after you made a remark. “You know, you should put something down here. An armchair or something for people who visit.” You said, while caressing the wood with your fingertips. God did he wish he was the boat at this very moment.

“People who visit never stick around.” He answered, sternly.

“I stick around,” you grinned.

Indeed, you did stick around. A lot. Probably too much.

Would’ve saved him the heartbreak if you didn’t.

A week later, an armchair was down his basement.

With the bottle still in his hand, Gibbs sat next to Fraser and started to toy the blankie. Well, technically, it was not a blankie. It was a tee-shirt. One of yours. The one you left at his house, two years ago.

The top, representing one of your favorite bands, was destroyed now. Fraser chewed it, curled against it nonstop for two years, it was now just some cotton with dog’s hair on it. It didn’t have your smell anymore, it had Fraser’s, but Gibbs never had the strength to take it away from the dog to wash it.

He never had the strength to do much after you disappeared.

When it was clear to the team that you had been taken, kidnapped, abducted or whatever, Gibbs searched for you for weeks, probably mouths. He still does, to be honest, just not 24/7 anymore.

The first weeks, he asked - or actually, ordered - Abby to take care of Fraser. Gibbs was spending all of his time away, looking for you, he couldn’t take care of someone - well, a living thing. The lab tech happily obliged, but Fraser’s health quickly deteriorated. The dog wasn’t eating, or drinking. All he did was lay on the floor, waiting for his mum to come back.

“What, Abby? I don’t—“ not a welcoming way to answer the phone but she didn’t hold it against him.

“I know you’re busy, Gibbs, but I’m taking Fraser to the vet. He’s not okay at all.”

Abby heard her boss taking a deep breath. “Which vet? I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

The dog was clearly letting himself die. Without you, he didn’t see the point of living and Gibbs understood that. If he told anyone what he did after he got Fraser from the vet, they would think he was crazy. Maybe he was, but he didn’t care at this point. He didn’t care about anything, anymore.

Fraser was depressed and there was nothing the vet could do about it. So, they let Gibbs take him home.

And he took him home. His real home; your apartment. Fraser immediately lay on your bed and cried. “You’re reading my mind, Fra.” Gibbs muttered to himself, while preparing a bowl for the pet.

Gibbs had been in your room a few times, but he never paid attention to your stuff. All his attention was on you and your body when it happened. But as he was sitting on the floor, his back against your bed, he allowed himself to take a look around. It was very much you. Minimalist with your touch. He saw your guitar, your messy wardrobe, candles and some Polaroid pictures of people you love. Gibbs never paid attention to those pictures until this moment and one grabbed his attention.

A picture of him. You could see him from afar, aiming to throw a ball. He remembered that night but he never knew you took a picture.

Ziva had invited him to throw a few balls on a baseball field. It was a nice summer night and they had just saved many people from getting blown up. It was also the first night you kissed him. In his basement, you teased him like you always did and ended up with your lips on his. He wasn’t ready for it at that moment, and when he realised what had happened, you were already gone.

Gibbs held the picture in his hand and before sitting back exactly where he was, he went to the kitchen, grabbed what he had prepared and came back.

Fraser was still laying on your bed, his face on your pillow. Gibbs carried him in his arms, the labrador didn’t even fight back or anything. He put him in front of the bowl and Gibbs sat across. “You wanna die, Fra, huh?” The dog looked at him with horrifying sadness in his eyes. “You and me both, buddy. So let’s do this.”

Gibbs put the picture next to the bowl and grabbed his gun and the bottle of whiskey. “I know you know that salmon. Eat it, choke, and when you take your last breath, I’ll pull the trigger.” He said, pressing the gun against his temple.

Fraser is deadly allergic to salmon. When he was a few months old, you fed him some and the reaction was almost instantaneous. Luckily, you took him to the vet right on time for them to save him. “Salmon is banned from the house.” you said on the ride home.

The dog didn’t move one bit. With his face still resting on the floor, he kept looking at the man. Gibbs swore he saw tears in the damn dog’s eyes. “So? Whatcha waiting for? Eat it. It’s good salmon, trust me.” He said, drinking the brown liquor.

If Fraser could talk, he would’ve told him; ‘I may let myself die, but you’re damn crazy.’ Which would’ve been fair.

Gibbs was going crazy. It was the last straw. The last punch in the guts he could take. He had reached his limit.

He was finally letting himself love again and get loved in return. And someone took that away from him. All over again.

He got it, the universe hates him for some reasons. Why would he keep pushing it then?

Gibbs stayed up all night, drinking and waiting for Fraser to eat the fish and die. So he could pull the trigger and end this once and for all.

But Fra never did. Instead, around 5am, the dog went to grab something from the bathroom and put it on Gibbs’ lap. It was one of his hoodies. A hoodie you stole from him. Gibbs buried his nose in it and he could smell you. For the first time in many years, he let himself cry. He cried like a fucking baby, under the watch of your fucking dog.

At some point, he felt that Fraser was trying to nudge his nose in the hoodie too. “We’ll find her, Fra. We have to.”

If Gibbs had killed himself, along with Fraser, it would’ve meant you were gone forever. Because eventually, people would’ve stopped looking for you. They would’ve stopped thinking about you and just pretended you’re dead.

But Gibbs knew you weren’t dead. He knew it deep inside him. Because if you were dead, Fraser would’ve eaten the salmon and he would’ve pulled the trigger.

Laying in his bed, Gibbs turned on his side and found himself face to face with Fraser. The dog was sleeping and snoring. That’s what he does most of his time. Fra was still depressed, but he didn’t let himself die anymore. He eats and drinks the bare minimum. He doesn’t play anymore though. He used to be a happy, playful and loving dog. Now he’s just laying around, waiting for you to come back.

Just like Gibbs.

They both lost weight. Gibbs didn’t even bother to look at himself in the mirror anymore. He hadn’t been to the hairdresser in a while. His hair was longer than it has never been, and his beard was prominent now. You would probably freak out if you saw him like this. You would order him to shave and get his marine haircut back. You would feed him - and Fraser - until they are full. He just wished you were here.

He reached for Fraser’s head and pet him for a moment. “The boat is done and I can’t even offer it to her.” He sadly whispered. It’s been his plan a long time before you were gone. Building a boat after and for you. Now it was your thirty-fifth birthday, the boat was fucking done but he coudn’t teach you how to operate it like he promised.

For the next two weeks, Gibbs would stay in the basement, and stare at the finished product. There was nothing left to do on it, so he just sat behind the wheel, files on his lap and bourdon in one hand. His use of alcohol has never been higher than it is now. You’d scold him if you knew.

Maybe he’s self-destructing, hoping you’d show up and make everything right again. It was stupid, since you didn’t leave on your own. You were taken. Someone took you, and god knows what they were doing to you. This awoke a rage he never knew he had. He’d kill that - or those - person with his bare hands if he ever has a chance.

A month after your birthday, Gibbs was basically falling asleep in his boat, relatively drunk. Fraser was on his lap - he doesn’t realise he’s not a puppy anymore - when the dog shot his head up. “Easy, that’s just Fornell.” Gibbs mumbled, recognizing his friend’s footsteps.

“My two favorite depressed boys.” Tobias greeted them. He gently patted Fraser’s head and looked at his friend. “I need you to sober up, Gibbs. We need to talk about something important.”

“Just say whatever you have to say. I’m not that drunk.”

“Yeah, right.” Tobias grabbed the bottle from Gibbs’s hand and checked how empty it was. But Tobias knew only one thing would make him react, so he went straight to the point. “It’s about Y/N, Gibbs. Get your ass—“

Before the FBI agent could finish his sentence, Gibbs had practically thrown Fraser away. The poor dog looked at him with hurt in his eyes. It was only then that Gibbs saw the file his friend was holding against his chest. He didn’t think twice and tore it out of his grip. Tobias let him.

There wasn’t much in the file, just a picture.

A picture of you.

You looked different, thinner, your hair was shorter and in a completely different color. You looked like a homeless woman.

Gibbs’s jaw dropped. His head was spinning so fast, he needed to sit again. He touched the picture with his fingertips so softly, hoping it was like touching you. A lot of things were going through his mind at this moment, he actually drew a blank. “It was taken two days ago. In Wyoming.”

Gibbs didn’t need more.

Tobias had everything planned before he showed up at Gibbs’s place. One of the FBI private planes was waiting for them, in order to take them off to Wyoming. He had asked Emily if she could dogsit Fraser for a few days, and he even called Vance to let him know he was taking Gibbs with him.

In the plane, he told Gibbs how he came across this picture and all of the info he had, which wasn’t much to be honest. As far as they knew, you were in one city of Wyoming two days ago. Maybe you were gone by now.

But all Gibbs could focus on was that picture. He didn’t take his eyes off it since he opened the file. This was you. You were alive. Whatever happened, whatever the reasons you found yourself here, you were fucking alive.

Tobias looked at his friend. He’ll spend the rest of his life pretending he didn’t see the tear rolling down his cheek. “How you feeling?” He tentatively asked.

“I—I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

“She’s alive. We know it. We’ll find her.”

“I’ve always known she was alive.”

No doubt he did.

It was hard for Tobias to tame Gibbs after they landed. The agent was already barking orders at everybody and anybody, he was ready to organize a fucking manhunt to find you. But the first place they went was where the picture was taken. Gibbs spent hours in the area, while Tobias went to see the local cops. When he tried to check on Gibbs, the man never answered.

In the picture, you were looking at the surveillance camera. You knew you were being watched. You did it on purpose, Gibbs was sure of it. You must have left a clue somewhere around.

You looked scared, someone must have been following you. But he knew from what Tobias said; there wasn’t much more on the video. You were briefly seen and then disappeared, again. “Talk to me, Y/N.” Gibbs thought to himself while looking around.

It was only around noon that it hit him. He finally saw it.

Right there on the graffiti wall.

“Born to lose, live to win.”

Your handwriting. This sentence. Your tattoo.

You must have written this to let him know he should look at this wall. So he did. He studied those graffitis for a long moment, until he saw what he needed to see.

Numbers. GPS coordinates.

He called McGee, not paying attention to the missed calls he had. He gave him the coordinates and Tim gave him an address.

Was that it? The nightmare was finally over? He would go to this address, find you and take you home. Finally.

Fucking finally.

He felt dizzy while running to the address. It wasn’t that far away, and there was no way he’d wait for Fornell or a cab. So, he jogged to this fucking house. When he was standing in front of it, his heart was beating so fast, he thought it would stop.

But he couldn’t die now. He would die after he found you but not now.

He didn’t care about procedures or anything. He grabbed his gun, and let himself in the house by knocking out the door. A man was sitting there, on the couch.

The house was pure filth. The man seemed to be a bit younger than him, and he looked like a psychopath. Which he is, considering he took you.

The man was standing in his living room, his hands up as Gibbs pointed the gun at him. In a flash, Gibbs was standing right in front of the man, the gun pressed against his throat. The man looked scared, he didn’t even try to fight. “What the hell, man? Who are you? What do—“

“Shut your mouth. Where is she?” Gibbs asked, suppressing the urge to beat the man to death right now. That would come later. He needed to find you first.

“Who? There’s no—“

Gibbs’s knee hit him right in his crotch and that bastard fell on the floor. “You’re living the final hour of your life, you better tell me where the hell is Y/N, before I watch life leaving your fucking eyes.”

“I—I—“

Seeing his hesitation, Gibbs punched him. “Where?!” He yelled, but the man stayed silent. “Fine.”

Gibbs grabbed the guy by his collar to put him back up. He was physically impressive, but the adrenaline running through Gibbs’s veins gave him incredible strength. He threw him on the first chair he saw and immediately cuffed him to it. He punched him once more, harder this time.

His nose and lips were bloody, but of course it wasn’t enough. Gibbs fought a lot in his life. To defend himself or to arrest someone, but never, had he been filled with that much rage and anger. He didn’t think twice before his boot hit the man directly in his face, knocking him unconscious. He stared as the man fell on the floor along with the chair he was cuffed to.

He needed to find you. Right now.

No need to be a federal agent to know a psychopath would hold you captive somewhere private.

So he immediately looked for a basement, which he quickly found and he saw the door.

A reinforced door with quite a few locks. Keys. He needed keys that he found in the man’s pocket. Although he was still laying on the floor, fighting to regain consciousness, Gibbs kicked him again, in the stomach this time. He wasn’t holding back his strength one bit. He will kill him anyway.

As he was unlocking the door, his hands were shaking like they never did before. His heart was still pounding in his chest. He still felt dizzy.

He was sure his heart actually stopped when he spotted you on the one-person bed. You were holding your knees against your chest. It was dark, but it was you. You were there, a few feet in front of him. He didn’t even know what to do.

But you did.

When you realised who was standing in front of you, you weakly jumped off the bed and rushed into his arms.

The only thing that kept you alive all this time; knowing that he would find you.

You felt even smaller than you already were. With your arms wrapped around his waist, your face buried in his chest, Gibbs felt you crying.

He slowly wrapped his arms around you, afraid it wasn’t real. Afraid he may hurt you. Afraid you would disappear again. “You found me.” he heard you whispering.

That he did.

#jethro gibbs imagine #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #jethro gibbs x reader #agent gibbs #jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #gibbs #ncis fiction #ncis fanfic #ncis fanfiction #ncis

130 notes · View notes

hexisqueer · 3 years

Text

saudade

a/n: WELL. im back! *confetti pops out*. i mean, kinda hehe, apologies im absolutely swamped with school and my degrading mental health :). n e way, this is LONG, because i’ve missed writing a lot <3 wrote this for @sykuui, this is long overdue babe tw: verbal and (probably) physical abuse, kuroo just being a gigantic dick, dont come after me pls ily, cheating, swearing word count: 2K (word vomit ;-;) pairing: kuroo x gn!reader genre: angst (if it’s not very good, pls forgiveness, internet person)

What keeps you up at night?

Gentle snores, his soft hair brushing your arm, muffled breaths reminding you that the world knew not of the Kuroo that slept by you at night, unburdened by the worldly dilemmas. For just a few hours every night, he was yours, through and through, in your arms while the clouds drifted across the jet black sky with no destination, and the moment seemed to freeze.

Love, love for Tetsuro, is what kept you up, and it would never have once crossed your naïve mind that love is what would break you, keeping you up, not for the love you felt, but the love that was torn from you.

Simple signs would not tell you what happened, it came crashing down on you all too quick, for he was proficient at hiding it, behind his caring smiles and affectionate touches. His love wasn’t as pure as yours, he did not yearn for you as you did for him, and it showed, eventually enough. The cracks in the relationship built up gradually, slowly but prominently, too wide for either to bandage up alone, and that is how you found yourselves; alone.

He did try to provide for the both of you as best he could, being the sole income earner, and it didn’t always end well when you expressed that maybe he was too occupied by his office for your liking, unable to care for you as he once did throughout high school, when he was attentive to you no matter when you beckoned.

“Tetsuro, welcome home!” You’ve had a long day and not nearly enough time with your husband, deprived of his peppering kisses and gentle strokes of your hair. You get neither, receiving just a simple grunt, and it is clear he has had a grueling time as well. “Dinner is ready when you want it.” He nods slightly, not making eye contact with you yet, his hair appearing even less groomed than usual. You stand on your tip toes to kiss his forehead, but he shoves you away, harder than playful, glaring at you.

Maybe it’s just weariness, but he makes no attempt to apologize. You blink back the sting of tears, walking towards the kitchen to serve the food that you had learnt to make for him. He’s just tired. I’m sure he didn’t mean to push me away. That was the first tear, in the loosely woven fabric that was your relationship, that began as high school sweethearts but was now, you realized only later, becoming too stifling for Tetsuro.

The steam rose of the bowl of rice and curry, curling around your jawline as you carried it to the tall figure seated at the table, with his head in his palms. “Do you want to talk now, baby?” Your question is only answered with another sound of fatigue. You seat yourself beside him, curling your arms around his bicep, watching him lift the spoon to his mouth, trying to make him comfortable. You wanted to show him that you’d be there when he wanted to share his exhaustion with you, never occurring to you that maybe, it was exhaustion of you that plagued Tetsuro’s mind.

“Y/n, can you please be quiet for once?” It was barely a whisper; you weren’t sure if you heard him right.

“Huh?”

“Just shut up for once, god.” The tears stung again. What was with him today? He seemed genuinely mad, but you didn’t know what you had done to make him behave like this.

Little did you know, it wasn’t actually you, but the idea of you. Kuroo had grown to be frustrated with his daily routine, tired that every day was the same, that his life had lost that spark it had when he peaked in high school, your presence monotonous and the marriage empty. He didn’t want it.

“Tetsuro, why would you-?” His hand swiped out, knocking the bowl off the table, a gasp erupting from your mouth. In that moment, all you can think about is to get as far away from him as possible. There is an uncharacteristic bitterness in his eyes, directed towards you as you lie in his line of vision. You flinch as he raises his hand to run fingers through his hair. Without a second thought, he spits his frustration out at you.

“Y/n, I’ve had a long fucking day, and I don’t need you to make it even worse with your constant questioning.” The chair slides back with a scrape, not unlike the scrape of his words against your soul. There is, and always has been, an insecurity bubbling away in you that maybe you aren’t good enough for Tetsuro, maybe he deserves better, maybe you are too overwhelming for the calm male that now stands enraged in front of you.

“You need to learn to shut the fuck up sometimes, because no one wants to listen to your endless whining. I get it, you need constant reassurance that you’re the perfect partner, but I couldn’t be fucking bothered. And you sure aren’t perfect with how clingy you’re being right now. So shut up, and leave me alone.”

Kuroo knocks over a jug of water on his way out, slamming the door over the sound of it shattering as your sobs rack through your body, dry but hard enough to hurt.

Being furious wasn’t a thought that occurred to you, and whether this was his fault made no difference, because it was yourself you blamed when you found him the next day, with his secretary, the bento lunch you had packed him, to resolve the night’s arguments, spilled over the wooden floor, much like the shattered pieces of your heart.

What broke you, was that there was no chase; Tetsuro didn’t come after you, didn’t try to convince you to stay, didn’t try to explain that this was a mistake, didn’t even try to salvage a nine-year long relationship that he tossed out the window of his high-rise office building, not a single second glance back at the spouse that had supported him through his struggles, through thick and through thin, comforting him when things got tough, consoling him as he lost matches, lost money, lost old friends.

Gratitude wasn’t something he had ever considered. You were always there after all, there to ensure that he was happy, that he was content with his unchanging life, the responsibility of being his unpredictable little spark of excitement weighing down on you.

You were gone that night, with hurriedly packed bags, worn out spirit and tears streaming down your face, sparkling as they dripping onto the marbled floor, sparkling like the diamond of your wedding ring that you left behind on the counter top, with one last admiring glance. It was worth a lot, but not enough for what you were being put through. And recognition of that fact is what liberated you, to start your own life, without a Kuroo Tetsuro.

What keeps you up at night?

Y/n. Bubbling laughter and affectionate aura. Everything that was gone, that now made Kuroo’s life… empty; as empty as he had left the relationship, as empty as the void that was once filled with y/n’s warm smiles, that he now attempted to fill with anyone who would throw themselves at him.

A different face to wake up to everyday, but none of them yours, the only one he longed to see, heart aching as though it might burst out of his chest to find its rightful place with you.

The day after you left, he had had no idea that his life would crumble without you, the backbone around which he organized his life, the foundation for his happiness. He knew it was unfair to put the expectation of his functioning on you, but he did it anyway, and without you, he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept that was independence.

“Tetsuro”, his seventh secretary in two months waltzed into the room, carrying a stack of files, discovering him with his head in his hands, glaring up at the one who dared use the name that you had so loving adorned upon him, the word only perfect on your tongue. “Do you want me to spend the night again? You seem tense.”

Kuroo growled, at the audacity they had, suggesting that they were even worth attempting to comfort him like you did. With a swipe of his hands, he knocked the files off the table, standing up to spit his frustrations out at the secretary.

But one glance at the look of apprehension on their face made him buckle, reminding him of the very last night he spent with you, broken jug, bowl of curried rice upside down on the floor. You; cowering from him, frightened of what he would do to you, flinching as he raised his hand.

Dry choking sobs left his mouth, you were afraid of him, the person you had loved more than life itself, given up everything to make happy, and he had never even uttered a word of gratefulness.

Realization engulfed him, leaving him on his knees. He hadn’t shown you how much he loved you, forgetting or simply just ignoring you.

No wonder you were gone, because what was there to stay for, in the dead-end life that you lived, without a loving husband or self-contentment? What had he done? Why had you stayed for so long?

Why had you stayed up all those nights for him?

Tetsuro never could forget about you, the absence of you gnawing away at him, slowly taking over his life. The final straw that broke him irreparably was you, at the national volleyball match that you attended, not for him, but as a sports reporter, beaming in pride in your professional outfit.

Your independence is what did it, because if you could live without him, it mean you would never return. And why should you, after everything he had done, why should you when you had finally found yourself, why should you when there was nothing to return to?

His eyes followed you around, trying to take in as much of you as he could. Interviewing people, smiling at them, the warm smile that was once only for him. Suddenly, your eyes locked, and he froze, standing close enough to see the hurt swim in yours as you lay them upon him, and the moment was over just as quickly as it began.

“Hajime!” What? Why were you yelling out his name, jumping into his arms, fondly glancing up at him with that adoring look, completely forgetting about the one man that had been missing you for so long? Why weren’t you running back to him instantly? Did you not love him?

But Kuroo knew the truth.

You did love him, just, not anymore. He had lost you the second he took you for granted. And he wanted to yell that he would never do it again, come back to him, please just stay with him, he will always love you.

He couldn’t. The beam reaching from end to end of your glowing face, words bubbling over as Iwaizumi held you close, it was too bright to interrupt. The sparkle in your eyes not unlike the diamond that sparkled on your wedding ring, the one he still kept in his pocket, in hope that you would one day, return to him, forgive him, love him again. But-

Kuroo knew that he didn’t keep you up at night anymore.

259 notes · View notes

multiple-fandomimagines · 4 years

Text

Breathe In

Pairing: Cullen Family x Female!Reader (Platonic), Quileute Pack x Female!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Reader is the youngest addition to the Cullen family. Being a human with severe asthma causes your family to be extra protective, especially if they aren’t always around to help.

Word Count: 4128

Warnings: fluff, angst, near death experience, brief mentions of self-degrading thoughts

A/N: This is my first time posting my writing so feedback would be greatly appreciated! (Main account @hi-my-name-is-riley )

Being adopted into the Cullen family was nothing short of a blessing.

They quickly became the family you never had but had always wanted. Early on, you found yourself gravitating towards Emmett and Edward, the two quickly became your best friends.

It was not long after you had been adopted that they told you their secret. The revelation came after you saw Emmett uproot a literal tree and throw it at Jasper, who walked away completely unscathed.

The family made you feel loved. Your brothers were protective of you, as were your sisters. Carlisle would always find time to talk to you about school and how you were adjusting, while Esme kept the kitchen stocked with your favorite foods.

Being the only human in a family of vampires had its ups and downs. For instance, you always had help with your homework, and Alice was a fantastic stylist. On the other hand, you were still human, and that brought along human problems.

When you were first adopted into the Cullen family, Carlisle was sure to inform everyone about your pre-existing health problems.

Mainly, your asthma.

You were diagnosed with asthma at an early age and had been able to use your inhaler and nebulizer, or breathing treatment, as you fondly called it, since before you could remember. But, just because you were used to your crappy lungs, didn’t mean that your new family was.

It wasn’t until a few months after you had been adopted did you have your first severe asthma attack.

You were lounging on the couch doing your homework when you felt a tickle in the back of your throat. Hoping it would go away, you cleared your throat and drank from your water bottle, ignoring the occasional faint wheeze.

Your chest gradually got tighter and tighter over the next couple of minutes, a wheeze now accompanying every breath you took.

Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward, who were spread out around the room doing various assignments, looked at each other than at you in concern. They had heard you have small asthma attacks, but they had never heard you wheeze this bad.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Rosalie asked softly.

You were about to respond when your breath got caught in your throat. You made a choking sound before a cough violently ripped its way out of your mouth.

Cough after cough escaped followed by desperate gasps for air; your body jerking in tandem. Reacting on instinct, you scrambled for your backpack, ripped it open, and grabbed your trusty inhaler.

Within seconds, you were surrounded by your siblings, including Alice and Jasper who came running as soon the coughs started. They watched with pity as your face turned bright red, sweaty, and your eyes filled with tears. They asked you questions, but you were too focused on your breathing to answer. All they could do was watch.

It felt like hours until you were able to take a breath, but, once you could, you took a puff from the inhaler. This went on for several minutes, violent coughing and harsh breaths followed by the use of your inhaler.

When the coughs started to subside, you looked up at the worried faces surrounding you, “Will one of you please help me to my room?” Your voice was hoarse as you gasped out the question.

Strong arms lifted you from the couch and carried you at a human pace towards your room.

A pained look flashed across your face as you were hit with a second round of coughs, and you took another puff from the inhaler grasped tightly in your shaking hand.

Emmett helped you onto your bed before sitting against the headboard and pulling you into his chest. The rest of your siblings filed into the room, eagerly waiting for any command or request.

“There is a blue bag in my closet with a grey machine, some tubes, a mouthpiece, and medicine in it. Ple-” before you could finish the sentence, the bag containing your nebulizer was sitting in front of you. Blinking away the dizziness, you got to work setting it up. With shaky hands and a pounding head, you went through the motions that had become muscle memory: plug the tube into the nebulizer and the compressor, rip open the liquid capsules, squirt the medicine into the cup, hold the mouthpiece between your lips, plug in the nebulizer, turn it on.

You paused as another round of coughs shook your body, you looked at Edward who understood what you needed and plugged the machine into the nearest outlet and flicked it on.

The familiar taste of vaporized medicine hit your tongue, and you collapsed into Emmett’s chest, feeling the exhaustion deep in your bones. His cold, granite-like body cooled down your blazing skin and helped you stay elevated. As if reading your thoughts, he placed one of his hands on your forehead while the other combed through your hair.

“I thought Edward was supposed to be the mind reader.” You mumbled over the mouthpiece.

“Shhhh. Just relax and focus on breathing.”

You nodded and closed your eyes, the whirring of the nebulizer lulling you into a light sleep.

~~~~

“How long has it been running?” A voice from over you asked.

“About fifteen minutes. But she put two of these capsules in.”

“You should’ve seen it, Carlisle. She could barely breathe, but she managed to put the machine together in moments while we all just watched.” Emmett’s chest rumbled under your head as he spoke.

“If you thought that was impressive, wait ‘til you see me do it when I’m having an asthma attack in the dark.” You joked, the mouthpiece still in between your lips.

“How’re you feeling Y/N?”

Opening your eyes, you saw Carlisle sitting at your side with Esme not far behind him. You allowed Carlisle to remove the mouthpiece and click the nebulizer off.

“It’s nothing I’m not used to.” You dismissed, “What are you doing here, aren’t you two supposed to be at some fancy doctor event?”

“You gave your siblings quite a scare,” Carlisle chuckled. “They called saying you couldn’t breathe and we left immediately.”

“But I had it all under control, there was no need to come home.”

“We didn’t know that Y/N.” Rosalie snapped, concern swimming in her eyes, “We just sat around and watched, not being able to do anything, as our baby sister couldn’t breathe!”

“What she means,” Alice shot Rosalie a look, cutting her off, “is that none of us knew you could get that bad and it scared us.”

“I could hardly read your thoughts,” Edward mumbled. When you looked at him confused, he explained, “You were so focused on your asthma that your mind went into autopilot. I had no idea what you needed or how to help.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, feeling guilty.

“It’s not your fault. It’s ours for not being properly prepared.” Esme insisted.

“Why don’t you get some sleep, and, in the morning, we’ll have a family meeting on how we can help you in the future. Alright?” Carlisle asked.

You nodded, and your guilt was replaced with sleepiness thanks to Jasper. You cuddled further into Emmett’s chest, who chuckled and resumed petting your hair. You drifted into sleep after your parents and siblings had wished you a goodnight.

Unbeknownst to you, your family had all stayed in your room as you slept, not able to bring themselves to leave your side after the evening you all had.

~~~~

When Carlisle asked what triggered your asthma, your family was surprised at your answer.

Exercise? Asthma Attack. Allergies? Asthma Attack. Cold Weather? Asthma Attack. Laughing? Asthma Attack. Sneezing? Asthma Attack.

Lungs couldn't make decisions, meaning Alice was unable to see when or where you would experience your next asthma attack. If there was one thing your family despised more than anything, it was not knowing when you could be in danger. So, after that night, they had gone a bit overkill with the asthma thing.

While you taught your siblings and Esme everything they needed to know about your asthma (how to work your nebulizer, the importance of staying elevated, keeping your body cool, etc.), Carlisle managed to get an inhaler for each of your siblings on the off chance that you lost or misplaced yours, and there was an emergency.

These small pieces of life saving plastic became their prized possessions. At any given time, they had an inhaler on them, even when they weren’t with you. They carried them while hunting, shopping, in class, working on their cars, etc.

Bella had even mentioned how, on multiple different occasions, she had felt the hard plastic of the inhaler in Edward’s pocket while they cuddled. (Talk about a cock block)

In the beginning, it was overbearing. You couldn’t blame them for being worried—you knew that seeing you that night had terrified them. That being said, having five inhalers shoved at you every time you so much as breathed funny got very old very fast.

It took some time, but, after constantly reminding them that you had your own inhaler and promising them that you would go to them if it was an emergency, they eventually settled down.

~~~~

It was a beautiful spring afternoon. It had rained the night before and left nothing but sunshine and a cool breeze. Your family had plans to go hunting that day—which meant that you and Bella were going to spend the day at the reservation. You enjoyed spending time on Quileute land. It meant you got to cook with Emily and mess around with the other wolves.

When word of the Cullens adopting a human reached them, they insisted on seeing you once a month to make sure that you remained human. You were nervous when you first met Sam and the others, your family telling you all about their secret and the treaty. But, to nobody’s surprise, you all got along amazingly—Sam, Emily, Paul, and the rest of the pack treating you like family. The only member of the pack you didn’t get along with was Jacob. Your family meant everything to you, and you were not a fan of Jacob’s need to be involved in your brother’s love life. But, for the sake of the treaty, the two of you acted civilly towards each other.

Edward had pulled up to the treaty line with the usual pained expression on his face. Jacob stood against the hood of his car on the other side of the line with an excited smile. Bella and Edward quickly said their goodbyes before she hopped out and went towards Jacob. Edward watched on with jealousy as he read Jacob’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry Eddy, nothing will happen while I’m here. After all, I’m still a minor.” You teased him, leaning over the center console.

Edward chuckled. “You’ve been spending too much time with Emmett.”

You shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing. Just as you were moving to sit back and get out of the car, Edward’s arm grabbed yours. Turning back, his eyes bore into yours.

“Be safe and have fun okay? We’ll be back in a couple of hours. Carlisle, Emmett, and I will have our phones on us so do not hesitate to call. Do you have your inhaler?”

“I have my inhaler, phone, and I’ll do my best to stay safe. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I always worry about you.” He huffed and kissed your temple.

You smiled at him, “Love you too. Now, go kill something big!” You exclaimed, sliding out of the car and heading towards Jacob and Bella. You didn’t need to turn around to know that he was rolling his eyes.

Jacob pulled up to Sam and Emily’s house. The car was barely in park before you jumped out and scurried towards the house, Bella and Jacob’s banter making you nauseous. The house was abnormally quiet when you walked in, the only sounds coming from the kitchen.

“Emily?”

The clamoring of pots and pans came to a stop, Emily peeking her head around the corner, a big grin plastered on her marred face, “Y/N, you’re here!” She pulled you into a hug, “The rest of the boys are out patrolling and enjoying the nice weather, but you’re just in time. I was about to start making muffins!”

You were easily the closest to Emily, the two of you quickly bonded over your mutual love of cooking and baking. Time flew by as you and Emily gossiped and cooked up a storm, making enough muffins, cookies, casseroles, and trail mix to feed the pack. Before you knew it, the front door was opening and Sam, followed by Embry, Quil, Jacob, and Bella, stepped into the house. Greetings were thrown around before the boys dug into their food.

You took a seat across from Bella, between Quil and Embry. You watched the two boys with a look of disgust as they tore into the muffins. Sam, Emily, and Bella laughed at your face, bringing the attention to you.

“Got a problem Y/N?” Quil asked, purposely smacking his mouth near your ear.

You shoved him away, “With you? No. With the way you eat? Absolutely. Just ‘cause you two are dogs doesn’t mean you have to eat like it.” You teased, attempting and failing to hide your growing smile.

The two wolves made eye contact over your head, exchanging silent words.

“You asked for it,” Embry exclaimed before him and Quil attacked your sides, tickling you.

“Say uncle!”

“Never!” You squealed.

This went on for what felt like hours before Sam heard you begin to wheeze, “Boys stop torturing the poor girl and eat the food she helped make for you.” His command brought their actions to a halt.

You sent the alpha a grateful look as you attempted to catch your breath. A wheeze had begun to sound from your chest. It was accompanied by a familiar tightness that didn’t immediately worry you but made you hyperaware of where you placed your bag.

Just as you started to feel comfortable, a different set of hands grabbed your sides. The surprise of the attack combined with the onslaught of fingers tickling your sensitive sides caused your wheeze and chest pain to come back with a vengeance. You couldn’t see who the culprit was, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the burning in your chest as coughs and laughs competed to escape your body at the same time.

“Paul stop! She’s having an asthma attack!” Bella’s voice echoed in your ringing ears.

The hands on your sides retreated. Before you could register what was happening, your chair was turned around and Bella was crouched in front of you.

“Hey, hey, you’re gonna be okay. Where is your inhaler?”

Taking a deep breath you managed to wheeze out a response, “M-my bag.”

You heard the sound of what you could only assume was the contents of your bag being dumped onto the table as you did your best to take steady breaths. Despite your attempt, coughs kept escaping.

“It isn’t in here, Bella! What do we do?”

Panic started festering in your stomach. How could you be so stupid to forget your inhaler? You swore you put it in your bag!

Bella stood from her spot in front of you, combing her fingers through her hair while she thought. She knew second hand how bad this could get, and Bella didn’t want to take any chances. Not only were you her boyfriend’s baby sister, but she considered you family, and when the two of you were on the reservation, you were her responsibility. The two of you looked at each other and you nodded, silently giving Bella the go-ahead. “Hand me my phone, I need to call Edward. Emily, take my place and try to get her to match your breathing.”

Emily kneeled in front of you and looked at you with sympathy.

You avoided looking her in the eye, too embarrassed that she, and the other wolves, had to see you like this. You weren’t a pretty sight, bright red, sweaty, heaving for air, and sputtering out skull rattling coughs.

As if sensing your embarrassment, Emily rubbed your back comfortingly, reminding you of Esme. She muttered what you could assume were words of support that you couldn’t hear over the ringing of your ears.

On the other side of the room, you faintly heard Bella talking to Sam. You only managed to make out a few words—“Emmett”, “inhaler”, and “treaty line”, but that was enough to make your panic slightly subside. You were going to see your family soon, and everything would be okay.

Next thing you knew, Sam, Bella, Paul, Quil, and Embry rushed out the door and piled into Sam’s car. Jacob picked you up bridal style, Emily making sure you were secure before he sprinted out of the house in the direction of the treaty line. In a last-ditch effort to calm your lungs, you did some breathing exercises that Carlisle taught you to no avail.

Your cough continued to get worse as Jacob ran, your face slowly going from red to a light purple as you struggled to get enough oxygen. Jacob’s hot skin pressed flush against your own, combined with your gasps for air, made you feel like you were burning alive.

You had never experienced an asthma attack this bad before.

At that point, you were barely coughing anymore, just desperately choking for air. All you could think about was your family.

Esme didn’t deserve to lose another child.

The blue skies and green treetops blurred as tears started to stream down your cheeks. You were terrified that you wouldn’t make it to the treaty line. Panic overtook you as dark spots clouded your vision, and you continued to heave for air. You closed your eyes, accepting that you were going to die from an asthma attack in the arms of someone you didn’t even like that much.

“We’re almost there, little Cullen, don’t give up on me yet.” You could only respond with more pained sounds causing Jacob to mutter some swears before pushing himself to run faster.

You were teetering on the edge of consciousness when you were passed into a pair of cold arms, goosebumps breaking out on your skin from the drastic temperature change. A piece of hard plastic was placed between your lips, the familiar taste of albuterol on your tongue. Despite your instincts to inhale, new coughs pushed the medicine out over and over again.

The sound of screeching tires and muffled voices registered in the back of your brain. You felt your body being rearranged, your back pressing up against a familiar hard figure before the plastic was placed back between your lips.

“C’mon Y/N. Please breathe.”

You did what the voice said, doing your best to breathe in when it told you to.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before the ache in your chest started to subside. Opening your eyes, you took in Carlisle’s relieved face. Your father was kneeling in front of you with one hand cupping your cheek, the other holding your inhaler to your mouth, giving puffs every sixty seconds.

“There you are.” He whispered.

Looking around, you noticed your back was against Emmett’s chest, his hands on your neck and forehead trying to cool you off. Edward was kneeling beside you, your shaky hand held firmly in his own. Behind him stood Bella, worry evident on her features. On your other side, a few feet away, on the edge of the treaty line, were the wolves, all in varying degrees of distress. Paul looked the worse out of all of them with tear streaks staining his cheeks.

“Breathe in,” Edward whispered.

You did as he said and Carlisle gave you another puff.

“Can you say something please?” Emmett begged after another moment, fear obvious in his voice.

In all your time with the Cullens, you had never heard Emmett sound that desperate before, and you felt guilty knowing you caused it. You swallowed hard, throat raw, “I-I’m sorry.”

You spoke at a barely audible level, but that didn’t stop the supernatural creatures around you from letting out huffs of relief.

“You have nothing to apologize for darling.” Carlisle’s thumb wiped away your tears.

“Your inhaler fell out in my car. You couldn’t have done anything.” Edward informed you, lightly squeezing your hand.

“It’s not your fault Y/N. It’s mine, I’m so sorry.” Paul apologized from across the invisible line.

Growls emanated from your brothers, their dark eyes trained on the shifter. You could feel the tension between your brothers and the wolves, but Carlisle was quick to stop anything from getting out of hand.

Handing the inhaler to Edward, Carlisle stood up and headed towards the wolves. Their conversation was quiet and short, Carlisle no doubt expressing his gratitude towards Jacob for getting you to your family so fast and then telling Sam that he’d send you with an extra inhaler to keep at his house next time you visit the reservation.

You looked at your brothers in confusion when they softly chuckled at something Sam had said. Turning around, Edward looked at Bella, “Giving commands to pack alphas now, huh?”

“Badass,” Emmett smirked.

“She’s family,” Bella said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You went to speak when another round of unforgiving coughs racked your body. A whimper escaped your lips at the agony that accompanied it. Carlisle was in front of you in an instant. Edward gave you another puff, your hands still too shaky and weak to hold the inhaler on your own.

“I want to go home.” You whispered as tears fell down your cheeks.

Emmett pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before gently standing up, taking you with him. You looked over his shoulder and gave a feeble wave bye to the wolves, who returned your wave with soft smiles and small waves of their own.

Carlisle opened the door to Edward’s Volvo for Emmett and you while Edward started his car, and Bella took the passenger seat. He made sure you were comfortable before closing the door and speeding over to sit in the backseat with you. Edward toed the line between safely speeding and recklessly driving as he expertly swerved through the winding roads.

Sat cradled in Emmett’s lap, coughs continued to plague you. They weren’t as bad as earlier, but they still hurt.

“Esme, Rose, Jazz, and Alice already have your breathing treatment and anything you could possibly need set up and on hand. You’re safe. Everything is going to be okay.” Emmett muttered, saying the last part for both your benefit and his.

It wasn’t long before Edward pulled up to your family home. The car door was yanked open and you were taken into Jasper’s arms who sped you into the living room. He set you gently on the couch, handing you the mouthpiece of your breathing treatment before clicking it on.

Looking around at your family, you couldn’t help the fall of fresh tears.

“Oh, honey,” Esme muttered before taking the spot on your right, tucking you into her side. Carlisle positioned himself on your other side, rubbing your back.

You couldn’t help the thoughts and feelings that plagued you as you looked upon your perfect family.

You’re a burden. A hassle to be around. They shouldn’t have to worry about a weak human like you.

Before you could begin spiraling to a truly dark place, Edward broke the silence, “Don’t think like that,” Your eyes locked with his, “You aren't a burden and neither is your illness or humanity. You’re our family, and nothing will change that. We love you.”

Your siblings echoed his remarks, and Esme squeezed you closer, kissing your temple. “You brought a light into our family that wasn’t there before. No illness is going to change the fact that you have blessed this family, and if you don’t believe me, then I’ll just have to convince you.”

“I love you mom,” You whispered, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. It was the first time you had called her that, and it was a moment that none of you would forget.

With a soft smile, you snuggled closer to your mom and attempted to fight the exhaustion that plagued your mind and body in order to finish your breathing treatment.

“Go to sleep Y/N. We aren’t leaving any time soon.” Jasper joked.

You nodded, and, with a little help from Jasper, you dozed off in your parent’s arms, the mouthpiece still between your lips.

You couldn’t have asked for a better family.

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