62: The End
[Happy Ending, le cri]
A/N : Hello lovely people! I tried to whip something up to feed y'all, but I must warn you I CAN'T DRAW MEN AND CHILDREN VERY WELL AIGHT so some of you might find this meal repulsive, some may be allergic to it, but pls appreciate what's on the table 👉👈 LmAOOO (also I made black hair default for (h/c) on the drawing so just imagine it with something else if you don't have black hair 😭✌)
kNEEweighs, the time skips occur after the wedding itself, not the resurrection, aight kids??? Aight! Let's get this breaddd!
FRANCOIS BONNEFOY
- After getting married, Francois surprised you with a house in the village of Giverny, France
- he stayed there during the late 1700s, but ofc, the house has been revamped a lil for a bit of modernity
- You started working at a small café there, while Francois works at Versailles to some desk job (can't decide on what exactly, but me likey seeing him in suits sO—)
- there's only about a half an hour or so commute from Giverny to Versailles so Francois doesn't mind the drive (tho it does feel a bit weird to drive by himself 🚗💨)
- a couple of months into the marriage and you started getting the baby fever (even if you aren't quite sure about going into that shit yourself, you just want a baby to coo at gosh darn it 😤)
- you also know that Francois himself isn't quite keen on starting a family yet
- aLAS, you eventually find yourself sitting by the bathtub and gawking 👁👄👁 at the positive pregnancy test before you🤰🤰🤰
- Francois was thankfully chill with the news and was the one that actually had to calm you down (babe went ✨it is what it is✨ 🤧)
- BUT HEY! iTS A BOYYY ♂️🤱
- so... you named your baby boy Simeon Bonnefoy (yes, you both cried yes, i am also crying)
- while Simeon is a good overall blend of you and Francois, he definitely got his father's eyes and he got your hair color
- but his personality very much seems like a man you once knew (ok, ok I'll stop 😭)
- Francois has a soft spot for his son and he tries his best to bond with him, in spite of his stoic persona 😭💕💘💟💌
--------------
[THREE YEARS LATER]
Francois quietly closes the door behind him, his hands almost moving automatically to hang his coat on the hooks by the door and placing his shoes on the rack. An exhausted sigh left his lips as he rolls his shoulders to relieve the knots present within.
The house was silent, as he had expected for being coming home at such a late hour. Damn the traffic.
The Frenchman first enters the spare room adjacent to the main bedroom—the nursery. Moonlight casted everything in a faint glow, making him able to see the sleeping babe in the crib. He walks towards his son, looking around to see if he needs any changing.
Alas, the little boy squirms awake at the sensation if someone else in his room. Simeon's lips began to quiver and whine as he sees the looming figure over him.
Francois was quick to pick the child up into his arms, lightly swaying him. "Shh, don't cry," he whispers, "you'll wake your mother up."
The voice of his father elicited an instant reaction from the boy, his purple-blue hues staring up at Francois. A smile breaks it to the baby's face as he realized that the man holding him is his father.
The Frenchman couldn't help but chuckle at his son's expression. "You're a strange giggly boy," he tells the babe, "very much like..."
His mind drifts off to a certain young man of the same name, his mouth unable to finish his thoughts.
Like Simeon Durand.
"Do you want to know something, Simeon?" Francois began, sitting at the rocking chair near the crib with Simeon still in his arms. "I can tell you'll be good man like your late godfather—he was stubborn and annoying, but he was loyal," he says, a ghost of a smile lingering at his lips, "He would've loved you."
The boy only stares, not really able to understand what his father is aaying, but the two both find solace in the moment. "One time," Francois continues, "your mother and I fought, because I was being an insensitive douchebag—your godfather's words, not mine. Older Simeon had the audacity to lecture me for hours on end, saying that if I don't apologize to your mother then, I'll be a miserable frog for the rest of my life. He doesn't know how to shut his mouth up, sometimes, but he was right."
A chuckle leaves the Frenchman's lips, as the topic drifts to you—his beloved, his dearest. "I love your mother with all of my heart," he tells his son, "I never would've imagined to be in this place—content, happy—if it weren't for her. Now, we have you. The more the merrier, non?"
The moment he looks down to actually look at the boy, Francois was surprised to see the baby fast asleep in his arms. His rocking comes to a stop as he stands up to lay Simeon back in his bed. "Sleep well, mon garçon," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss on his son's head.
His fingers reached to spin the crib mobile, just as he looks down at his son—a warm feeling blooming from his chest with much content. Who knew he would still have a chance to live life like this?
"I didn't expect you to have a whole speech like that."
The Frenchman froze at the familiar sound of your voice. Nonetheless, he doesn't turn around at the faint footsteps nearing him and the crib. "What're you doing up?" he asks you instead, too embarrassed to discuss the soft moment he was caught in.
You wrap your arms around his middle, resting you head against the side of his arm. "I was all alone," he hears you say, as you, too, resorted to looking down at the sleeping eight-month-old before the two of you. "He looks so peaceful, hm?" you eventually say, fingers lightly brushing along the night cap you had placed on your son earlier. "I had a hard time trying to put him to sleep, and yet here you are."
Francois couldn't help but swell with pride. "Perhaps, I'm a favorite then?" he teases, lightly bumping his hips with yours.
You halfheartedly roll your eyes, shaking your head in insistence. "Nonsense," you bite back, "Simeon loves the both of us."
Your husband only chuckles, his hand coming to snake around your waist and pull you out of the room so as not to wake your baby boy. The two of you then reach the bedroom, with him going on around to change out of his work clothes and you fixing a few things you had left amess earlier.
There was a good minute of silence, but it was eventually broken as Francois finally voices out something that's been in his mind. "I want another one..." he says, voice barely there that you hardly heard it.
You turn to him, not quite believing your ears. "What?" you incredulously ask, a beginning of a smile on your face.
"Another child," Francois affirms much clearly, "I want another one."
You cross you arms, a teasing grin on your face. "But I thought you only wantone?" you muse, though your heart begins racing.
Your husband walks towards you, tugging you closer with only inches standing in between you both. "Hm," he nods thoughtfully, "but Simeon once said we would get married and have kids, non?"
Your eyes soften, arms gingerly coming to circle around his neck. "Are you sure?" you ask, but only receiving a kiss as a response.
The kiss burns with a passion that ignites a sensation in the pit of your stomach. A few seconds pass and the both of you pull away, slightly out of breath. "Very," Francois murmurs against your lips.
You bite back a smile. "Let's go then."
[phEW that had a little kiCK at the end oml lemme lubricate my palate hold on—]
ALLEN JONES
- Mr and Mrs Jones decided to settle at Astoria, Oregon!
- It's a modest house that Allen used to stay in with Alfred back in the 1800s, but Alfred, as a wedding gift, had the placed fixed up for moving of course
- It's where Allen originally planned to have Alfred take (Y/N) to before shit hit the fan (but we aLL kNOW hoW ThAT WenT—) 🤧
- You managed to get yourself a desk job, and while it may not be your heart's desires, it pays the ✨bills✨
- Allen, on the other hand, decided to work at a local auto repair store, because he knows thing or two about fixing cars and what not with his many years of ✨experience✨
- oml imagiNE cAR MECHANIC ALLEN in A taNK tOP aND SHIT AAAAAAAAAAA— 👨🔧👨🔧👨🔧
- KNEEweighs, it takes nearly a year into your marriage that you find out this dumbass knocked you up
- Allen gave zero fucks (was secretly excited but shHH)
- "it's bound to happen anyways" he says (bc u two go at it like 🐇🐰🐇🐰)
- SMACK!
- Nine months later, and you find yourself giving birth to twins, welcoming Aidan James Jones and Abigail Grace Jones into the world 🤱👧👦
- Aidan was born only five minutes earlier than his sister but Abby will always call him 'big bro' for it
- The twins are a good blend of you and Al's features together, but your (e/c) eyes stuck with both of them, as well as Allen's reddish brown locks
- Danny has big brain imagination and loves drawing and storytelling
- has an extensive collection of drawings and toys he uses as characters to show for it
- doesn't seem to have a favorite parent (but he does tend to show you his drawings first sO— 💅💅💅)
- Abby shares the same passion for storytelling, but she's more drawn to action and thrill
- she can be so terrifying with her fiery attitude (Al says she got it from you, but you like to think otherwise 🤡)
- such a daddy's girl that she got into a little accident with Al that caused her to bust a teeth or two oOF
- Your household is always chaotic, but with a simp for a husband and two lovely children, you wouldn't dare change a thing about it 💘💕💘💟💌
--------------
[SEVEN YEARS LATER]
It was a Friday when you and Allen were forced to end your week-long vacation early due to your cousin, Diego, not being able to look after the children for the last remaining days. This, of course, bummed your husband a whole lot—especially when the call had interrupted the two of you a few hours ago.
As the car comes to a slow halt, you hear the American next to you sigh as if the world had heavily disappointed him. "It's not his fault his company pulled him on a last minute trip out of the country, Al," you chuckle, half-heartedly rolling your eyes at your husband's dramatics. "Who else would pick up Danny and Abby if not us, hm?"
Allen actually stops to think for a second. "Daisy?" he suggests.
Shaking your head, you unbuckle your seatbelt. "She's not old enough to drive yet," you say, matter-of-factly before gesturing to the school yard ahead of you. "Besides, we're already here," You point out, "picking up our children."
Allen sighs again leaning back against his seat, trying to ease the ache on his neck and back—ah, the woes of being mortal. You look at him and sigh too, knowing the hours of driving took a toll him. "I'll go on ahead," you tell him, leaning to press a quick kiss on his lips. "You wait here, hm?"
With a sluggish thumbs up, you leave the car to your husband and enter the school grounds.
Not far from where you were, you instantly spot your little boy, Aidan, by the benches with his dolls and notebooks. His twin, Abigail, was playing with others at the monkey bars—quite opposite from her twin's endeavors. You stop for a moment and smile a little, thinking you and Allen did a fairly decent job raising these little rascals.
While Aidan scribbles something on his notebook, however, a redhead comes up to him and started saying something. You weren't near enough to understand what she said, but you could tell it was something upsetting, especially when she grabbed Aidan's doll and pushed him to the ground when he tried to get it back.
With the scene igniting a motherly rage within you, you picked up the pace to reach them. As Aidan cried, however, his little sister saw the commotion and hopped off the bars, calling out to the bully. "Hey!" she yells, "What the hell did you push my big brother for?!"
The bully, though shocked by Abigail's outburst, glares back at the fiery brunette. "He's a wimp!" she said, "he plays with dolls!"
Abigail rolls her eyes, coming to stand in front of her brother. "And?" she questions, crossing her arms. "Playing is about having fun, Becky! Just because your mommy doesn't love yo—"
Oh, shit. "Abigail!" you scold, finally deciding to interrupt before she could ever finish her words. This catches her attention, along with the surrounding kids in the area.
Your daughter's eyes sparkled at the sight of you, but it then clicked in her head that you had just scolded her. "What?" she whines with a pout. "I didn't do anything!"
"Didn't I tell you not to say those kinds of mean things?" You softly say, crouching a little help Aidan up and brush the dirt from his shirt.
Abigail pouts. "But, mommy, she—"
"I know, I know," you say, looking at the redheaded little girl—named Becky apparently. "I saw her push Danny to the ground."
As Abigail sticks her tongue out to taunt, Becky looks down at her feet, avoiding your intimidating stare. "Listen," you sigh, not really wanting to be that mom who'll scream her throat out at anyone. "I don't know what your parents taught you, but what my daughter said is right. Playing is about having fun, and just because Danny plays with dolls, doesn't mean you get to bully him."
A teacher comes into the scene after noticing the commotion. In fact, it was the twins' teacher, Ms. Carter. "Mrs. Jones?" she asked, "What's going on?"
You straightened your gait with a sigh. "Bullying," you tell her, "Becky here pushed my son for playing with his toys, when he wasn't doing anything wrong."
"I'm sure it's just harmles—"
The audacity of her words turn your gaze into stone. "It wasn't," you grit through your teeth. "I saw it happen and I heard her call him a wimp for it."
Grabbing Aidan's things, you motion for Abigail to get hers. "I'm taking my children home," you tell the teacher, before looking down at Becky. "I hope you know what you did was wrong, young lady."
With that, you grabbed your children's hands with each of your own, walking out of the school grounds and into the parking lot. You usher them into their father's car, securing their things along with them before hoping in yourself.
As Allen moves to start the car, he takes notice of the tears staining his son's cheeks. "Hey, hey," your husband softly coos at the young boy, "Why are you cryin', buddy? What's wrong?"
Abigail answers when Aidan only sinks to his seat, refusing to speak. "Becky Wallace pushed him at the playground earlier, daddy," she tattles, (e/c) eyes sparking with annoyance. "she called him a wimp for playing with dolls!"
Your husband stops at that moment. "She what?" he sneered, looking out the window to try and look for the kid. "Where's that punk? I'll punt her t—"
"Al!" you exclaim, smacking his thigh.
The American yelps. "What?" Allen whines, rubbing the area you just assaulted. You only glare at him, gesturing to the six-year-olds behind you both. The kids, dumbass!
Alas, Abigail doesn't miss the moment. "Mommy, what does punt mean?" she asks you, leaning out of her seat in curiosity.
With a sigh, you try and give your daughter the best convincing smile you could muster. "Don't listen to your dad, Abby," you tell her, "violence is bad, hm?"
You see her nod to your reminder, but your eyes soon caught sight of your son looking down at the doll he had in his hands. "Danny, honey?" you gently call for his attention, "are you doing okay?"
The boy looks up and only nods, still clearly not fine. Allen notices this and also turns to his son. "Listen, bud," he says, "don't listen to what other people say, okay? You gotta be yourself, fu—forget what they think!"
You glance at your husband, who thankfully manages to save the last phrase. Turning back to the imaginative boy, you give an encouraging smile. "Besides, I love the stories you make," you tell him, thinking of another way to get his mind off of things. "The flower princess is going on an adventure with the dragon rider, right?"
Your mission successfully prevails as the little boy's (e/c) eyes sparkled at the mention of the story he's been telling. "Yeah," he timidly nods with a stammer, "b-because the great witch's brother betrayed her and now they have to find a way to defeat them."
Your eyebrows shot up, not at all caught up with the current lore of your child's mind. You have no idea what sort of television drama influences your son and his stories, but it can get quite addicting during bedtime. "Damn," your husband hoots, quite amused himself. "That's rough."
Abigail, as always, fiercely reacts to the story, her legs kicking at the thought of the accursed character. "That guy is a meanie!" she grumbled, burling her cute little fists in terrifying rage, "She should punt him!"
Though a hint of amusement bubbles within you, your eyes flutter close with a sigh as your daughter yet again adds another word to her vocabulary. Next to you, Allen avoids your scrutinizing gaze with a slight wince upon hearing the word leave his daughter's lips, before humming to himself as he suddenly decides to focus on starting the car instead.
MATHIEU WILLIAMS
- A few months after getting married, the two of you settled in Churchill, Manitoba (far, fAR AWAY from Yukon but it still fits the bill)
- It's the polar bear capital of the world (it sure is enough for Kuma to ✨socialize✨ AyEEE)
- It also doesn't have a big population, so Matt's pretty comfortable with the place
- While Matt settles to be a wildlife conservator, you went on to apply as an art teacher at the local kindergarten for the time being
- Upon nearing your third year anniversary, you found out that you were pregnant and while your husband took you out on a trip, your present to him was undoubtedly much better, especially when the two of you have been trying to conceive
- Nine gruelling months later and tADAA! it's a giRL! ♀️🤱
- Eden Jane Williams was born a bouncing baby girl, nearly a carbon copy of you really
- she did, however, get her father's purple eyes, and blond locks
- like her name Eden says, she is an absolute delight to have around
- she's not fussy and her adorableness sort of lulls in the idea of having another one (but yoU'RE NOT GONNA GivE IN BEcAUSE LABOR IS A B-)
- hate to break it to ya, Matt, Eden loves her mama
- Kuma wasn't entirely opposed to having a smol human around (as long as he gets his share of attention and food aigHT?)
- In fact, him and Matt are both fierce protectors of your little family 😤💕 (as they have always been lol)
--------------
[FIVE YEARS LATER]
The little girl curls at your chest, watching you in awe as you simply read a fairytale book to her. Every once in a while, you look at her, pulling funny faces in the name of making her giggle—she finds great amusement in double chins and scrunched noses for some reason. Thank goodness your husband isn't here to see you like this.
All the while, Kuma easily enters from the archway outside, nudging the main door to enter the living room. "Close the door, please!" you call out to the bear, as you sat up, supporting your daughter's head as you did. With Eden now cradled on your lap, you look on to see Kuma use his head to gently push the double doors close with a click, so as to not let the cold inside.
Your daughter caught sight of the white fur, instantly wriggling around to see the massive bear properly as she babbled nonsense. Setting the book down, you decide to make sure your daughter doesn't plop herself to the ground by accident. You lift her into your arms once more, turning her towards Kuma this time so she could ogle at her glorified teddy bear. Satisfied, Eden squeals happily and bounces her chubby legs in delight.
"Hello," you playfully greet the bear, using Eden's hands to wave as she continues to coo at him. Kuma huffs, but nonetheless softly nuzzles to you and the infant. You look towards the door, having expected your husband to follow suit. "Where's Matt?" you ended up asking, searching for a familiar sight of a tall man in a red plaid shirt.
As if on cue, Matt passes by the window, followed by yet another man in red. You set Edie down on the carpet as you stood up to walk towards the door, opening it just as Matt reached for the doorknob. "Took you boys long enough to get here," you muse, smiling at the gentlemen before you. After giving your husband a quick peck on the lips and Mattie a little hug, you let them in.
See, Matt and Kuma had gone out earlier to fetch Matthew in order to make sure he hadn't gotten lost making his way to your home. It was his first time visiting since Edie was born and, being her godfather and all, he finally decided to stop by, even bringing along a little present for the young Williams.
The three of you returned to the living room to see Edie wobbling on her feet as she pawed at the polar bear minding his own business as he laid on the floor. "Edie," you call out to her, "look who's here!"
Your daughter's big, doe eyes look up at the sound of your voice, seeing her father behind you with arms opened wide for her to run into. Eden did just that, waddling into Matt's arms as best as she could while squealing. Her father catches her as her last few steps fail and send her almost tumbling.
Matt laughs with utter glee as he fully lifts his child in his arms—a sight most wonderful to see. Alas, it fell short, as the young Eden caught sight of the other man behind you both. The timid Canadian gave a small wave along with a gentle smile. "It's Uncle Mattie, sweetie," you tell her, waving jazz hands towards her godfather.
Eden only looks at Matthew.
Then, back to her father.
And, back to Matthew again.
Her eyebrows furrow as a pout seizes her quivering lips, trying to make sense of what she's seeing. The expression on her face seems to say; Who are these people? What have they done to my father? Her confusion knows no bounds, poor little thing.
Though your husband and his counterpart were different shades of blond hair and purple eyes, the resemblances are uncanny for a mere thirteen-month-old baby. It didn't help that Matt shaved his stubble last week, because Eden couldn't help her amusement and tug at her father's chin. It definitely doesn't help either that both Matt and her Uncle Mattie were wearing red today, too. When will justice be served?!
Finally, her gaze settles on you-the only person in the room she knows for certain—purple eyes glossy with tears as her tiny hands reach out for you. "Mama!" she cries, rendering all of you utterly speechless at her reaction. First of all, you didn't expect her to burst into tears. Second of all, you didn't expect her to scream either, especially when it's her first word.
Her first word.
Her first word and she calls out to you, because her father and the first personification of Canada befuddled her. A laugh escapes your lips, both in triumph and in sheer hilarity of the situation. You move to take Eden from Matt's arms, gently wiping at her tears. "Aww, my poor angel," you coo at her, in spite of your giggles. "Did papa and Uncle Mattie confuse you, hm? What a bunch of meanies!"
Edie does nothing but cry into your neck, arms holding onto you tight. You continue to sway her from side to side, hushing her gently to stop her from crying. All the while, you stuck your tongue out at your still shocked husband and his flustered former counterpart.
Mama, one. Papa, zero.
OLIVER KIRKLAND
- courtesy of Arthur, you and Oliver decided to settle down in a quaint little house in Clovelly, Devon and start your family there
- your house sits near the sea and you have such lovely neighbors 🥺💕
- Oliver came to love cooking things other than just baking, he's planning on opening a restaurant with a good neighbor of yours (hopefully it won't catch fire this time—I'm sorry I'll shut up now🤡)
- as of now, he works as one of the chefs at a small restaurant (he's doing better y'all dw T-T <3)
- he also has this boat he sometimes takes out when he feels like reminiscing his piracy days lol (but he usually takes you and his little girl out fishing too)
- yES! GhoRL!!! ♀️🤱💕
- Elizabeth Grace Kirkland was born prematurely which gave you and Oliver quite the scare but she pulled through!
- Ellie got her father's blue eyes and round, bread cheeks, along with an abundance of freckles. On the other hand, she got your (h/c) hair with her skin also being a bit closer to yours
- she's a polite young lady that has a natural hunger for knowledge so she'll try anything she's curious about
- "Ollie and Ellie" is her thing with Oliver because they both love cooking and would often be found together (they're inseparable 🥺💕)
- Ellie being named after Elizabeth I also definitely adds more to his soft spot towards her
- Your heart warms as your family grows in this humble little home
--------------
[FIVE YEARS LATER]
Giggles echoed through the hallway as the time on the clock turned nine. The sunlight filtering through the household illuminates the kitchen as both father and daughter worked around the room with their own tasks.
After a while, however, Ellie voiced her own curiosity. "Why aren't we making (f/cake) though, daddy?" The (h/c)-haired girl pondered aloud as she continued to man the mixer with the eggs, sugar, and cream tartar. "Isn't that mommy's favorite?"
Oliver hums in agreement as he comes back to her with the dry ingredients. "It is her favorite, poppet," he tells her, as he begins to sift the ingredients into the main mixing bowl. "But," he then counters, "this cake will be best for her and your brother."
"How do you know he likes it?" the five-year-old asks, watching as her father's hand slowly but surely worked the spatula with the batter. Though she's watched him do this process to countless of other goodies, she still can't understand why he didn't just went ham with it. "He'll love it, I'm sure," Oliver says after a while, "You sure did when you were in his place. Now, help me pour it in, hm?"
As the Englishman holds the pan Ellie's face further contorts into a look of confusion as she gently pours the batter into the tube pan. "How will he taste it though?" she exclaims nonetheless, baffled by the silly thought. "He's in her belly!"
"He will, love," Oliver laughs, before carrying the pan into the oven. "He just will."
The waiting game commences with Oliver eventually going on to get Ellie some paper and crayons to keep her busy. The Englishman sits beside his daughter, watching as she drew a simple portrait of the family with the depiction of you carrying a bundle of blue in your arms. A smile settles on his face at the sight of this, causing him to rest his cheek against palm while he continues to see art unravel before him.
"There you two are."
The two jump at the sudden intrusion in almost a comical way with how their eyes simultaneously widened and they both turned around in sync. There at the entry way was you in all of your pregnant glory, dressed in your nightgown and swaddled in a fluffy knit cardigan that your husband, himself, made. Your arms rested at your hips as a mock scorn dons your face. "Leaving me and baby all alone in the bedroom with no cuddles," you dramatically cried, "in my own birthday no less! Oh, the utter betrayal!"
Your five-year-old giggles along with your husband, hopping off of her seat to run towards you. Welcoming her presence, you let her hug you—as best as she could with you six-month‐old pregnant belly that is. Butterflies fluttered within you as Elizabeth pressed a kiss on your stomach. "Good morning, baby," she says to the round mass, before smiling up at you. "Good morning, mommy!"
With a smile, you soothe out your daughter's (h/c) locks and give her a slight squeeze. "Good morning," you beam, "what have you and daddy been up to, hm?"
It was then you notice Oliver next to you, wrapping an arm around you both as he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. "We made cake, love," he tells you, making Ellie nod excitedly.
The little girl points at the oven where the cake remains in the process of baking. It was angel cake—something you ate a lot back when you had Ellie in you. "For you and baby!" she says, blue eyes sparkling.
You nod with an endearing chuckle falling past your lips, as Oliver pulls out a seat for you to take. "Yes," you hum to you daughter as you sat down. "I'm sure baby will love it, sweetie."
"He really will?" Ellie asks, looking at you stomach yet again. She kneels in front of you and cups either side of your bump. "I hope you'll like it," she says, "eat well, hm?"
You and Oliver chuckled at your little girl's antics, watching as she babbles on to her baby brother. "You need to eat lots and lots, because that's how you can show love!" she says, "daddy and I made cake because we love you and mommy. So you better love us back too, okay?"
Kick.
Both you and Ellie froze, (e/c) and blue eyes wide at what had just happened. Your husband, on the other hand, wonders what made the two of you jolt. "Mommy is baby mad?" she then wonders aloud, "why did he just do that? That's rude."
You laugh at your daughter's words, shaking your head. "I'm sure he only kicked because he's excited, dear," you tell her, as her furrowed brows eased. "I'm sure he loves us, too."
Kick.
"There he is again!" Ellie cries, this time joyfully clapping.
Oliver's mind finally processes the information, his blue eyes widening in utter blissful surprise. "The baby kicked?" he asks, coming to kneel down before you as well. Ellie excitedly pulls his hand towards your belly.
"We love you!" the little girl exclaims to your stomach.
Kick.
You laugh, thinking it's the baby's way for screaming 'I love you!' back. At the sight if the two loves of your life kneeling before you, you couldn't help but get emotional, in spite of the smile on your face. Your husband catches sight of this even as you quickly wiped the tears away.
Oliver leans up to give you a fleeting but sweet kiss. "Happy birthday, poppet," he says, "we love you."
"Yup! Yup!" Ellie muses, coming along to sit on one of your legs as she tries to embrace you. "Happy birthday, mommy," she says, placing a sloppy kiss to your other cheek.
In the arms of both your husband and darling girl, your eyes fluttered close in bliss. You've never felt so happy and content being in one place. Happy birthday, indeed.
[not at the way my search history makes it look like I'm pregnant—damn these writer struggles]
LUCIANO VARGAS
- after getting married, you and Luciano fully settled down in the house he bought in Bergamo, Italy
- you work as a fashion designer, managing your own small boutique in Milan with Flavio
- it's conveniently just about an hour travel from your home! :DDDD
- why do I see Luciano as a food critic??? judging pasta and wine and whatnot??
- N E WAyS, Luciano stays at home a lot (with the kids!) [STAN HOUSE HUSBAND LUCIANO FOR CLEAR SKIN📣📣📣]
- spEAKING OF:
- Luciano was ABSOLUTELY ecstatic with having children!!!
- congrats! you have twins—Enzo and Manny!🤱♂️🤱
- Emilio Manuel Vargas was born first-yes, "Manny" after Elena's brother and Rosana's son bc you loved those boys v v much 🥺
- he has your nose and (e/c) eyes, but Luciano's hair and skin color (as well as his brattine—cOUGH, i mean ✨strong personality✨)
- spends a lot of time in kitchen w Luciano bc he loves his father's cooking very much (obviously no special ingredients here folks👌👌👌)
- Enzo Marcelo Vargas was born a good seven minutes after his twin
- he has your (h/c) hair and eyes, but the color of his eyes are Luciano's, as well as his nose and skin color
- Enzo is much tamer than his older brother (but that doesn't mean he's an angel 🤭 ashdkfhf)
- he likes to see you and Flavio work on clothes bc he's a wittle artist himself 🥺🖌🎨
- now you don't know what happened, but a good ten months after the boys were born, you sit before yet another positive test (that's a lie you know very well what you did w Luciano as soon as you got a break from the crying newborns-COuGHifuknowhatimeancoUGH) 🤪👌👀👀👀
- YASS! it's a girl!!!! ♀️🤱💕
- Belladonna Vargas is the perfect blend of yours and Luciano's skin and hair color, but she has your beauty and presence (says Papa Vargas)
- little Donna is her papa's obvious soft spot (besides you ofc)
- he's soft for all of his children but his little girl breaks the uwu machine every damn time
- all the boys (including Flavio) dote on her, but you're her favorite (shH don't tell Luciano!! he'll deny it but his heart will break 💔)
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[SIX YEARS LATER]
It's been six years since you married the love of your life, Luciano Vargas, and a good six or so years too since your little misfit with the Afterlife. Tonight, the two of you were going out for a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, as you usually do once a month.
As you finish putting your earrings on, you walk out of the bedroom and down to the living room, stepping in just as Manny was in the middle of his passionate speech of why dinosaurs are amazing and little Donna was listening to him intently as if he's talking about curing cancer. All the while, his twin, Enzo, nodded along while drawing a family of blue dinosaurs along with a purple sky.
You smile as you watch the three play make believe together, when they're supposed to work on their Italian. The three of them were huddled in the middle, surrounded by numerous drawings with paper they, no doubt, stole from their father's study.
"Mammina!" Manny and Donna cheer as they caught sight of you. Enzo looks up from his drawing smiles, too.
The three of them rush to jump in your arms, eliciting a laugh from your lips as you struggle to hold them all. You had no choice but to just kneel before them to be able to hug them all. Enzo was the first to go, hopping off after you gave him a kiss on the cheek since he had noticed you struggling. After receiving his kiss, Manny moves from your arms a few seconds after, following his twin in making plans for the dinosaurs.
Donna remains coddling you, fingers marvelling at the pretty, shiny earrings you have on. "You look beautiful, mommy," she tells you, smiling wide with shining (e/c) eyes. "Molto bello!" [t | very beautiful!]
"Thank you, sweetie," you giggle at the little girl in your arms, brushing her hair back when it swept to her face. "How's your studying, hm?"
The little girl twiddles with her fingers. "Very difficile," she shyly admits, making you laugh because same. [t | difficult]
"You're doing well," you tell your daughter, kissing her on the cheek once more, before turning to the twins once more. Manny was arguing that the dinosaurs should be green, like the one on they saw on television. Enzo, the artiste, only looked at him, appalled that his own twin—his own flesh and blood—dared to question his art.
You laugh at your boys, before calling out to one of them. "Manny, You'll eat well, hm?" you told the (h/c)-haired boy, successfully stopping their argument because you knew very well that your son took after your love for food. "Papa made your favorite."
The five-year-old eagerly nods, grinning widely at the thought of finally getting to eat the pasta he saw his father making earlier. Luciano appears from behind you, fixing the cufflinks on his sleeves. "Eat your vegetables, too," he tells the boy, immediately earning a disgusted look and a 'blegh!'
Your husband sighs, coming closer to you and Donna. As he secures a hold on your waist, Luciano turns to the more reasonable twin. "Enzo," he says, "tell me if your fratello doesn't eat his vegetables, hm? I'll let you have the chocolates left on the fridge."
The statement erupts reactions from the twins with Manny letting out a whine in protest and Enzo cheering, ready to betray his brother for the delicious dessert. "Come, amore mio," Luciano then tells you, with a sneaky pat to the ass. "We're already running late."
You set Donna down to smack your husband's arm. Thankfully, the children didn't notice their father's little feat. Luciano pouts as he rubs his arm, but you only stuck your tongue out at him, before leaving the children to play to themselves.
"Where's the babysitter?" Luciano asks as he trails behind you, following you into the kitchen.
A noise of confusion leaves your lips as you pour yourself a glass of water. "What babysitter?" you ask back, sipping as you glanced behind you to watch your husband put on a crisp black blazer.
Luciano cocked an eyebrow as he adjusts his outwear for the night. "I thought I told you get someone to watch over the children, amore mio," he tells you, coming up behind you to pluck a grape from the fruit bowl.
It takes a few seconds, but you eventually muse. "I did!" you say, giving him a thumbs up.
Your husband chuckles at your expression, before looking down at his watch. "Then who is it, and where are they now?" he questions, a frown lightly tugging at his lips as his mind counts the time.
You lean in to look at the time. "Well Vio said he would be here in an h—"
The Italian suddenly gawks at you at the mention of his brother, an appalled look on his face. "You called Vio?" he says, "of all people?"
"Ye—"
Luciano shakes his head. "No," he defiantly says, slowly forgetting to lower his voice. "Call him now and tell that bastardo to get lost! Get a different babysitter!"
You shush him, turning to see if the children were disrupted by their father's exclamations. "Why?" you question, crossing your arms, "I thought you said we're already late?"
Luciano casts a fleeting glance towards the living room as well, hoping the children didn't hear him swear. "I refuse to have a repeat of last month!" he whisper-yells this time, crossing his arms as well.
Confusion seizes your face, arching your eyebrows in question. Then, it clicks in your head. You had come home then from a weekend trip with your husband, letting the children spend time with their Uncle Vio during said mini vacation. The two of you had found the four of them in Belladonna's room with your youngest dolled up in a pristine white dress as Flavio gives the twins a stern lecture on how to 'snatch the wigs' of anyone who breaks their baby sister's heart.
It was an adorable sight, although it turned not so funny when, a few days later, the boys got in trouble at school for bad-mouthing one of Donna's classmates to tears. Their excuse? Little Clarissa had stolen Crisostomo from Donna during play time, making their sister cry.
"I'm sure it won't happen again," you tell him, remembering how your husband screamed at the phone with his brother for approximately three hours after having gone home from school with the news. "Besides," you quip, "You know Flavio means well. Donna looked adorable in the dress, didn't she?"
"Yes, but that's not the point!" he says, starting to lose his control on volume a little. "She's too young to be thinking of boys!"
Oh, so it wasn't about the twins...
You struggle to bite back a grin. See, the very reason that little Belladonna Vargas had been dressed like an absolute doll that night by her Uncle Vio was because she had announced to the three then that she had a crush on Crisostomo Guevarra, a classmate of hers at kindergarten. Flavio, absolutely delighted that his niece came to him asking for tips on how to catch the young boy's attention, instantly gave a makeover lesson and talked to her about love and what not.
Though the four-year-old barely absorbed any of what she had been told that night, she had caught on to the thought that crushes are normal—something that Luciano clearly forbid upon any of his children at their young age, especially his beloved principessa.
You cup your husband's face in your hands, mushing his cheeks as you try to knock some sense into him. "Luciano," you say, letting yourself chuckle, "let her be. It's just a crush."
"Still," he sighs, through squished cheeks, "they're too young to grow up yet."
A laugh escapes your lips. You may have the same sentiments, but Luciano takes it up a notch. "Oh hush," you tell him, pressing a quick peck at his lips, "We still have years left for that, honey."
Luciano defeatedly nods, just to lean in and capture your lips into a kiss. You slid your arms around his neck and his found purchase around your waist. Leave it to a kiss to distract your husband from his theatrics.
Then, there was a sudden slam of the door. "Buonasera!" a familiar voice yells in greeting, "I brought face masks!"
"Uncle Vio!!!"
Loud cheering resonates from down the hall, causing your husband to pull away with a sigh. You laugh as he begrudgingly made his way out of the kitchen to make sure Flavio won't go overboard yet again.